I said I’d write some more about Russia when I landed in St. Petersburg, but here I am, at Moscow Vnukov Ariport, telling you that there is absolutely nothing to report. So you might wonder, Why you are reading this right now. I am sitting at Gate 11A with the headphones of my new MP3-Player hooked up to my ears, listening to Rammstein: We’re all living in America. That’s when I thought: This is definitely not Kansas! I mean, not that I’ve ever been to Kansas, and I’m not Somewhere Over the Rainbow, either. Across from me, there is a БУРГЕР КИНГ – if you can’t guess what that means, you’ve been dropped on the head as a kid one time too many. Since it’s only 8:15 AM, there aren’t many people, though there has been a slight influx over the past 10 minutes. Everything here is clean, high-tech, everybody I’ve met in Russia so far was friendly, generous and helpful. Even though hardly anyone knows proper English, and my Russian is shaky at best, people do their best to make me feel welcome in their country. Even the police lady at the security checkpoint smiled back at me. Somehow I’m not in the mood to continue listening to Rammstein. Too agressive. I can’t believe I am hearing mself think this, notwithstanding writing about it. This is getting too weird for me. Signing off. Cya!