Aeroflot Odyssey

The boarding advice at Gatwick (not an audio-call, but visual advice only, by way of the wall mounted closed circuit TV monitors) was brought up at approximately 1630 for a flight departure of 1800. I proceeded through Departure Control (passport control and security), having previously been advised that duty free purchases could be made only at Gatwick – duty free as the West recognises it is an unheard of institution within the Soviet Union – to the holding lounge (departure gate). The lounge was just that – it ‘held’ passengers, the majority of whom seemed somewhat reluctant to seat themselves in the still available seats. I was to discover why soon enough. The first boarding call was made and those who knew better than I (the majority, apparently) bolted forward, across the elderly and the infirm, to be first on board for the choicest seats. The lack of seat assignments restricted those willing to stand back to the aisle, centre, or cramped bulkhead seats. Shades of France’s Air Inter!

Access to the aircraft was down the terminal staircase, across the ramp and then up the mobile passenger steps. This was my first time in such close proximity to a Soviet airliner and I was overawed by the sheer physical bulk of the Tu-154. Equally awe-inspiring was the size of the rivet heads protruding above the surface of the fuselage and the wing, each with its telltale sign of black greasy dirt trailing beyond the heads themselves! The blue fuselage stripe passing through the door welcomed my touch the paint work, thick and rippled, actually rubbed off on my fingers! We were welcomed aboard by a stout and somewhat shy hostess (one of three plus a steward) who, in stilted English, directed passengers to the forward cabins first. The interior of the 154 (three plus three abreast seating) was slightly grubby smoke stains and fingerprints appeared to be part of the overall picture of gray dullness and generally scruffy surroundings. The all enveloping heat did little to alter first impressions. Careful inspection of the seat back pocket in front of me divulged nothing. No safety briefing card, no motion discomfort bag, and certainly no inflight magazine.

Once all passengers were seated, the cabin crew commenced their preflight safety briefing. An apparently ·embarrassed hostess half heartedly demonstrated the life jacket and pointed to the escape exits – beyond this advice, nothing· else, ·· The crackling, hardly audible English explanation was simply overwhelmed by the noise of the Kuznetsov engines turning. · A hurried check under my seat revealed . . . nothing! Not having made any mention of the emergency inflight oxygen supply or availability of masks, I assumed the crew’s omission to have been an oversight, but search as I might above my head at the overhead panels (even the top of the seat back in front of me as aboard the DC-10) there apparently did not exist anything even remotely akin to an emergency inflight oxygen supply. My question to the hostess later concerning the missing life jacket and the lack of oxygen supply brought about what was to become the customary Aeroflot response of ‘shoulders shrugged’.

English language newspapers were made available by the crew, their editorial content heavily slanted to the degenerate way of westerners and extolling the virtues of life in a country I had, until now, only ever read about.

Pushback from the terminal was made at exactly 1800 and the long, noisy, bumpyjourney to the runway commencedat a speed not unlike that of our subsequent takeoff . . . the three engines roared into maximum takeoff power and we rattled down the runway sounding much like three caterpillar tractors chasing us. Once airborne, aircraft turns were very severe and numerous; presumably, the volume of traffic in the area was substantial. However, perfect weather conditions prevailed, while the obvious sensation of vibration did not reduce noticeably until well into level flight. My aisle seat, located in the rear cabin just forward of the wing leading edge, afforded little outside view, but considering the shear discomfort of the seat itself I became too preoccupied with adjusting my position every few minutes to even concern myself with the simple pleasures of flying, such as ‘a room with a view’.

Approximately one hour into the flight, the crew commenced to serve a meal, preceded by a small glass of lemonade-tasting juice. Each crew member carried approximately 15 to 20 meal trays cradled in their arms, each tray about half the size of those utilised aboard most Western carriers. No style, but every passenger had a meal before them within ten minutes. The cold, main part of the meal consisted of ham and cheese with olives and potato salad – quite edible, but hardly filling. Biscuits, cheese and dry milk powder were positioned on the tray, along with a plastic cup and cutlery. Tea and coffee was served (once only) from the largest pots I have ever seen aboard an aircraft the contents of one pot alone appeared ample to serve all passengers in a single cabin! Oncethe meal service was completed, the crew appeared to relax but still remained a little shy, somewhat aloof, and certainly unwilling to spend any time with individual passengers. Even the sale of bar items – spirit miniatures (limited supply), no wine, and cigarettes – brought about little crew/passenger interaction. For the final two hours of the flight, no crew appeared in the cabin at all.

Perhaps the initial heat within the aircraft cabin was too much even for the flies, but the subsequent cooling of the atmosphere approximately half way throughthe journey certainly brought the creatures into prominence – they were everywhere and remained so throughout the duration of the flight. As has always been my practice aboard an unfamiliar aircraft, hvandered around to check out surroundings. I was surprised to find half way along the aisle that the carpet had left its floor attachments and crumpled up into a pile. While passengers were obliged to walk over the mess, and not a few made some thwarted attempts to straighten it, the crew members themselves deftly side stepped he obstacle or simply jumped over the threadbare pile. A danger to passengers during normal flight, one could only wonder at the problems this would cause during an emergency evacuation. My successful circumvention of the carpet took me to the rear of the aircraft where the manually operated evacuation slides caught my eye. In current (and not so current) Western commercial airliners, evacuation slide and rafts are located within containers attached to the doors which operate automatically when the door is opened in the emergency mode. No so with the Tupolev apparently. Aboard the 154, the slide had to be physically removed from its stowage (a tall box like container situated forward of the door taking up the place of a passenger seat), then thrown out of the door. Two crew members would then descend the inert slide and pull it taut to its maximum length, while passengers jump into the slide to evacuate.

Approximately 30 minutes prior to landing, our descent started in darkness into Moscow’s Sheremetyevo International Airport. A brief and barely audible announcement was made to stop smoking and to secure seat belts, but no personal check was made by the crew. Right up to the time the aircraft pulled up at the terminal gate, numerous aisle seat belts could be seen hanging over the armrests, swinging in the aisles along with passengers sound asleep in seat backs still fully reclined. Offloading started immediately the doors were open- rear cabin first, followed by the forward cabin passengers, a procedure the crew were most insistent upon. Walking along a long, narrow airbridge brought us into a recently constructed terminal, surprisingly quiet except for our flight. Immigration clearance was a long and laborious wait, controlled by very young military officers who operated computers of some age, if the time required to await the return of each individual input was any indication. Customs was the fitting anti-climax of the day- cleared straight through, no questions asked!

Wednesday, 29 August: Moscow Vnukovo (VKO) -Samarkand (SKD); Tupolev Tu-154B SSSR-85140; 1,739mi (2,800km), 3hr 15min

Vnukovo Airport, Moscow’s major domestic airport, opened in July 1941 and served as the international airport until Sheremetyevo took over 20 years later. Set in pleasant country surroundings, a 50 minute coach ride from our city centre hotel, the airport was ‘guarded’ by a Tupolev Tu-104A. Time, unfortunately, did not allow closer inspection. Once inside the terminal, the view outside made up for the aesthetic shortcomings of the interior. From the second floor viewing deck, combined with a restaurant, there was a magnificent view of the ramp area containing at least 40 aircraft, the majority tightly packed in, wingtip to wingtip, with an additional aircraft nosed in towards the two opposing ones. Aeroflot Tu-154s dominated the scene, with a smattering of Tu-134s, Antonov An-24s, Ilyushin ll-86s, and an occasional 11-18 four engined turboprop. Every aircraft was attended by mobile passenger steps with the exception of the Ilyushin 11-86, self serviced by built-in lower fuselage stairs. Looking like a pregnant Boeing 707, the 11-86 appeared to be the noisiest type, causing violent vibration to the double glazing in the terminal each time one taxied out.

Our transport from the terminal to the aircraft was aboard an elderly coach and the now familiar scramble for a seat with a view predominated, though in this case all foreign tourists were boarded first, followed by the somewhat bewildered-looking ‘local traffic’. Our departure, as became the norm, was exactly on schedule. Four cabin crew: two male, two female, and once again no preflight emergency briefing, safety cards, sickness bags, or drop down oxygen supply. A cold meal was served approximately one hour out from Moscow- small, but adequate – metal cutlery this time! Individual cups of hot water were brought by the crew on trays to each passenger: simply insert the tea bag from the meal tray into the cup; no second refills, and no coffee. Soda water cum Pepsi was also distributed in what appeared to be reusable plastic glasses.

As always, nature’s call called, so a visit to the rear of the aircraft became important. Fortunately it was only of the briefest nature, for had I required to take my seat, so to speak, I fear I would have become a permanent fixture of Aeroflot, The wooden toilet seat (wooden, I think, but underneath all that ‘contact’, who could tell) was cracked in so many places and literally, so filthy that one understood the flies’ preference to remain in the cabin rather in this den of appalling sanitation, Obviously, one of our fellow passengers, an Uzbek I assumed by her dress, had flown before, for she possessed a child’s ‘potty’ which her young son made liberal use of at his seat. Why she bothered I was not quite sure, for what should have gone in simply made its way onto the seat, side wall and floor!

On arrival at the Uzbek city of Samarkand, just a few hundred kilometres from the border of Afghanistan, we were again instructed to remain on board until directed to leave, cabin by cabin. Not, I discovered, for the convenience of passengers in the rear cabin who disembarked first, but because of the requirement to maintain the delicate balance of the aircraft. This fact was later revealed in a quieter and somewhat humorous moment by our tour guide! Outside, in the warm evening air, my attention was drawn to the presence of over a dozen Antonov An-24s parked on the apron and, behind on the grass, perhaps 15 An-2 bi-planes, some in Aeroflot colours, the balance in khaki finish with a single red star on the tail. The silence of the still night air was momentarily broken by a Yak-42 overflying the airport, surprisingly quiet, but with three streams of thick black smoke pouring from each of its jet pipes.

Friday, 31 August: Samarkand (SKD) Bukhara (BHK); Antonov An-24 SSSR-46256; 137mi (220km), 1hr 00min

Our 0630 arrival at the airport, crowded with locals waiting for numerous domestic flights, was the prelude to a one and a half hour wait prior to the departure of our flight to Bukhara. The early arrival seemed to signal something of a more intense security search, bearing in mind the proximity of the Afghan border, but this dwindled to no more than a cursory check of hand baggage. We were then shunted upstairs to a holding lounge. Foreign tourists attract the most attentive scrutiny from the local populous. some of whom gave us the ‘once up and down’ from less than a foot away. The lounge was liberally sprinkled, as were all the airport and hotel lounges, with political propaganda leaflets (published in a number of foreign languages) extolling the virtues of the communist path, with equally liberal condemnation of the wayward West. One interesting aspect of the propaganda, however, was the display of black and white and coloured photographs of the history of the substantial role of aviation in the heart of Central Asia.

Our call to the aircraft, made by our tour guide (as always). brought us into another holding area (for want of a better word. . . ) where we again awaited a further call for ground transport to the aircraft. As we milled aimlessly around again, attention was diverted by a decidedly noisy Kamov Ka-26 helicopter, parked on a grass verge some yards away from the terminal, which was in the throes of an engine start. Clouds of thick white smoke belched from orifices on eitherside, and the intermittent coughing of the elderly specimen suggested immediate assistance was required. However, following 15 minutes or so of impossibly difficult turning of the two engines, the noise and smoke ceased, two crewmen casually departed the scene, and the lame craft settled back to its isolated existence.

After another ride-standing room for the majority, seats for the few-we boarded the Antonov through the small rear left side door. An aircraft externally similar to the Fokker F27, the cabin could not have been less like its western counterpart. No individual overhead reading lights, call buttons or fresh air vents, the usual lack of safety information, even a twisted and mangled carpet again. My seat, 1A, afforded me what can only be described as the single most uncomfortable seat ever allocated me aboard an aircraft. The wafer thin seat and back cushions were held together by a three inch diameter pipe which fitted nicely into the small of my back. Looking out of the window and back towards the landing gear strut, I was less intrigued to discover one of the two tyres completely treadless, while the other sported a relatively recent retread of a decidedly uneven nature. At least those on the starboard strut matched!

Our takeoff run was short, followed by a vibrating, slow right hand turn back over the desert airport. Our one hostess remained seated with a magazine for the entire flight, brushing the custom- ary flies away with a rolled-up copy of Izvestia, or was it Pravda? The only break from the monotony of the outside view was the appearance in the cabin of one of the four scruffily dressed flight crew-armed with a pistol. As we were later to discover, all flight deck personnel appeared to be armed, and obviously so. Our descent into Bukhara brought no perceivable change in engine pitch, indeed, right down to landing there appeared to be no alteration to engine noise whatsoever. As the aircraft turned at the end of the runway to retrace its landing run, there was a thunderous crash from behind the forward cabin door. Once we stopped at the terminal and the door was opened, we discovered the result of the noise-all the luggage had fallen out of its side stowage onto the cabin floor. Ignoring the calamitous pile, the crew simply stepped among and over it to enter the cabin. We were delayed by the standard demand that passengers remain on board until the propellers had ceased turning completely. Once in the warm morning air, we tramped across the tarmac to the exposed ‘country style’ terminal area. A broken down concrete path led to a few shabby tables and chairs situated between the clumps of grass. Amongst neglected grape vines hanging precariously to ancient timber frames was a solitary water tap standing upright out of the ground. Apparently the only concession for airport refreshments. After the bags were loaded onto the exposed back of a flat top truck, we stepped across an opendrain, through abroken gate, and onto the coach. Our initial drive into town took us past the perimeter of the airfield, revealing numerous Antonov An-2s and a single four engined air force An-12 freighter. At the end of the runway, there were numerous sand coloured mobile radars, each in operating order.

Sunday, 2 September: Bukhara (BJK) – Tashkent Yuzhnyy International (TAS); Antonov An-24V SSSR-46316; 280mi (450km), 1hr 50min

A 1310 departure for Tashkent brought us out the customary one and a half hours early to the airport. A delightful day, we were able to wander outside and mix with the locals, all of whom eyed us with some suspicion, each unsmiling and each intent upon keeping his place in line. Once again we, the foreign tourists, were shunted off to the aircraft ahead of the locals. A personable young fellow seated himself beside me and proceeded to strike up a conversation. Unfortunately, his command of English and mine of Russian complimented each other, and so we sat in silence for the remainder of the flight.

Our taxi run at Tashkent Airport, almost destroyed, as was the city itself in the 1967 earthquake, revealed the single greatest number and variation of aircraft seen throughout the tour. We wheeled through dozens ofTupolevTu-154s,Tu-134s, (one in the colour of Hang Khong Vietnam), Yak-40s, Ilyushin ll-62s, ll-86s and ll-76s, plus about 20 Antonov An-24s. Adjacent to a runway was a solitary, dramatically drooped wing Antonov An-22 Cock, a giant four engined turboprop. Its patchy paint on one side was matched on the other by several new, unpainted panels. Of the numerous Tu-154s parked at or near the terminal, at least eight were being serviced outside with engine covers removed, one with its centre engine being removed by a fork lift truck!

One of the most noticeable features of Soviet airports is the non-existence of specialised aircraft servicing equipment. Most vehicles are unmodified, or simply crudely modified flat top trucks. Even tractor tugs appeared to be only slightly altered trucks with push-pull tow bars attached to the front bumper.

Tuesday, 4 September: Tashkent (TAS)- Leningrad Pulkovo International (LED); Ilyushin Il-62 SSSR-86681; 2,092mi (3,370km), 5hr 00min

Our ride to the airport today was silent, the long faces of the group evidence of near mandatory cases of upset stomach, headaches, and the Soviet equivalent of ‘Delhi Belly’. Check in was again well away from the local travellers and was orderly. although there was another long wait before our guide ushered us downstairs to the waiting coach to the aircraft. At the foot of the mobile stairs stood the domestic travellers, none allowed on board until we foreigners had boarded. This time a pleasant surprise awaited our entrance to the aircraft. A slim, smartly attired hostess with appropriate wings emblem on her jacket and hat (the first seen) greeted us with a sincere smile-but oh no, those hirsute, stockingless legs!

Considerable time was wasted by locals unable or unwilling to take just any seat. In fact, two male passengers were seconds away from physically assaulting each other when our demure hostess confronted the pair. Her thunderous foghorn instructions left neither the contentious pair, nor any other passenger, in any doubt as to who was in charge. Hardly a lady like approach, but one that could be adopted in the west, considering the uncouth, ill mannered behaviour that a few passengers inflict on flight attendants these days. One of the greatest assortments of passenger hand baggage ever boarded was evident in this cabin. Open buckets of grapes, string bags of melons- as many as eight per bag and each probably weighing two to three kilo-grams each. One passenger apparently had no suitcase; his clothes were simply held together with string and thrown over his shoulder. Infants simply sat upon parents’ knees.

The cabin, the first to resemble a Western jet, had grey walls with somewhat darker colouring for the seats. Perhaps this was because this 11-62 had been once operated by Egypt Air. The seats, which were quite comfortable by previous standards, had individual air vents and reading lights, neither especially strong. but both adequate. Open faced luggage racks were located above the seats with a baby hammock slung beneath one of them. Of the four cabin crew, the two stewards were more scruffily dressed and down at heel than any seen on any previous flight, with no visible proof of their Aeroflot employment. For the meal service, containers in the galleys were positioned across the aisle in order that passengers could not move from one cabin to another, an arrangement that remained for three hours. This time, the aperitif was a pear tasting. Pepsi like juice. The meat portion of the meal, served on lukewarm rice, was 90% fat although, apparently as a concession to the poor quality, it was wrapped in a slim slice of salami-shades of ‘where’s the beef”! The usual cups of hot water cooled somewhat by the time they were distributed and then the tea bags, once placed in the cup. did not die their natural death, they simply floated above the water line. The sugar cubes dropped to the bottom of the cup and retained their shape, unstirred by vigorous use of the spoon, As one of our tour members was particularly unwell with ‘Lenin’s revenge’. I asked our English speaking guide to request a member of the crew to perhaps offer antacid tablets, salts, or even administer oxygen. She laughed heartily, “what can the crew do?” No assistance offered, end of story!

Following the collection of the meal trays, the Faston Seat Belts/No Smoking signs were illuminated for the duration of the flight, memorable for its lack of turbulence, clear blue skies and non-appearance of the cabin crew. Therefore, the remaining three hours or so were spent locked into the seat-no movie, no reading material, and no inflight audio entertainment. About two minutes prior to landing I looked back into the galley area. Two, maybe three, crew members were seated on the meal containers, happily eating. And there they remained until the aircraft pulled up at the gate.

Saturday, 8 September: Leningrad (LED) – London Gatwick (LGW); Tupolev Tu-154B SSSR-85423; 1,317mi (2,120km), 3hr

Today was looked forward to by many of the group. Sickness and boredom had taken its toll during the two weeks of art galleries, museums, concerts, circus performances and sightseeing. The prospect of commercial fast food never looked so good. To hell with the cost, the sight, the smell, or the fact that we were about to consume the thirty-five billionth hamburger – anything was going to be better than the apology for food we had downed for a fortnight. But first, there was one more Aeroflot meal to face before we reached London, or simply go hungry.

Our journey to Leningrad’s Pulkovo International Airport was made in a hushed funeral silence. But mere sight of the terminal was enough to induce brief conversation to the effect that at least home was just a few hours away. Our 1300 arrival was followed by a 45 minute wait for our bags. What had happened to them was anyone’s guess as no official explanation was forthcoming when they finally did show up. Total, supreme disorganisation reigned once we were ordered into line to undergo a customs baggage search. Aside from the fact that the marshalling area was far too small to accommodate such numbers, there

Aeroflot: The World’s Largest Airline

Aeroflot is more than an airline, it is air transport in the Soviet Union. The present name for the Soviet Civil Air Fleet was adopted in 1932, and apart from the transport of passengers, mail and cargo to well over 3,500 communities in the USSR and to 126 foreign destinations in 98 countries on a scheduled basis alone (1989), it is responsible for all aviation activities for agriculture, fishing, forestry, pipeline patrols, fire fighting, aerial surveys and air ambulance. In addition, Aeroflot is responsible for civilian air traffic control and airport operations, navigational services, flying clubs and training, air transport research and development, and operates an extensive hotel business.

The Soviet Union is the largest political state on earth, stretching from the Baltic Sea to the Pacific Ocean, from the Arctic Ocean to the Black Sea. Its 15 republics are home to nearly 290 million people speaking over 100 languages across 11 time zones. Not surprisingly therefore, Aeroflot’s fleet is vast, with approximately 16,000 aircraft ranging from crop sprayers and small helicopters to fourjet transports.

Until 1988, Aeroflot consisted of the Ministry of Civil Aviation, headed by former Air Force colonel general Alexandr Volkov, 29 directorates of civil aviation (one for each Union republic, 13 for the Russian Federation and one for international routes) and two corporations. Operations were conducted by 235 ‘air enterprises’ and ‘united air detachments’, or companies. But Mikhail Gorbachev’s perestroika reforms brought about a number of changes and the directorates have since gained corporation status with performance and budget now related, and profits retained instead of passed to the State. Within the directorates, the companies have become ‘structural units’. However, the aircraft fleet is still controlled by the Ministry of Civil Aviation.

Individual aircraft are assigned by the ministry to the directorates for All-Union air services, the term used to cover trunk routes and selected segments within Union republics and districts operated to a central timetable. The International Directorate, based at Moscow Sheremetyevo, is the primary carrier for cross border traffic and has around 100 aircraft assigned, including Tu-154s, ll-62s, ll-76s, ll-86s, and Tu-134s with Airbus lndustrie A310-300s on order. However, other directorates are also now allowed to fly internationally. Local services are operated within the boundaries of a republic, region, or district by the directorates. Some of these services, particularly in the Far East and Siberia, are the only mode of transport available. In addition, Aeroflot operates large numbers of scheduled holiday flights to the Black and Caspian Seas and the dividing Caucasas area, in addition to operating helicopter air taxi services, and all cargo and mail flights.

Gorbachev’s policy of glasnost or openness has revealed more horror and humorous stories about domestic travel. Service is either non existent, or bad, whilst staff are notoriously rude and arrogant. And despite nearly 3,000 transports assigned for domestic services, 15 million Soviets were reportedly unable to buy tickets last year. Would-be travellers are advised to apply for seats six months in advance, with even then having only a slim chance of obtaining a reservation within a few days of the preferred date, let alone at the preferred time. There’s also no need to worry about having an up-to-date timetable handy, because Aeroflot doesn’t publish one for local services. When they are available, schedules appear on billboards at booking offices. However, the ‘who cares?’ attitude appears to be changing, at least for international services, and recently Aeroflot revealed an American-style marketing campaign in the US

appeared to be too few airline representatives to control such a crowd. When it came my turn to have my bag x-rayed and subsequently searched, I unwittingly caused great consternation for the customs officer. Apparently coins I had placed in the outside zip cover of my suitcase warranted closer inspection, the export of certain Russian coins being an offense. A hurried and embarrassed explanation that they were valueless ‘Novahyah Zyeelahndyeeyah’ coins was sufficient to send me on my way.

A minor obstacle course around, through and over knee high barriers took us to a set of stairs leading to a holding lounge and ‘duty free’ shop. Seating, as in any airport we’d been in, was at a premium, with three passengers often sharing one seat. A surprisingly expansive view from the upper floor of the terminal looked out across the ramp to over 20 Tu-154s and numerous ll-62s andTu-134s – each parked away from the building and serviced via mobile stairs. Several Antonov An-24s were lined up across the runway, along with a mixture of types, including helicopters, some with the red tails of Aeroflot’s Polar Directorate.

An attractive crew of four greeted us at the aircraft after the final coach ride and, as with all previous departures, this one was exactly on time. The desire to return home was somewhat conspicuous, if the silence in the cabin was any yardstick by which to draw a conclusion. Even the meal service attracted little attention and most passengers simply sat back and read or dozed. The sale of a small selection of cigarettes, chocolates, some alcoholic beverages, playing cards, dolls and shawls (all at astronomically inflated prices) broke the monotony of the flight, but little money seemed to change hands.

Our arrival at Gatwick brought about a half hearted cheer, and as we taxied to the terminal I leant across my fellow travellers to view the scene outside. The green grass, the neat rows of brightly coloured aircraft, and the business-like movement on the ground brought us all back to our reality. Home at last!

Aucklander Wayne Knight is a flight attendant with many years experience in the industry.