Red skies at night no doubt keep shepherd’s delighted making a dramatic backdrop. St Petersburg’s skies provide a memorable canvas pretty much year round. Summer blues of eggshell to Monet give way to cinnamons and lurid purples. Purpose undefined this ensemble is typically obscure consequence of that very Russian impulse to blot any open spaces with something big and useless. This one provides a baffling focal point to Pulkovo's domestic terminal and after careful consultation has ended up smack in the middle of taxiing aircraft....way to go chaps.
Did you ever notice glimpses of some other consciousness? By this I mean a sense of familiarity or importance which stands out in the flow of observations and information that surround us. A momentary suspicion if you will that this detail will come to have greater significance later in time whether on this day or in the near future. Such moments tend to disguise their relevance beyond subtly drawing attention to themselves. There has to be a trick to divining further to signpost the hours and days ahead.
I mention it as the short transfer time between arrival into Warsaw and onwards to the yet ethereal Bucharest caught both my eye and some subconscious tripwire. Snow, drunken Russians, petulant baggage handlers and cleaners conspired to land our LOT a healthy hour after the other LOT should have roared off for Transylvanian skies. Not a LOT of luck …... I’ll leave it there being as its late and the ridiculous is but a key stroke away.
Arriving in Warsaw delight spreads on learning that LOT have turned the tide and have held the plane for us. Such good news and 2 hours later I slip into a sleeping Bucharest. I join the snooze.
Did you ever notice glimpses of some other consciousness? By this I mean a sense of familiarity or importance which stands out in the flow of observations and information that surround us. A momentary suspicion if you will that this detail will come to have greater significance later in time whether on this day or in the near future. Such moments tend to disguise their relevance beyond subtly drawing attention to themselves. There has to be a trick to divining further to signpost the hours and days ahead.
I mention it as the short transfer time between arrival into Warsaw and onwards to the yet ethereal Bucharest caught both my eye and some subconscious tripwire. Snow, drunken Russians, petulant baggage handlers and cleaners conspired to land our LOT a healthy hour after the other LOT should have roared off for Transylvanian skies. Not a LOT of luck …... I’ll leave it there being as its late and the ridiculous is but a key stroke away.
Arriving in Warsaw delight spreads on learning that LOT have turned the tide and have held the plane for us. Such good news and 2 hours later I slip into a sleeping Bucharest. I join the snooze.
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