Sometimes there is an confusing difference in what you expect to feel and what you actually feel.
Shannon airport Ireland, October 5th 1982.
The crew of the Ilyushin 62 climbed up the steps and entered gingerly, leaving the drizzle and low cloud to someone else.
Captain Koftinoff, First officer Menchev and Flight Engineer Lemkov. Each dressed sprucely in full blue blazered correctness with military style hats positioned on their heads - extra starch.
Body language reserved and purposeful, eyes darting about in hesitant anticipation as they placed their polished shoes upon the carpet.
"This is our view" exclaimed Captain Rogers, sweeping his arm as if to reveal the cockpit consoles of the Pan Am Boeing 747 - the aircraft they would command to New York JFK in ninety minutes time.
The Soviet flight remained tired and weary after it's arrival from Havana thirty minutes previous.
The American crew happy to extend the hand of friendship to their aeronautical counterparts. Not exactly kicking a football in no man's land on Christmas Day but some sort of small gesture between people instead of principles.
Welcome to our world, it's not too different from yours, is it?
No words and small gestures - the Soviet crew nodded and smiled.
Thoughts censored even to themselves. Unable to reciprocate.
Was it cold in there?

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