Aeroflot to Russia: Where Time Flies and Anything Goes

By Linda Smolkin, Guest Contributor

When I was planning my first trip to the former Soviet Union, I needed the advice of an Eastern European specialist. “What’s more important – cost or comfort?” the travel agent asked. When I told her cost, she quickly answered, “Aeroflot is the way to go. It’s much cheaper than flying with other airlines.”

For no good reason, I wasn’t crazy about flying the Russian airline. But, as long as I didn’t have to stand up or fly the plane, I was willing to try something new. Anyways, if something did happen to me, my mother would never have to work another full-time job in her life – I mean, that’s what life insurance is all about, right? I confirmed the trip and mentally prepared myself. What I could never prepare for, though, was an unusual, unforgettable adventure.

I called my friend Diane, who had visited Russia several times. I told her about my dream becoming a reality – I was finally going to Russia. She threw in some advice about where to go, but when I told her about flying with Aeroflot, suddenly there was silence. I could practically hear blini, Russian pancakes, drop. Finally Diane said, “Aeroflot? Don’t you mean Scare-a lot? I wondered about her comment, but then I thought, how many times had I read anything bad about Aeroflot? Not once. In reality, I had more chances of being struck by a car or by lightening. Or, being stabbed in the heart by future ex-boyfriends.

I received my ticket about two weeks before my departure. That was when I learned – or forgot to ask – about my seven-hour layover in Ireland from 3 a.m. to 10 a.m. I decided to stay positive. It wouldn’t be so bad. For seven hours I would entertain myself. I would read, people watch, drink Irish whiskey, and reapply my makeup 25 times.

My departure date arrived and when I walked onto the plane, I was warmly greeted by the flight attendant. At first, I couldn’t find the numbers, so I just picked an empty seat. Trying to sit down was almost impossible. I squeezed through a row of men and flinging limbs. “I’m not in the mood to play twister right now,” I mumbled under my breath. My carry-on bag fit halfway underneath the seat and my legs were packed to the side. Perhaps I could hang my legs outside the window. This would not only be more accommodating, but it could come in handy in the event of an emergency landing. I finally got situated, put my head back to relax, and finally found seat numbers. Of course, they were in plain view – on the ceiling about two feet above eye level. But, I hit my lucky number; I sat in the right seat.

When we were in the air, things started to really look up. As soon as the no-smoking and fasten-seat-belt lights went off, the passengers let loose. Forget the usual passenger-sized liquor bottles. The Russians were prepared to party. The man in front of me took out his own bottle of vodka and started pouring drinks for everyone around him. They toasted every shot and continued the camaraderie with friends and casual acquaintances. It was definitely a mix and mingle, but without the chasers. The flight attendants served dinner about an hour and a half after takeoff. They poured wine and then served a huge dinner with beef, potatoes, salad and a dessert that could trigger a sugar-induced coma. Not only do the Russians know how to drink. They know how to eat. After dinner, I slept for a few hours and awoke with only minutes to my first touchdown in Shannon, Ireland.

Everyone, except for me, continued to Moscow on the same plane. I had the dreaded seven-hour layover in Ireland. Time passed slowly as I started reading and people watching. With only three other people in the airport, my favorite pastime drew to an early close. I dove into a deep sleep and after awakening, I aired out my makeshift pillow and boarded my next flight to Minsk, Belarus. The second plane was much smaller, only able to hold about 50 passengers. But, I had no complaints; I was one of the seven passengers on the plane, including the pilot, co-pilot and two flight attendants. Russian music blared and I was getting really excited about my trip. I wanted to sing and dance up and down the aisle. I was ready to party Russkie style. They played great Russian dance music and served more food during throughout the three-hour flight. The best part of all – we landed in Minsk exactly on time.

After spending ten incredible days in the former Soviet Union with a last stop in St. Petersburg, I boarded my plane back home. I lucked out this time with an excellent seating arrangement, with my seat in the first row. Finally I could stretch out for a long flight. Once the plane took off, people began to party as no surprise. The vodka flowed, the food was served and the crowd was caught in a deep cloud … of cigarette smoke. What really caught my eye, though, was a man carrying a big bundle of joy. The bundle, which was at least 35 pounds and quite hairy, was no frequent flyer. The man was carrying his dog up and down the aisle while chatting with several people. Definitely not a lap warmer, the pooch was large enough to have her own seat and a Russian meal for two. But, nobody seemed to care. They were too busy enjoying life and having lively conversations.

Before I had time to miss all my new Russian acquaintances, we touched ground. As I walked through the terminal, I started to think about all the stories I’d tell my family and friends about my adventures – which included Aeroflot. I would tell them how the flight attendants had more personality than any others I’d seen. I would tell them how they offered tons of food, served free wine, and how the bathrooms were incredibly clean. The flight was unlike any other I’d encountered and was a trip I’d remember with a smile. That is, until I said those famous last words at the baggage carousel: where’s my luggage?