"I still ask myself what Protasevich charmed me with." Sofia Sapega's big interview — part two

— How was it living with security forces in the same apartment? Did you talk to them?

— Yes. They were on duty for a day at a time, then they would switch. Most often, they were the same people. Some were more detached, saying, "we are just doing our duty." Others tried to interact: "Are you painting a picture? Let me see." At some point, I no longer perceived them as enemies; we were simply on different sides of the barricades. But "Alfa" officers are not GUBOPiK officers: they behaved much more professionally and politely.

— How were your days under house arrest? Could your parents visit you?

— My parents could see me, but only with the investigator's approval. And the investigator, in turn, followed the KGB's instructions. It was a woman – I no longer remember her name. But I vividly remember her extended butterfly eyelashes (laughs).

Read: Sofia Sapega: Protasevich talked so much about me that he filled an entire volume of a criminal case — first part of the interview

Life under house arrest was quite monotonous. Roman was forbidden to go outside because his face was much more recognizable than mine. But I could go out once a day under guard to the store and just walk around the house.

At that time, we were still allowed to drink alcohol, and we periodically used it as a way to escape reality, if only for a short time. I couldn't take antidepressants or tranquilizers, go to a psychologist, or openly talk about what was happening to me. And alcohol seemed to be the only accessible way to at least temporarily dull our thoughts. So we lived, trying somehow to cope with what was happening. All of this lasted, probably, two or three months.

— Gradually, Roman and I had a severe deterioration in our relationship. And then something terrible happened. It was late October. Morning, Roman was still asleep, and I woke up and decided to scroll through Instagram. I took his phone (we had one for both of us) — his page was open, and I saw his correspondence with his ex-wife. I read her replies to his messages, her sending him photos of lingerie, herself, her body — and in my head, I kept thinking: "What the hell are you doing? Where do I go now? What do I do? How can you betray me like this?"

In normal life, I would just pack my things and leave. Without long explanations or attempts to figure anything out. But here, I was a hostage. I had no opportunity to slam the door and be on the other side of this story. And today, when I face crisis circumstances, I first try to get out, step away, catch my breath. I need to physically be outside of what is happening to at least somewhat compose myself. But then, I was forced to stay within the situation.

That day, the tension, helplessness, and feeling of betrayal finally broke my psyche. I repeat, I couldn't go to a therapist, talk to my mom, or leave. And even less so with Roman — I felt disgusted talking to him. And sleeping in the same bed was repugnant. All this pain began to weigh very heavily on me. I couldn't hold back and drank a lot, silently, alone, with a stone face. I probably drank about two bottles of wine. I didn't want anything more. The person who was supposed to be my partner had betrayed me; we were supposed to support each other.

 — Were you able to discuss it somehow?

— I finish drinking the wine in the kitchen. He walks in, and I tell him: "Why didn't you tell me? Why are you doing this to me? We're both under arrest together. Well, okay, if everything were resolved — then you could correspond with your ex-wife. You don't need to do this in front of me now." He tries to deny it and leaves.

Then the biggest madness I had ever committed occurred. The window was open (and it was the sixth floor). I'm generally very afraid of heights. But then it just didn't matter anymore. I sat on the windowsill, dangled my legs outside, and was ready to jump. I don't know, perhaps I should thank the people who were passing by. They were walking diagonally to another courtyard — a mother, a father, and a child. And I realized that I didn't want them to see it, for the child to watch me fall. So I waited for them to pass. And they walked so very slowly, just incredibly. And at that moment, I was pulled back from the window.

— KGB officers?

— Roman first. He came into the kitchen, started screaming, and then the KGB officers ran in and pulled me back. It's clear they weren't doing it for me — they were probably saving themselves from problems.

After this suicide attempt, they realized that keeping Protasevich near me was too dangerous. And he had already given them everything they needed.

So, a week later, I was moved to my parents' apartment in Lida. They were evicted and lived in a house outside the city.

Of course, I knew nothing about being prepared for the move. It all happened very abruptly. One day, we were sitting, playing Uno, trying to behave simply like acquaintances who found themselves in the same trap. Strange, isn't it?

At some point, my investigator (the same woman with the butterfly eyelashes) comes in and says: "Get ready." I had literally fifteen minutes. Roman and I did everything in a hurry, so some of my belongings remained in that apartment. They haven't been found to this day, including valuables.

That same day, I was taken to the Investigative Committee, where I signed papers for the transfer. Then the Grodno riot police took me to Lida. Special thanks to my family: they prepared everything, took care of everything, even stocked the refrigerator with literally everything they could fill it with.

But for me, all of this was a huge stress. I know nothing, there's no connection, they explain nothing. They talk to me as if I'm not a person, but just some commodity that needs to be moved from point A to point B.

From late October, I lived in Lida. I was still allowed to go for a walk for only one hour a day. From the outside, it looked quite absurd: I was in a bulletproof vest, next to me was a woman and a man with pistols, a little further away were two more police officers, and behind them was a police "bobby car." Can you imagine such security? As if I were the president's wife or an especially dangerous criminal.

At first, I thought: "What a disgrace!" Especially since this is my home yard, the street where I grew up. Of course, such a situation was embarrassing. But over time, I got used to it and began to perceive it all with irony, almost like a joke.

I met the New Year still in the apartment in Lida. And, despite the circumstances, we even managed to create a festive atmosphere: two officers and I set the table, turned on New Year's programs. There was no open aggression or hostility between us, so the evening passed quite calmly.

In the spring, I was moved to Grodno – the trial was supposed to begin there. I lived in a service apartment of the local riot police, whose officers constantly guarded me. To monitor me, the security forces installed a camera in the baseboard. But this idea failed. I knew where it was, and sometimes, out of spite, I "accidentally" hit it with a broom.

"My family paid about 70 thousand dollars in damages to the allegedly injured security forces"

— The court session was closed. Did they explain why?

— It's difficult for me to recall the official reasons now, but it seems to be standard — too intimate details about security forces.

Павялічыць

All sessions lasted almost a month: I was brought daily under guard to the Grodno Regional Court. The case was heard by a judge and people's assessors. As a result, I was found guilty under Article 130 of the Criminal Code (Incitement of social hatred) and Article 179 of the Criminal Code (Illegal collection and dissemination of information about private life).

However, there was not a single victim present at the trial. Except that Protasevich appeared as a witness. Shameful.

— How did he behave in court and what did you feel at the moment he gave his testimony?

— By that point, I had no respect left for him. He was called into the courtroom, I felt him nervous, but he kept saying everything I had already learned from the volume dedicated to me. He didn't even dare to look at me. Only after the interrogation was over did he fleetingly glance in my direction.

At the same time, the security forces filed civil lawsuits for compensation for moral damages. I am very grateful to my family: it was my loved ones who bore this financial burden and paid about 70 thousand dollars in claims.

— There was information that a total of 223 people were recognized as victims in the case, and 78 of them were to be paid monetary compensation for moral damages.

— Yes. I rejected some of the claims because not all of the posts were made by me personally — my partner and I worked together. In court, it came down to us dissecting whose post was whose.

— Who was the highest-ranking security official on your list?

— Almost immediately after creating CKB (Black Book of Belarus), I started managing regions — Vitebsk, Gomel — and then moved to Brest. Most of the lawsuits were from ordinary OMON officers, traffic police, and other units — they all allegedly suffered greatly, experienced moral anguish, and wished me the harshest punishment.

The most telling moment (and probably the most offensive) was when they showed a post with a video where a traffic police officer was behaving unlawfully towards protesters. And this one officer filed a claim for 5000 rubles, even though his violation was clearly documented.

— During the hearings, were there examples presented where police officers suffered physical harm after the publication of their data in CKB?

— Not at all. Even unlike "Karatseli Belarusi" (Punishers of Belarus), "Black Book of Belarus" was always aimed primarily at documenting and publishing information, not at inciting people.

"If Sapega ever comes to my house, my hand won't tremble"

— Did you expect such a long sentence — six years?

— I had already thought about it. For my parents, of course, it was unexpected. But I myself was somewhat prepared for such an outcome. My parents even packed a bag for me with clothes and food, albeit with faith in the best.

After the trial, I was taken to Grodno prison. If anyone is interested in how it's organized, go to Lukishki prison in Vilnius — they are very similar. Then there was the Baranovichi pre-trial detention center, and from there I was transferred to the women's colony in Gomel, on Antoshkina street.

The transfer itself was very difficult. In a "compartment" for five or six people, there were 12 of us. Neither I nor my parents understood that I shouldn't take so much food, clothing, and other things with me. I had to carry all of it myself. As a result, I dragged incredibly heavy bags behind me. When I first found myself in the colony's quarantine, I was met by the DPNC (duty assistant head of the colony). "Oh, oh, we've been waiting for you! Hello, let's move!" he said as if I had arrived not at a colony, but at a closed summer camp for adults.

— Were you treated any differently in the colony?

— I was a personal enemy to them because my job was to expose them and publish information about their actions. Naturally, they didn't like that.

I remember an episode when one of the women in the colony was talking to the head — at that time it was Colonel Dzianis Tauscienkau — and pleaded for me: "Please, don't touch her, she behaves normally." I really tried to behave calmly, rather even detached. I saw no point in conflicting or proving anything to anyone unnecessarily. I needed to survive, get out, and maintain the ability to do something later.

But Tauscienkau's reaction to this request was completely unexpected. He formed his fingers into a pistol shape, made a shooting gesture, and said: "If Sapega ever comes to my house, my hand won't tremble." To this day, I don't understand why I would even come to his house — to drink tea, or what? Not that I had such a desire (laughs). That was the whole absurdity: such statements and situations constantly accompanied me in the colony.

Another great disappointment was how strongly accustomed human values were twisted there. Everything that seems natural in freedom — love, support, hugs, simple human empathy, the ability to treat someone with understanding — could become a reason for punishment in the colony. For showing feelings or intimacy with another person, you could end up in SHIZO (punishment isolation cell). By the way, I came out as a malicious violator of order. Here, I'm definitely my mother's little troublemaker.

And it's still hard for me to grasp this contrast. How can a person who gave orders that led to people being beaten and tortured then return home, hug their loved ones, kiss them, and live a normal family life? How can one even separate these two sides of oneself — what you do to other people, and how you behave with those you love? For me, it's completely incomprehensible.

— Did you end up in SHIZO?

— No, I didn't.

— Were you lucky?

— Not lucky — they were afraid.

— What did you do in the colony?

— I worked on a special machine. Made rivets, fittings, buttons, fasteners, etc. Special machines are usually given to those whose brains work a little faster, whose psyche is more stable. But I also learned to sew there. Finally.

— What is it like to realize that you will spend the next six years behind bars in such conditions?

— I was already prepared for almost anything, but I still didn't believe that I would have to serve the entire sentence.

Павялічыць

And then that very day arrived — June 7, 2023. I was brought with all my belongings to the so-called checkpoint, the reception point, and they said: "Well, did you play enough?" I decided that they were going to extradite me to a Russian colony because a request for extradition had been submitted. By that point, it seemed like there was nothing left to lose, so I was absolutely calm emotionally about everything that was happening.

They still tried to scare me, saying that now they would send me to the third squad. Before that, I had spent the whole year in the ninth — the entire time I was in the colony, I was kept exactly there.

— What kind of third squad is that and why were they threatening with it?

— I don't know why, because the ninth was considered the most unpleasant, it was considered a press squad. The girls tortured each other, practically. Once a girl with a yellow tag ended up in our squad. She openly went against the system: she refused to work and, in principle, did not want to obey or accept the established rules. For this, she had to pay dearly. From the very first day, I tried to gently explain to her: "You're still so young. Please, just get through this time. You have a year and a half left on your sentence — you'll get out, and all this will be behind you. You'll be able to live on, do whatever you want. Just don't torment yourself more than necessary here." But, of course, she didn't listen to me. She was younger and, apparently, wasn't going to put up with what was happening.

It all ended with her one day, in front of everyone, including those who cooperated with the administration, calling our operative officer — at that time it was Alexander Kuznetsov, I hope he's having a hard time there — an asshole and an incompetent moron. Someone among the women conveyed these words to him. That same evening, the girl was taken to the utility room (a storage room for belongings and food from relatives) and beaten. I still remember her screams.

— Do women beat there?

— Yes, for me it was also a kind of shock. It seemed to me that if we all ended up in the same boat, we should at least try to negotiate and learn to coexist, so that it would be a little easier for everyone. After all, we could have tried to make our life there at least relatively comfortable.

I never felt that I was better than the others. I didn't walk around with a crown on my head and didn't consider myself a representative of some higher society among people who could be called outcasts. I treated everyone equally, with respect, and it seemed to me that this was completely natural. That's how it should have been. But no.

— Did you know that your fate was being watched by the Kremlin, and the circumstances of the case were at the level of Lukashenka and Putin?

— I generally didn't know what was happening outside the bars. What processes were underway, who was calling whom, who was talking to whom.

Once, a KGB officer blurted out, "Imagine, your fate is being discussed at such a high level." But to me, these were just words. It's one thing to hear that Lukashenka and Putin are interested in you, and quite another to understand that it actually changes something. I had no way of verifying this information or seeing how it affected my life.

Павялічыць

My entire world back then was very small. Essentially, it was limited to letters from my mom. And even those were taken away from me at some point.

— How was your first day of freedom?

— Rather unemotional. That day, Tauscienkau called me by my first name for the first time. Not "Sapega," "bitch," "animal," and other favorite words he bestowed upon me throughout the year in the colony when he summoned me to punishment commissions. I understood that I would be released, but I felt neither joy nor euphoria. Inside, there was emptiness. I was just waiting to finally be let out.

As it turned out, even that partly turned into a kind of show. A girl emerges into freedom with dead eyes, in simple clothes, trying to speak, shake hands, mechanically say thank you. Frankly, from the outside, it probably looked quite awkward. That same day, I flew to Moscow.

"I still ask myself what he charmed me with"

 — How did you meet Roman Protasevich?

— It's important to know one thing about me: I actually had an eating disorder. For several years, I was very thin: at a height of 171-172 centimeters, I weighed only 46-47 kilograms.

At some point, my life almost completely revolved around my relationship with food. I was interested neither in men nor in any other aspects of life. It seemed that I only had food, constant thoughts about it, and an endless struggle with my own hunger.

Over time, I began to try to get out of this state, because I realized that it could all end with me simply dying. My teeth started crumbling, my hair fell out, my body was exhausted. It seemed that almost nothing was left of me except this constant hunger and thoughts about food.

And then I thought: maybe I should try to start a relationship with someone to switch focus, to direct my attention to something beyond this endless struggle with myself. That's how Protasevich and I started dating — quite by accident. In 2020, somewhere in September or October, we gathered with a common group at the "Biblioteka" bar in Vilnius to meet after being separated by COVID, taste different beers, and finally talk. And he appeared in this company that day.

— Did you know he worked for NEXTA?

— Yes, I knew who he was, but I wasn't particularly interested in him. And then we met, and it turned out we had a lot in common. We laughed a lot, talked, and I found him truly interesting. By nature, I'm a sapiosexual — I'm attracted to intelligent, erudite people, and Roman was indeed an interesting conversationalist. There was chemistry between us. At that time, he had a girlfriend, but I didn't know about it.

I lived separately, and he was then renting a hotel room in Vilnius. COVID restrictions were still in place, everything was quite uncertain. And, probably, two or three weeks after we met, he moved in with me.

— Did anyone tell you negative things about him?

— No. Not at all. During that period, everything happened so chaotically that it was difficult to figure out who was who and whom to trust. It felt like we were all in the same boat, but we ourselves didn't quite understand who was in it. And, it seems to me, that played a cruel joke on us.

Павялічыць

— What did he charm you with?

— I'm still asking myself that question, and I don't have an answer yet. I really love men who are smarter than me: more erudite, who know how to present information interestingly, captivate with conversation, make you think. Roman is truly intelligent. But at the same time, in my current opinion, he is morally weak. Perhaps if he hadn't been so weak in that sense, he would have been here long ago.

On that day when I thought I was going to be killed, that I was going to die, it never even crossed my mind to go to the security forces and say, "I'll tell you everything now." I had no such desire. But Roman, as I understand it, did. And on the day I was taken to Akrestsina, he went to the Investigative Committee and stayed there almost all night.

— You mentioned that your relationship started to fall apart before May 2021. Why was that?

— I wanted to break up with Roman even before we returned to Vilnius. I couldn't stand his indifference anymore. I'm the kind of girl who needs attention: to be talked to, to spend time with, to feel like I'm a priority for the person. I wanted our relationship to be more important to him. 

— How did you find out that Protasevich got married, and how did you feel?

— I was already in the colony when the operative officers, with obvious pleasure, informed me of this news. They literally gloated: "Ha-ha-ha, look at this! Enjoy!" I was very hurt. Not that Roman still interested me. It was more pain for myself. I felt sorry for myself and didn't understand how one could be so dirty with another person. It was hurtful how it all happened, as if I had been made a fool of. And, probably, what affected me most was precisely that — not so much that he got married, but how I was treated. Although the news of the marriage right after the verdict seems more like a farce.

— Roman recently got married again. What do you think about that?

— I found out about it from my mother literally recently. She sent me a message about his marriage and wrote something like: "Imagine, what a laugh." And I replied: "Hmm, indeed quite funny. I haven't had a single marriage yet because I approach this issue very carefully. And Roman is already married for the third time." At the same time, I am confident that a very well-thought-out plan stands behind all of this. At least, that's the impression I get: everything is too precisely timed, scheduled, and sequenced. It's hard for me to believe that it's all just a random coincidence. 

— Did Roman's self-perception change somehow after the mass protests in Belarus, or his interview with Russian blogger Yuri Dud?

— Yes. He had a period when he thought he was underestimated, and undeservedly so: "I've done so much, I'm such a great guy, I do everything well?"

— And what did he want?

— Recognition, to sit in Tikhanovskaya's Office and say how things should be done. But he wasn't allowed there, and that's why he had such trauma.

— Do you have an answer as to why, let's say, he went from being a fighter against the regime to a propagandist? He even got his own show on STB, where, in his tuxedo, to the music from the James Bond film, he "reveals the secrets of those who fled."

— Thank God, I haven't seen that. To James Bond music and in a tuxedo? Oh, the shame.

— Are you disappointed in Roman Protasevich?

— Absolutely. I don't want to delve into radical feminist reflections, but experience has shown that women in similar circumstances can be much more resilient and principled. At least, my own experience makes me think so.

— In letters to your parents that appeared in the press, you wrote that Roman was a victim. Do you still think so now?

— Yes, he is a victim. But not like victims of domestic or sexual violence. He is, in my opinion, a victim of his own weakness. I feel sorry for him because he made a decision that, I believe, was fundamentally wrong. And I feel sorry that he didn't find the strength within himself to accept his fate. If he had come to terms from the very beginning with what he thought awaited him, if he hadn't tried at all costs to avoid the scenario he painted in his head, perhaps he would have gone through this path more or less with dignity.

I remember once talking to my father about Roman. I was indignant: "How can you betray people like that? Don't you understand that they will also be imprisoned soon?" And my father replied: "Sonya, when you start betraying, you betray all the way." You can't do it halfway here. If you went for it, you essentially crossed the line. Then he said another phrase that I remembered well: "You, Sonya, you kept quiet, you got what you deserved, and we pulled you out."

And I regret that Roman didn't make a different decision. Perhaps then there wouldn't be hundreds of people who now harbor hatred for him and want him to answer for his actions. It seems to me that the Belarusian special services are still treating him quite leniently. Perhaps they understand that he might face serious danger in prison: too many people have suffered as a result of his actions. It seems to me that he will come to a bad end. But I never wished him ill. Despite everything that happened, I don't want anything bad to happen to him.

— Don't you think he had to do it because he was under immense pressure?

— No, at least not more than everyone else.

— Maybe he has an option to fix the situation somehow?

— I don't think he can fix anything anymore. I once tried to imagine myself in his place. And it turned out that you're a stranger here, and there, in Belarus, you're also an enemy and also a stranger. So where is your place then? Nowhere. You're not accepted in Europe, nor in Belarus. And, it seems to me, that cannot be changed anymore. No matter how hard you try, no matter how you twist and turn, no matter what right words you choose, no matter what they want to hear from you — it won't change anything. You will still remain a stranger.

— If you saw him now, what would you say to him?

— I would just walk past him. I wouldn't say anything. I have neither anger nor aggression towards him — just emptiness and a slight pity.

"I call myself an emotional giraffe: everything reaches me much later"

— The last news about your fate after the pardon was in 2023. At that time, it became known that you flew to the UAE, and then to Thailand. What happened next?

— Indeed, I flew from Moscow via the UAE to Thailand, because my father has been living there permanently for over ten years. He rarely returns to Russia; he has his own affairs there, but I have nothing to do with that.

I spent about nine months in Thailand. And it was wonderful there. It was as if I simply walked out of one door and into another — crossed the threshold, that's it. No special emotions, no worries. As if nothing had happened.

I call myself an emotional giraffe: everything reaches me much later. For over a year, I didn't cry at all — not a single tear. And only when Alexei Navalny died and I listened to his wife's speech, something resonated within me for the first time. Then I shed a small, but still, tear. It was too painful to watch the speech of a wife whose husband had died.

— When did the realization of everything that had happened come to you?

— The first six or seven months in Vilnius, I felt normal. And then — it hit me. Everything that had happened seemed to start catching up with me. I had the most severe depression. I felt that I was left alone with all my pain, with everything I had experienced. I didn't understand what was happening to me and how to cope with it all.

— How did you overcome it? Many people fall into alcohol addiction... What helped you?

— I cannot say that I haven't had breakdowns and falls or that I have completely overcome this. Rather, I am learning to live with it. One day, I realized that I couldn't cope on my own anymore and I needed medical help. I had to admit that you can't just take and force yourself to forget everything that happened.

Gradually, I started to return to normal life: working, forming relationships, dealing with everyday matters. What helps me is having people around me with whom I feel safe, and the fact that I'm starting to have my own plans for the future again.

And I'm also very close to a phrase from "The Handmaid's Tale": "Don't let the bastards grind you down." I guess that's what I live by. I don't want everything that was done to me to ultimately deprive me of the rest of my life as well.

At the same time, everything that happened has deeply changed me. I've become tougher, sometimes even more aggressive. I've stopped being a "good girl" for everyone — the one who tries not to offend anyone and is willing to endure discomfort for the sake of others' comfort. Now, if I'm treated badly, I can respond. I no longer have to be silent, smile, and pretend that nothing happened.

I also started returning to the public sphere more or less recently. Now I don't avoid meetings with political prisoners, I'm not afraid to appear on camera.

Before, I constantly thought about who would see me, what they would say about me, and what it could lead to. But now I'm just tired of living with those thoughts. It's destructive. I don't want to hide anymore. I'm not afraid anymore. I don't care.

— What accusations were you afraid of before?

— I was afraid that they would start accusing me of things I didn't do. That I allegedly betrayed people. I was afraid that some stories would be spread about me, that all this could affect my parents and that they would also face problems because of me. Therefore, I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, not to appear in public unnecessarily, and not to draw attention to myself. But at some point, I came to the conclusion that I couldn't live my whole life in fear of what others would think or say about me. I can't control other people's words and accusations, but I can decide how I live my own life. And when I realized that, it became much easier.

I can't say that I'm living some ideal dream life now. An immigrant faces their own challenges: language, documents, finding a job, the need to rebuild life almost from scratch. But all of this is much better than living in a country where you can't even peacefully gather with other people and clap your hands without fear of consequences. I don't want to go back to that kind of life.

— Where do you work now? Did you get a job in your profession?

— No, and it's unlikely I'll ever be able to confirm my diploma in practice in the near future. Here, it's the Lithuanian language, Lithuanian law, a different legal system. To work as a lawyer in my specialty again, I would probably have to spend another three to six years on studies and qualification confirmation. I'm working now, but I'm not earning much money yet, and most of our expenses are covered by my boyfriend. But at the same time, I have enough for my "wants," and that's already good. It's important for me to have my own job and my own money.

Yes, yes, I'm in a relationship now. My boyfriend is wonderful: he understands me even when I'm silent and don't explain anything, and he also cooks wonderfully. So I've already gained five to seven kilograms (laughs). In general, three in one: beloved man, best company, and personal chef.

My plan is to study interior design. I understand that artificial intelligence is gradually taking over all areas, including design, but I think I have taste. I like to invent, combine colors, work with space. I want to try myself in something new.

Павялічыць

I'm also raising a dog. So I have things to do besides work (laughs). It's a golden retriever. I got her from a breeder and only later found out her name was Sona. What a coincidence.

— Do you know that you are a well-known person in Europe? Your and Roman's portraits with a call to free you hung in airports.

— No. I didn't know until now (smiles). Seriously?

— Yes. And haven't you noticed people recognizing you on the streets?

— Yes, sometimes. There was one such case. I had an early flight from Vilnius to Georgia. I was sitting in the waiting area and noticed a young man looking at me too often and intently. After we landed, as we were waiting for our luggage, he approached me and said only one phrase: "You have a very beautiful surname."

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