I can only imagine what the Russian stewardess (who spoke no English) was screaming as she elbowed her way through the throngs of passengers who were no longer in their seats and had jammed the aisles, desperate to open the aircraft’s rusted door for disembarking. At 2:15 am, as our rickety (the nicest adjective I could muster) plane bounced down in Moscow in a random remote airport, I too felt her ire.
The plane which was taking us from Istanbul to Moscow was way cheaper than any registered airline, and so trying to save some money, and convincing Tandi that all airlines must pass FAA regulations, we handed over the money for the flight.
And after a short three hour delay, the call came for boarding. Initially I didnt think that not being able to pronounce the name of the airline, nor for that matter read the crylic name on the aircraft (still unknown), was to be an issue. But when we looked around in disbelief as we boarded the 1940s plane, we should have been more concerned.
So the plane filled with people – laden with shopping bags of all sizes, and as people still standing and milling around packed the aisles, the plane pulled away from the gate. Now I have seen safety demonstrations before, but having difficulty seeing the hostess (not to mention not understanding the language) because of the people still standing and shmoozing in the aisles, and watching the grinning lad who was pulling faces behind the air hostess as he stood leaning against the toilet, it was a performance to remember (I did manage to see that the oxygne masks though come out of the seat back on front of me and not from above the seat like other planes).
After a few Russian salads, and that knee still pressed into my spine through the thin plane seat, the plane was starting its descent to land at one of Moscows (again unpronouncable) airports. This was obviously the sign for people to fire up their mobile phones, start removing their bags from the overhead bins and head to the door. By the time the creaky planes wheels touched down on the runway, all the passengers had jammed the aisles (holding on for dear life as we touched down) and were yelling at the hostess in return as she tried to get to the door.
Finally the door opened, and with a resounding thud as the first line of queing passengers were literally trampled by the rush of passengers rushing off the plane for what seemed like a half-yearly sale, I too decided to join the flood and like a good fellow Russian passenger, elobowed and shoved my way to the 2 hr queue welcoming us to mother Russia…
