aeroflot

October 1st, 2011, a happy day for many in China – National Day – going away day, not-going-to-work-this-whole-week day! Hence, not many people were really bothered by the extremely inefficiently run check-in line at Aeroflot’s desk at Shanghai Pudong International Airport because we were all going on holiday – or so we thought. Boarding was a little late too, but who cares – it’s vacation time!

On the plane people laughed and joked about not taking off on time because it is apparently customary for flight SU 528 to never leave on time. I did see some people freak out due to very short connections, and if you’ve ever visited Sheremtevo “Int’l” (really deserves quotation marks) Airport in Moscow, you would know just why one hour transit time would make you feel a little frustrated with your original flight being delayed an hour (and even without the delay, mind you).

It turned out we had been waiting for some passengers to finish their shopping – we actually went through passport control together, so I figured it must have been shopping or a very, very, very spicy chilli. You might be surprised, but I’m not angry at them anymore – more like grateful, I suppose.

We started taxiing to the lane and I dozed off, finally ready for my journey to begin, when all the lights went out except the emergency ones – not much of a reassurance. Their plane went straight back, the doors were unsealed, and more people boarded, but passengers they were not as they were wearing bright vests and dungarees. Nobody really knew anything, and that ignorance seemed quite genuine. Two hours after the scheduled flight should have departed, the passengers were beginning to feel a little… hungry – but still in a holiday mood, so no anger involved… yet.

The doors were sealed again, but nothing happened. They went unsealed again, a guy came on with a cloth in his hands and a slightly helpless expression on his face. We were asked to collect our belongings and leave. Outside the gate we got a nice view of our vessel – engine covers were open and a huge puddle of oil was underneath. Somebody said this had already been reported on the way from Moscow to Shanghai, but Aeroflot decided to save some money and try to go back and change the plane there – instead of sending an empty one all the way from Russia. Hail Chinese engineers and technicians who didn’t let us take off!

It took one hour for all passengers to get a silly piece of paper that entitled us to get out through immigration, and then reality kicked in. We got huddled up around the airline’s 8 square meter office and there were no Aeroflot representatives there, only airport employees. They told us to go to a hotel and wait for their call. Some did. Others demanded that their flights be immediately re-booked.

I stood in that office for 5 hours. We all did – no drinks or food, and going to the loo would mean you might lose your precious spot in the queue. People were sent to random cities in Europe – without a guarantee of having their connecting flight refunded by the airline – or in other words, with a guarantee that they wouldn’t. I got my ticket rebooked for the same flight two days later! No refund, no food, not even an apology, and God forbid it would be the same plane.

So, here comes the question – Should I Stay or Should I Go?

The answer is out there somewhere…

- Yvonne

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Summer: 2007. I’m flying back from a vacation to Russia to see my extended family. We manage to pick our way through a three hour journey to Sheremetevo, and start the 1.5 hour check-in process. As this was before I got my Nintendo DS, flights were long and boring, complemented only by SkyMall magazines and books on random subjects. 

As we were moving towards the gate, I noticed we were flying Aeroflot, Russia’s main airline. I was happy, considering it a change from Delta. As we came nearer, my brain went on red alert. I had spotted several babies, which I could dismiss as being an in-flight staple along with safety cards and barf bags. The other danger my brain had picked up was the ENTIRE U-20 (under 20) U.S. Lacrosse team. I was starting to ponder how this flight would turn out. Eventually we made it onto the plane. I occupied myself with a book on the Normandy landings, a time killer that managed to pass all the time between the boarding and takeoff, which was about 30 minutes.

I lay back and took out a cheap electronic toy that asked random quiz questions, turned the sound off and started to play. By this time we had reached cruising altitude. Suddenly I heard 3 simultaneous screams which, unlike your normal wails that are emitted from the mouths of babies every two seconds, sounded like 3 small demons cackling that they had just killed JFK. Their parents did not feel the need to shut them up, so they continued for the next hour or so before quieting down. I then felt the need to go to the restroom. I moved to the lavatory and found out that all the seats near the area (~35 in all) were occupied by the team of lacrosse players. I used the RR, quickly walked out as I heard the generic WHOOSH! after you flush an airline toilet, and walked back to my seat.

The next few hours were more of the same. Read SkyMall, listen to demon babies, eat, and so forth. After about an hour after “dinner,” I had to go use the lavatory again. I got up and made my way down the aisle. As I approached the lavatory, a 17 year old kid told me that the thing was plugged up. I laughed it off inside by brain and pushed the door open. The kid hadn’t been lying. I went back to my seat and continued the same old procedure for the next three hours.

We had finally made it to JFK. As our monitors started to show that we had just flown over Long Island, the captain told us: “Ladies and gentleman, we are currently going to be in a holding pattern over JFK for the next half hour since our flight has been mumble mumble mumble…” That really angered me since I needed to go and dispense of “dinner” now. I sat out the wait and landed in JFK an hour later. After baggage control and so forth, I made a bolt for the restrooms which, according to Murphy’s law, were plugged up. I finally found a working toilet and let loose. It just happened that, after I flushed the toilet, it plugged up. I’m serious. We dashed off to our connecting flight and landed three hours later, able to finally move away from the plane and into our home. I have never again flown Aeroflot .

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Rowdy Russian Flight

December 11, 2009

in Airplane Stories

Years ago on a flight from Chicago to Moscow, I flew the Russian airline in an attempt for not only cost savings, but to have the ill-thought thorough “authenticity” of my Russian experience. Over the next 12 hours I settled in at the back of the plane to try to get some sleep to try to dwindle down the time sitting in cramped quarters with sweaty non-deodorant wearing Europeans.

Apparently, while all if not most other airlines are now smoke-free, this was a “Smoke em if you got em” flight and most passengers had bought the duty-free cartons at the airport. If the smoke, vodka drinking, drunken sex by strangers (in the seat directly in front of me), vomiting, loud talking and dirty diapers weren’t enough to make this a flight from hell, then the near crash landing with fire engines and ambulances was sure to make this a memorable flight. Apparently Aeroflot Airlines runs with bald tires so every successful landing is a miracle – which explains why everyone was drunk and clapped like we had just survived a near death experience.

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Moscow, Russia

The narrow corridors of shops within the transit area offers thousands of copper cylinders on the ceiling peering down with constant video surveillance – the bustling and shuffling of designer footwear resurrects cigarette ashes into the air from the concrete surface. A twelve-hour layover in Moscow’s Sheremetyevo transit area has few advantages. You may choose to make your way to the Irish Bar for draft stouts or to the upstairs cafes where they serve the original Czech Budweis Budvar.

Shopping for perfumes, doing lines of Nescafe, chewing salmon caviar – trims fragments off the layover. On this day, en route to Bishkek on Aeroflot Russian Airlines, time seemed to slip away. Tourists usually stretch their legs or nervously smoke openly throughout this vast transit area. The stress of potentially lost passports creep into the tourist’s psyche; border agents hold passports until two hours from departure.

On this day, I noticed a young American couple arguing with a pear shaped female border guard – in an olive green uniform. They argued back and forth as they had done for hours; these two Americans chose not to enjoy the beer served on a faucet.

Neither American trusted their passports in the hands of the Russian. Their disgust for the Russian system and the childish squabbling is combating my boredom. The two Americans didn’t have a visa to enter Russia. They were en route back to America, but timing or weather held them in transit for two days straight. Another problem for them – their e-ticket wasn’t in the system. The Americans had no proof of a reservation and were facing another night in transit.

“No photo,” the border agent kept ordering. I’d heard this order to the young American couple as I passed by the station a few times. By the tone of their voices, I felt the show would soon be underway.

I just finished Sherman Alexie’s “The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven,” so I chose to drop my bags and exercise. Nine hours into my layover I needed a little action. “No photo;” silence overcame the bustling transit area as I heard the click of a camera phone.

As I glance over, the bullfaced border guard charged from behind the enclosed space to grab the American woman. “Now, you go to police,” as she snatched the camera and the American by her forearm.

A slight struggle ensued as the young American woman belts out this faux pas, “Don’t touch me, I’m American.” “You’re not in America, you’re in Russia now” snapped the border guard.

The American man came running to the woman’s defense. This hero tried to diffuse the situation as the Russian border guard hooked them both in a sumo wrestler style then pulled them both off their feet. All three heads hit the concrete floor; all I could hear was screaming and…“you crazy —– (well, it rhymes with witch).”

The border guard released the woman and latched onto the man’s throat with both hands while simultaneously scissor holding the man’s flailing arms between her thick thighs. The American woman slowly took to her feet and pleaded for the onlooker’s help. Gurgling and wheezing from the man didn’t seem to alarm the bystanders. The hold was effective – the female border guard disabled the man from moving.

The struggle continued as a few minutes passed then a short stocky policeman ran over to the scene. “Ought pusti te yevo,” the policeman ordered. The border guard released her grip and rolled off the American man.

The American woman continued to walk around frantically asking the bystanders for help. The man eventually took to his knees – coughed. He wobbled to his feet – like he just stepped off a rollercoaster. The glaze cleared from behind the man’s eyes, when the policeman approached with his club drawn “problem, problem…!”

“No, no problem,” the American man replied. Two more Russians approached in navy business suits, first speaking with the border agent and then with the two Americans. All four Russians shot looks around the area; like the other bystanders, I didn’t keep eye contact. I continued my exercise stretches as both well dressed worldly men consoled the hysterical American couple.

The American woman kept looking at me while pointing in my direction and mentioning “he saw everything.” I was completely unfazed by her claims that I would come to her defense. I didn’t even have my own passport in my possession.

After almost ten hours of transit in Sheremetyevo, I had endangered the phony ideal of an American. I’m only one in three-hundred million out of seven billion. Simply being born in America doesn’t automatically make me a hero. My only goal was to get the hell out of Moscow.

DING-DING THRONGUE – “Ladies and Gentlemen Aeroflot flight 182 Moscow to Bishkek is now boarding at gate number seven.”

Signed, RIG

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