The lost are found

That phrase has a new meaning when it is one's luggage that is lost and the "pasture" is the airport in Moscow, Russia. The first reply (after filing out forms in triplicate (meaning 3 separate forms, 3 separate times) was that said luggage was in NYC and I had to drive back 5 hours the next day to get it. Then with a little more hmmmm it appeared the bag was coming on the next flight an hour later! Yippee! But it will be in the baggage claim in the next terminal. I can't get back there after exiting the secure zone. An hour of lots of confusion(in one case the elevator opened on the 3rd floor by the kitchen of a restaurant - I missed that when I tried to get back down) and the difference between "held" luggage and "lost" luggage, Everyone wanted to see every document I had collected and the stack was getting impressive. And then each one would call the original lady who could only tell me to "go to the same place in E." Long basement corrdiors, unmarked doors later I opened one and found two ladies behind computers and said, "Can you help me?" They made a few more phone calls - by now my bag had arrived and NOT been claimed on the belt(!)- but I can't there from where I am. Yes??? But they have someone who will meet me. I am greeted by a military man in full stars and regalia who has a very frowny face but he takes me through more bowels of the airport to the bag. I see it has a faint aura around sort of like the stable at Bethlehem. I whimper and he asks, "Is this yours?" "Yes. Do you want to see my papers?" "No. Get bag. Go now." Sure - just point me to the door!

Varoslavl is 5 hours north and we stop for borsch served under boar's heads on the wall. Great meal.



All reunited with my loved ones, I am safe in Yaroslavl.