I didn't worry about the trip for a single minute, so please take my upcoming posts about my first impressions in the context of my complete lack of emotion.
Back at Domodedovo, we hit it off with Andrey, and all we did was roast Munich and Nojabrxsk. They even sat us together on the plane, and we kept wondering what to do with the Milk if you've already taken juice, and what to do with the pure orange juice if you can't drink any more.
Contrary to my fears, we flew British Airways, whose service pleased me more than I expected. First of all, everyone was guaranteed a blanket, and secondly, it was, of course, the cutest breakfast.
However, during the entire four-hour flight, while our crew call light was on, not a single flight attendant deigned to come over to us. And as for the flight attendants, it's just unbelievable! Of course, Britain has never been known for good taste, starting with the royal family.
The landing was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen from a porthole in my life. We descended over green fields, crisscrossed by gray roads with left-hand traffic. Tiny houses with garages are scattered everywhere. Swamps that look cleaner even from a bird's-eye view than the Caspian Sea. Everything is wonderful: the bridges, the highway, the double-decker buses on it, and the poplars around - but everything screams of excessive childishness. It just reeks of Britishness.
Oh, and there was an Irish Aer Lingus on the runway. Seriously.
Heathrow Airport has a rather complicated inspection system: take out all liquids, then the belt control, then the frame, but they didn't even take the liquids away. It was terribly, TERRIBLY long, and when I finished, I had 15 minutes before departure to get to the gate.
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