E 'possible to get an idea of \u200b\u200bone country by a few hours spent in his airport? The first impressione e’ di una struttura funzionale, moderna, nuova di zecca e quasi asettica, con il pavimento bianco lucido che riflette le colonne metallizzate, grandi vetrate che danno su un piazzale innevato enorme su cui si affaticano, come scarafaggi stercorari, decine di spazzaneve.
Pochi i passeggeri, ovunque campeggia la pubblicita’ del martini, come potrebbe essere in qualsiasi aeroporto del mondo. L‘impiegata del banco transiti non ha i baffi e non e’ scontrosa, anzi, e’ di una bellezza elfica, come possono esserlo solo le donne del Nord del mondo; effettua il check-in rapidamente e con cortesia, esprimendosi in un buon inglese. Mi crollano molti dei prejudices inherited from the James Bond film, while the clerk wishes me a good trip with a smile.
I at the Terminal C, new, and my flight leaves from Terminal F, the more 'old and far away, so' I set off for a long walk in the airport, the rest of the time is there. I start to notice new details: the spaces are ample, very few shops. Little imagination, mostly 'classic duty-free cigarettes-alcohol perfumes. Prices only in euros. After a good mile walk, I arrive at my terminal, more 'old and, perhaps, pre-perestroika. Here we note that the shops were added later and, as if they had rained down from heaven, occupied the only space that was there, one of the passengers, who are forced to walk in zig zag between the houses of the duty free. I'm hungry, I want a sandwich, and I discover that beneath the surface is still something of the Soviet era: in all bar three terminals, there are only one and the same three sandwiches, salmon, chicken or ham. But even this near-monopoly paninari is now crumbling, by a bar Segafredo Zanetti, where I finally find a glorious toast tomato and mozzarella!
I climb the stairs and find myself on the set of "The Terminal", Russian version without Tom Hanks: six beds, mattresses, blankets, a cardboard box on the bedside table. A man prays toward Mecca, another watching a movie on a laptop. She comes from Somalia, and 'stuck them for several days on the road to get to Norway, the Russian unceremoniously left them free in the limbo of the international departure hall.
conclude my waiting enjoying the toast on a chair in the middle of the gut of the corridors, watching the Russians with their bags full of duty-free liquor, with the impression of a modern country that wanted to embrace the rush of consumerism without really having yet metabolized.
Pochi i passeggeri, ovunque campeggia la pubblicita’ del martini, come potrebbe essere in qualsiasi aeroporto del mondo. L‘impiegata del banco transiti non ha i baffi e non e’ scontrosa, anzi, e’ di una bellezza elfica, come possono esserlo solo le donne del Nord del mondo; effettua il check-in rapidamente e con cortesia, esprimendosi in un buon inglese. Mi crollano molti dei prejudices inherited from the James Bond film, while the clerk wishes me a good trip with a smile.
I at the Terminal C, new, and my flight leaves from Terminal F, the more 'old and far away, so' I set off for a long walk in the airport, the rest of the time is there. I start to notice new details: the spaces are ample, very few shops. Little imagination, mostly 'classic duty-free cigarettes-alcohol perfumes. Prices only in euros. After a good mile walk, I arrive at my terminal, more 'old and, perhaps, pre-perestroika. Here we note that the shops were added later and, as if they had rained down from heaven, occupied the only space that was there, one of the passengers, who are forced to walk in zig zag between the houses of the duty free. I'm hungry, I want a sandwich, and I discover that beneath the surface is still something of the Soviet era: in all bar three terminals, there are only one and the same three sandwiches, salmon, chicken or ham. But even this near-monopoly paninari is now crumbling, by a bar Segafredo Zanetti, where I finally find a glorious toast tomato and mozzarella!
I climb the stairs and find myself on the set of "The Terminal", Russian version without Tom Hanks: six beds, mattresses, blankets, a cardboard box on the bedside table. A man prays toward Mecca, another watching a movie on a laptop. She comes from Somalia, and 'stuck them for several days on the road to get to Norway, the Russian unceremoniously left them free in the limbo of the international departure hall.
conclude my waiting enjoying the toast on a chair in the middle of the gut of the corridors, watching the Russians with their bags full of duty-free liquor, with the impression of a modern country that wanted to embrace the rush of consumerism without really having yet metabolized.
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