…where all the gas masks from world war ii went, then i can tell you that aeroflot bought them. when the stewardess donned hers for the safety demonstration before the flight, she looked like she was ready to toss a cs canister down the aisle and hijack the plane. the only thing that offset this impression was the way she cackled throughout, laughing at the idea that knowing where the emergency exits were could possibly save you from the impending death guaranteed by a flight on aeroflot. she did not even pretend to check we were all wearing our seatbelts – not that i could as mine was broken. in fact, everything on the plane was broken – seats, signs, televisions and english. naturally, this all helped to create a millennial style party atmosphere, and as we stuttered off the runway everyone was in oblivion-inspired good spirits – i wouldn’t have been surprised to see the grim reaper somewhere at the back, feet up, happily sharing a drink with his neighbour.
somewhere over
last year,
- following bus 11 o’clock
- she says following bus 11 o’clock
- i see, and where does it leave from?
- bus go trees, tree circle, bus there
- she says bus go trees, tree circle, bus there
- bus in trees?
- yes
- she says yes
after 20 minutes negotiating the kind of maze usually found in greek myths, i managed to exit the airport and get to the front where, naturally, there were no trees, arranged in druidic circles or otherwise. i wandered about and found the remains of a timetable flyposted in the gloom to concrete some 10 feet above my head. my ‘lonely planet’ guide intimates that russian timetables are more like crossword clues than clear displays of information but, even taking this into account, i was sure that the last bus had left town about an hour ago. i wondered about getting a taxi, not that there were any, but i remembered the advice of the woman next to me on the plane – ‘whatever you do, do not get a taxi, they steal from you and worse. always get a bus’. it was as this was sinking in that a man with a cap pulled low over his face came up to me – ‘taxi?’
i spent the next half an hour vainly asking bus drivers if they were going to sheremetyevo-1 while the man in the cap followed me about like jackals crowding a lame antelope. faced with a choice between being murdered and missing my connecting flight, i naturally chose the possibility of violent death and we haggled over the price:
- how much?
- 700 roubles
- that’s too much
- 700 roubles
- ok then, let’s go
as we wandered over to a darkened corner of some forgotten car park (no doubt the new departure lounge) i felt about my person for potential weapons. thanks to the security at heathrow, my motorola was as lethal as it got. if he was armed with anything more unpleasant than bad manners it was going to be an unfair fight. i decided to disarm him with my winning personality:
- do you like football?
- football?
- да, вам нравится футбол?
- футбол? ах, гацца!
- гацца?
- да, гацца.
- ah! gazza! yes! a man who retired from the game over a decade ago, how very topical you are. scorchio!
- scorchio?
- never mind. гацца!
- да, гацца!
we could have gone on like this for hours if it hadn’t been for the fact that my new friend had some kind of ‘speed’-like device in his car which meant that he couldn’t drive at less than 100mph and we soon arrived at sheremetyevo-1. abandoning the car practically inside the entrance lobby, he got out with me, guided me to the check-in desk through the bosch-like scenes that make sheremetyevo-1, rather than 2, the worst airport in
by the time another gas-masked stewardess had finished her routine about sick bags and death, i was asleep. i awoke to the sounds of polite applause – looking through the window i could see
