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The terminal, one room with an antiquated security machine, was deserted two hours before our flight was to depart. The lights were off, the bar was closed, and there was no sign of life until fifteen minutes before boarding. We ate in the airport restaurant, a pre-Soviet building twice the size of the terminal, with marble staircases and a gigantic chandelier. Our meal came with silver, and two air traffic controllers, reeking of vodka, chatted us up, not understanding our problem with their pre-flight drinking. The best was when the ticket-counter worker told my 5’10” friend that women were not allowed to have exit row seats because they cannot possibly operate the emergency door. Our coveted seat was then given to a man half my friend’s size.
