In 2009, I was working in Dushanbe, Tajikistan and during that time I had a business trip in Bishkek, the capital of neighboring Kyrgyzstan.
Now, I don’t know if you have ever been to the “international” airport in Dushanbe. If you have, you can follow along and understand the situation and if you have not, well let me explain this to you. It was built in 1964 (I know this for a fact, it’s on Wikipedia) and therefore there is no actual gangway to board planes. You wait in the waiting area and a bus comes over to pick up the passengers, they call your flight, and the bus takes you to the plane. Simple, easy, no problem. Not a bad system and to be honest, I applaud the city of Dushanbe for not trying to rush and update their airport beyond the need. Yes, they are building a new one to accommodate Western flights, but honestly, if there is not enough traffic coming in and out of Dushanbe, then why screw with the system. It does receive several international flights from neighboring countries as well as Turkey, Russia, China and sometimes Europe. So basically it is being “updated” but still not “high tech” and “modern.” Good? Good.
So on my day to fly, I go it through security with little problem and go to the waiting area. It was a beautiful early autumn day; bright, sunny, not a cloud in the sky. Perfect day for flying. Now for this particular flight, I was booked on a local airline as because I was just going to Kyrgyzstan and this should be a short flight, it flew on the day I needed and it was cheap.
They eventually said something over the microphone and everyone in the waiting area got up to board the bus. At first I thought it was rather impressive that we were all going to Bishkek, but then I realized that they had called several flights and that the bus would drop people off at their various planes.
So as I’m on the bus, I’m watching the various planes that we pass on the airfield. “Turkish Airways – 737, nice, very nice. Aeroflot – new fleet, looking very good. A Tupolev – largest cargo planes in the world, like a small city with wings” etc. Of course, littered amongst the nice planes you there are always the “not as nice planes as well.” The types of planes that developed countries give to developing countries so that they start transporting goods and passengers (or perhaps to kill off some of the local population as evidently there is no maintenance equipment or training that comes with the planes). I’m pretty sure that “Air Afghanistan’s” entire fleet is made up of these sorts of planes. The interesting thing about the “Air Afghanistan” fleet is that it looks like it will fall apart in mid-air. In fact, I’ve never seen an Air Afghanistan plane that wasn’t being worked on at an airport. As soon as one lands, it immediately is shuttled off into a hanger for repairs. There was once a situation that there was a banging noise during the positioning for takeoff and looking out the window of the plane – and I swear this is true- that a repairman was working on a wing because the flap was stuck! My first thought was to start screaming “What is this? Abdul is still out on the wing! He can fall and hurt himself!” then I realized that he was working on the flap and thought “My God! Don’t take off before he fixes the flap. To hell with him falling and hurting himself! Let him finish or we all die! No moving the plane! NO MOVING THE PLANE!” Yet, I digress….
The bus keeps driving around the tarmac and letting people off and eventually we arrived at our plane – sadly. I write “sadly” as the “plane” was a vintage 1940’s – 1950’s twin propeller tin coffin held together with glue and rubber bands. I don’t know the type of plane; it could have been a Yakovlev, a Sukhoi, or something confiscated from Göring’s Luftwaffe, but whatever it was it should have been decommissioned with the death of Stalin. It’s not that I was expecting a 747 Boeing or anything, but I wanted to go OVER the Pamir mountain range, not zigzag through it or more importantly crash into it.
So as I stand in line to board the fast and mighty of Stalin’s finest, I look around and see a Russian pilot standing next to ground personnel outside the plane as passengers boarded. The pilot – oh, let’s call him “Vlad” – is casually standing there, has half his shirt tucked in, taking long drags on his cigarette and with heavy eye lids is checking out the female passengers.
Ok, let me point out some things that I think are important about this flight and well, flying in general. While I don’t work for the FAA, nor do I keep a maintenance and regulations book with me when traveling, I’m pretty sure that smoking on the tarmac, next to a plane is…well…WRONG! BAD! NOT GOOD! I personally do not want to die a fireball of death because “Vlad the inhaler” is a nicotine addict and won’t wear one of those “quick fix” patches at work.
Point two. Instead of “checking out” the passengers…why not “CHECK OUT THE PLANE!?” I mean, if anything, TRY to look professional just to humor the passengers. Kick the tires. Wipe the windows clean of the bird feathers that have smashed into the plane from previous flights. Feed the gerbils so that they don’t stop running in their little wheels that will keep the propellers moving. I can only assume that Vlad’s disinterest in the plane maintenance was based on a) his sincere and extreme confidence that “Old Olga” would get us there alive b) he had a secret death wish as his life was now denigrated to just shuttling people back and forth from Dushanbe to Bishkek and he didn’t care who he took with him to his grave or c) he a parachute with him in the cockpit, so to hell with the passengers. Regardless, anything to install confidence in the poor bastards that will be ferried over the mountains of Central Asia would have been greatly appreciated!
Beginning to question the decision of taking this particular flight, I decided to just relax and enjoy the occasion. “This…this is an adventure” I told myself. “This will be fun! Enjoy the experience! Why look at this plane! It’s amazing! This is a plane of history! This is a plane that may have seen action. This was a plane that must have been designed by the most highly decorated midget in the Soviet Union as the door and insides were much smaller than they looked from the outside. I’m not a particularly tall man – not even 6 foot, but I could barely get myself and my backpack through the rabbit hole sized door and proved it as I damn near knocked myself unconscious trying to do so.
“Not often I have to climb through the window to board a plane” I joked with the stewardess as I tumbled into the plane rubbing my head.
Unmoved by my attempt at humor she stared at me “put bag in overhead and sit down.” She actually said this in perfect Russian, but for effect I hope you are reading this with a Russian accent.
The “overhead” that she was referring to was an open shelf above the seats that could accommodate a thin sandwich and perhaps four sheets of paper and nothing more. Definitely not room for my backpack. So I decided to try and put it under the seat in front of me.
“I said “put bag in overhead”” she explained to me again
“I know, but there is no room in overhead. Overhead too small”
“Put bag in overhead!”
*sigh. Ok, fine, I stand up to demonstrate the logistical problems of measurement with her request.
“Sit down!”
“But…my bag…”
“Sit down!”
So I sat.
“Put bag in overhead!” she ordered
So I stand to put bag in overhead
“Sit down”
So I sit
“Put bag in overhead”
Get the picture? We did this Abbot and Costello routine for about 3 minutes before she finally became so infuriated that she took the bag from me. I initially thought she was going to throw it off the plane, but then she tried to put it in the overhead herself. After several minutes of the stewardess playing “round hole – square peg” with my backpack, trying to cram the bag into a space that would make hamsters claustrophobic, she relents and gives me the bag back.
“Bag no fit”
“No kidding? Any suggestions?”
“Put bag under seat in front of you”
“Good idea”
So, with “bag in seat in front of me,” I get ready for the flight. Seat in upright position? Check! Fastened seat belts? Check! Vlad in the cockpit and not groping the passengers? Check! I didn’t actually see Vlad so I assumed that he was in the cockpit not groping passengers or anyone else as I looked out the window and on my left I saw the propeller spinning at full speed. Good – the engine is working. Then I look out to see the engine on the right…sputtering with black fumes coming out – honest to God. Glancing back and forth at the engines like a rapid fire tennis game, I came to the conclusion that something was amiss here.
“What the…? Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Wait! That’s not good! It’s supposed to be the like the one left! What’s going on?! We’re not going to try and take off now, are we? Nooooooo!”
And we did.
 | |
| The Pamirs from above |
“Water!” Oh joy. The stewardess came back.
“s-s-sorry?” I sleepily stuttered.
“Water” she repeated.
Again, this is a situation where I’m not sure if that is a question or observation of the obvious. Looking at her outstretched hand I wanted to say “yes, it is,” but assumed that she was offering it to me and took it, drank it and returned it. Now to relax….
“BANG DIDI BANG BANG WAAHH IIIII NI!”
“What the HELL is that?!” I shot up almost jumping out of my seat.
Evidently there was onboard flight entertainment and for this journey was a CD of the best of Hindi classics from 1967 played at FULL EAR BLEEDING BLAST VOLUME! I can only assume that it was played at this decibel to cover up the numerous engine malfunctions.
Eyes squinting with pain “can you please turn it down?” I tried to ask the stewardess, who was thoroughly enjoying the Hindi Super Hits of yesteryear.
“No. CD player broken and this only volume”
“What? Well then, turn it off”
“No, passengers like it”
I looked around the plane to verify this only to see people giving the same pained expressions that I was. “Passengers not like this! In fact, I think that man over there is having some sort of seizure from it. Passengers want to rest. Turn it off”
She didn’t.
Admittedly, after an hour or so of having the windows vibrate from the blaring CD, the prospect of the plane going down and crashing into the mountains seemed much more appealing and the overall flight much less terrifying.
The time in Bishkek was equally interesting, but I’ll save that for later…
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