Yuhzno-Sahkalinsk International Airport

I am sitting here in Yuzhno airport with absolutely nothing to do - except write. My plane leaves in an hour for Korea and………….some mega swearing going on here ……… my onward flight does not leave until the morning. I will therefore have the extreme pleasure of staying at the Transit Hotel in the Incheon International Airport, Seoul! That's the hotel without the window, a shoe box with a bed in it!

A room at the Transit Hotel in Incheon International Airport
Photo Copyright © Ieuan Dolby, 2006

This morning (at 11am) and still feeling gritty after my one-bottle of water shower (minus enough for a cup of coffee) I was picked up by my companies overactive Operations Officer. He drove me at an erratic pace to an office were I needed to sign some documents for the next time I came back - hardly have I left the vessel and already my return is being planned - and we joined the typical endless queue that Russian bureaucracy dictates every office must have. Half an hour later, after studying the peeling-pink paint on the walls, the varnish that had long since disappeared on the doors and the bored security guard who had either died or had a good knack for sleeping with his eyes open without movement, we were allowed into the inner sanctum of the possums den!

Two ladies resided behind this particular faded and time-frosted glass door, one rather large who I'm sure used the window to leave the office of an evening as the door was rather small and another girl who looked as if she did nothing all day except paint her nails and make sure that her mascara had not run. They welcomed us in with the customary Russian grunts and looks that said 'don't waste out time whatever you do" and naturally the larger lady took our forms away from us, to be checked and most likely to be quadruple stamped with lots of energy as an outlet for her frustration (at us). We waited and waited and waited! We paced and paced and waited some more. The younger girl, who now had one foot on the desk and who was proceeding to paint her toe-nails bright red said something harshly to my now visibly agitated Operations Officer! I got the intended meaning of what she said, even if it was spoken in Russian so I did not require my now red-faced Operations Officers translation of a finger to his lips. It was "be quiet, no talking in this office, it is disturbing our work"! Although it could have been, just a simple "shut up"! I think she painted her nails red, let them dry, then removed the red with nail polish remover and painted them pink - all whilst we continued to wait very silently for the larger woman to stamp our documents.

Just about the point where I realised I was lost!
Photo Copyright © Ieuan Dolby, 2006

We got our forms back eventually and off to our company's office we went, to waste time until my flight left at 1630 hrs. As I had so much time on my hands, I decided that a half-hours brisk walk in the cold would do me wonders, so off I set. I turned right and walked a bit, then turned right again and walked some more. As theory would have it, if I turned right and walked some more two more times I would end up on the exact spot that I started from and back at the office - this being the essential layout of a square! Theory failed me though! I walked, walked and walked and turned right four times and could not find the office at all! Peculiar! To cut along story short and to miss out those harried half runs and skips that I made to try and relocate myself, I brought into action the ever decreasing square rule. I walked in ever-smaller squares and just about the time when I was tripping over myself with the tightness of the left turns I saw the office building! My Operations Officer was on the verge of calling out a search party - it was not that bad, I was only one hour late. But then he is prone to panic!

So here I am now, back at the airport that reminds me of a transit area for POW's and with nothing else to do but write!

It amazes me the quantity of alcohol that is drunk in this country. In the UK it has long been the law and social custom that alcohol is not drunk in public, to the extent that bars with outdoor areas had to have large walls built around them. Yet here I sit on the floor in the departure lounge, watching life around me and the people that combine to make that life, wandering how everybody else passes the time. There are two girls sitting over by the window with two large bottles of beer that are making frequent excursions up to their mouths and back down again. No qualms there! A group of oil workers are sitting to my right and the cans of Japanese larger they are drinking are large enough to fit my right shoe in without squashing it. The Americans sitting on the floor next to me are talking about wine and hey, those girls have just cracked open a second bottle - they all go to make me feel thirsty! Nothing much else to do here I suppose but drink beer and wait for the plane to depart but with the only place to shop/buy drink in the airport (aptly named the airport shop) being closed one does have to come prepared for this by bringing your own.

Whoops, my flight is being called! I wander if they have any drinks on-board?

Ieuan Dolby
Author and Webmaster of SeaDolby.com
Copyright © Ieuan Dolby, 26th October 2006