Detained in the airport...

I was just reading an article my friend Leah posted a link to from the New York Times. I glanced at one of the side bars, and it said, "Have airport screenings gone too far?" To which I answer: yes. After you hear this story, you will know why. I'm taking this as a sign that I needed to finally write about my little adventure trying to get on a plane back to Moscow from Rostov.

So, it all started out really nice--the Sargsyans drove me to the airport, waited as I got my boarding pass, and then sat and chatted with me so I wouldn't have to wait alone so long before my plane left.

The plane was scheduled to leave at 7:00 pm exactly. It was about 5:40 pm when we decided we should say our goodbyes so I could go through security before most of the other passengers showed up. We said our goodbyes, gave out hugs all around, and I made my way to the desk where they take passports/tickets just before heading through security. The Sargsyans were standing there, watching on to make sure that I was really off on my way.

I handed my passport and ticket to the officer, who glanced at it and gave it to the next man. He looked at me, then back at my passport. "Where are your other documents?" he asked in Russian. I answered him in Russian that he had all my documents. He asked for my registration in Ulyanovsk, and I said that I live in Moscow. "Well, where is your registration," he asked again. This was going to be difficult. "You have ALL of my documents. That is all that I have." "Where are you studying?" "I am here on an internship--it counts as study." He stood up and led me over to airport security. I put my bags through and walked through the metal detector. As I went to pick up my bags, one of the women working there picked up my Bible and started leafing through it. "Bible?" she asked. Hoping there was not going to be a problem over this, I answered that it was (I had worried that it would be difficult to obtain a visa to Russia as I had served here as a missionary three years ago). She looked at me, and then set it back down.

“You must have registration,” the officer said again. “That is all I have.” “Who came with you?” I pointed to Ani’s family, who were all anxiously looking on to see what the problem was. He went over to them, and I could tell Ani was upset as she was talking to him. I heard her say, “She doesn’t know all of the laws. This isn’t fair. She hasn’t done anything.” Then she turned to me and asked where my registration was, and if they had asked for it at the airport in Moscow. I told her they hadn’t, and she turned to the officer and said that they should have said something there before I left if there was going to be a problem.

He came back over to me and said we would need to go and talk to someone—the director. Ani and I followed behind me as he left this building and headed for one next to it. “Do I need to call a lawyer?” I asked him. “We’re just going to talk to someone. It will be fine. If you want to call someone you can, but we just need to talk.” So I called one of the members of the presidency to get the number of our lawyer. He was so nice, and gave it to me, telling me to call him and tell him how it all turned out. His concern almost brought me to tears, but then I got control of myself as I hung up, turned to Ani, and told her I had the number.

Ani’s mom had caught up to us as we entered the second building, went up a flight of stairs, and were ushered into a room where the “director” sat. The officer started in on how I didn’t have my documents, Ani tried to explain that they hadn’t told me I needed them in Moscow.

I calmly explained to the officer that I did not have the documents with me, I wasn’t told that I would need my Moscow registration to go, and that had I known it was the law, I wouldn’t have left them.

I was fairly calm and cooperative until he brought up how much I could be fined. Just the day before I had been talking with someone who brought missionaries in and out of the city, and he explained that they were often stopped and that the officers wanted a bribe. He even told me how he had been pulled over several times for ridiculous things. He had been pulled over so many times, he was sure he had all the documents he needed. Then the last time, after seeming disappointed that he had all the documents he needed, they asked where his first aid kit was. This threw him, but then he remembered seeing one, so he produced it from under the seat. The officer looked really confused and at a loss for what to say. Then he pulled himself together and said, okay, so you have a first aid kit—but where are the blocks you would put behind your wheels if you were to park on a hill? At this, my friend, deciding he was fed up, pointed to some rocks by the side of the road and said that they were right there. Well, needless to say, he was fined.

So with this mind set, I was a little upset that I was being jerked around so that someone could get a bribe. As the officer started throwing out amounts, I turned to him and said, “Whatever! There is no way.” He was a little taken aback at my reaction. I’m not sure if he was thinking I would jump to just pay the fine, but he definitely wasn’t expecting me to not buy into it (I also don’t think that he anticipated that I would be able to speak more than introductory Russian). What was even worse was that the two officers couldn’t agree on what I had done wrong. One was saying one thing, the other something else. So the first officer said, “What do you mean, whatever? That’s how much they could fine you in Moscow!” To which I thought, what do you care how much I would get fined in Moscow? Let them deal with it, but I decided I should cool it and act rationally.

I asked what was required of me, and he said that I should have someone fax the documents. I told him no one had access to them, there was no fax machine. He told me to have the people who registered me get it to me, after all, I hadn’t gone and registered myself, right? As a matter of fact, I had, I told him. I was given the documents I needed and went and did it myself my first three days in Moscow, according to law. “Well, have someone send the documents.” “I am holding the key to my apartment. The documents are in my room with the number of the bureau written on them where I registered. Who do you think is going to get those documents for you? I have my keys. The documents are not going to be sent to you. What do you need me to do? I would give you the document if I had it, but I don’t. What do we you need from me? The documents are not an option.”

He apparently gave up on getting anywhere in all this with me and decided to leave. This left me to deal with the director. At this point, I was worrying that I was going to miss my flight. It was already 6:30. I called a lawyer, told him in Russian that they wouldn’t let me get on the plane, and handed the director the phone. The director said, “No, no, we’ll let her get on—she didn’t understand. We’re just trying to warn her she could get a fine in Moscow.” “Wait, I can leave?” I said after he got off the phone. “Then we’re done here. I will get the documents when I am in Moscow. Thank you for the information. I will make sure to have that document with me when I travel in the future.” And I turned and walked out.

It was about 6:40 at this point, so we hustled off to get me through security. I told Ani and her mom goodbye, the officer who had originally pulled me aside waved me on through, and I was off to my terminal. I handed my ticket to the woman working there, and she said, “Oh, you need to hurry! Go on!” So I ran down the stairs, jumped on the shuttle that would take me to my plane, and within 60 seconds, it pulled away from the curb. I had made it!

As I settled into my seat, I went to call President Gibbons to tell him I was okay. And then I realized my phone was out of money. So I tried a text instead, hoping I would have a ruble or two left—just enough to send it. Nothing. So I leaned forward and tapped the man’s arm in front of me. When he turned around, I saw that he was about my age. In Russian I asked, “Is there any way I can use your phone? Even just to send a text. They wouldn’t let me on the plane, and I have to let someone know I got on.” So we started chatting as he turned his phone back on so I could make my call. I got a hold of President and told him everything was fine and that I was on my way back.

The flight back was really nice, but as we neared the Moscow airport, I began to worry. Ani and her mom had warned me that the officers may have called ahead to make sure someone checked my documents (after all, this was the reason they said they were making me stay). Ani said they would have called ahead and given my race, hair color, etc, so that someone could stop me. I was so not wanting to deal with this. So, I thought about what I should do. Now this may be completely silly and over the top, but hey, I’d had enough of sitting in little rooms having officers get angry with me. Plus, it was kind of fun and James Bond-esque, or maybe more Alias. Either way, here’s what I did:

My hair had been down at the Rostov airport, so I threw it back in a tight bun. I also decided a little change in clothing was needed—I had been wearing two shirts, so I took off the first one—I was now wearing black instead of brown. For an extra touch (and knowing that I look more American with my glasses off than on), I put my sunglasses on. To round it all off, the Russian guy whose phone I had used conveniently struck up a conversation with me on the way out, so we walked into the airport and through it together. As we parted ways, I headed for the door and down the sidewalk. I had made it!!!

Just then, I got a call from Ani—I told her everything I’d done and we laughed. At least it had all worked out okay and I was on my way home! I jumped on the bus that was headed for Rechnoj Voksal, which is the metro stop closest to me. When I stepped in the bus, a man that had been sitting in my row on the plane recognized me and said hello and pointed to the last spot on the bus, which was right beside him, and said he’d saved me a good spot (of course he was anticipating that I would come on this bus, we just laughed that twice we would end up by one another).

It was a very pleasant ride home, besides the girl on the bus who refused to pay until she sat down. I tried to give her my seat, but she wouldn’t take it. The man next to me told me not to pay any attention to her, and we chatted a bit. He’s decided he’ll approve of me becoming an ambassador or at least a diplomat to Russia when the time comes J Very nice man. We parted our ways at the metro stop with a smile and a best to you.

When I got home I told Sergei and Irina my story. They seemed to enjoy it! Sergei especially said that I had done just right in calling a lawyer and not giving into them wanting money. He said, “Oh that must have been great! Can you imagine? Not only did they not expect you to be confident in talking back because they would’ve expected you to be scared, but there is no way they would have expected you to speak Russian!” So we laughed a bit about it, then I headed off to the shower and promptly to bed.