Birch Trees & Bureaucrats

First impressions of Moscow are murky. Spent 2 hours waiting for Rosalie to emerge from customs with two computers, an electronic voting system, 50 keypads, and with her fuses intact. Patience with pointless red tape is not her strong suit. Enduring a half-assed interrogation from a customs officer who doesn't speak English is never a good way to conclude 15 hours of travel. But the boss is a trooper and she emerges after two hours unscathed, with her gear intact, and ready for the long ride into the city. "I need a drink" she says, wheeling our workload past waiting drivers. I agree wholeheartedly and we begin the winding trip into the largest northernmost city in the world....

Walking out of the terminal is a wake up call. A cold wind hits my face, snow flurries drift into my hair, and I'm reminded that spring is a relative term that holds different meanings to different people. We gather our things and depart with the hotel's driver.
Everywhere birch trees. You could see them flying in, too, for as far as the eye can see. They fill the landscape amidst the fields, surreal forests of tall trees with white bark and long, spindly trunks reaching skyward. They're gorgeous & quite distinct... Below is a pic, and below that the Russian Red Army Choir singing about the birch tree...