Lola Smirnova - Twisted

I was optimistic, thinking that nothing could be worse than two days on a thirty-year-old boat full of passengers and at least half of the crew who were hammered into a critical condition.

I was mistaken…

The first thing that shocks us is the size of the airplane. It looks more like a bus with propellers and wings. Then we learn that smoking is permitted onboard – anyone who wishes to have a drag can go to the cargo section at the end of the aircraft and enjoy a cigarette.

Faster and safer…? Hmm… I guess the only thing I didn’t slip up with is the ‘faster’ part – this definitely looks to me like a pretty fast way of kicking the bucket.

Despite this, the flight to Nikolayev goes well and we get home in one piece. Two days go by very quickly. Before I know it I am in a cab, going to fetch Inna on the way to Nikolayev to fly back to Istanbul.

As we arrive and head for the check-in, the woman at the counter looks at our itinerary and says that there are some problems; before she can issue our boarding passes we have to go to the office to sort them out.

Inna and I exchange annoyed looks and without any further comments head up the stairs, following the woman’s directions. There are at least another seven already stressed passengers waiting in the reception area. From their conversation, we learn that the airline has overbooked the flight by selling at least ten extra tickets; now they are trying to decide who to leave behind.

Unfuckingbelievable! Classic bullshit!

We finally get approached by one of the airline staff. A short, ball-shaped woman with ridiculous combed-back blonde hair, who looks as if she went to sleep in the 70s, stayed in a heavy slumber for 30 years and, for some unknown-to-mankind reason, woke up this morning, forgot to look in the mirror and came to work.

‘There was a mistake in the system and the flight is overbooked. I am very sorry. We are trying to do everything possible to fix that, but it’s the airline’s decision that the passengers who paid for their tickets in Ukraine are first in the line to get on board.’

‘Bullshit!’ This was not Inna talking; it was the spirit of the six-pack of beers she’d guzzled in the cab on the way to the airport, complaining that she was scared of flying. ‘It’s unacceptable! We’ve paid for our fucking tickets! No matter where we did so, we have the right to be treated the same way as others!’ Inna is already screaming while looking down at the teased white mop. It is clear that Inna is about to lose it for real. The woman takes a small step back and starts babbling, ‘Don’t worry, girls. I will make sure you get on this flight.’

While tipsy, Inna is trying to explain to the woman how unfair it is when people get divided, and that this is pure discrimination, and while the woman in turn struggles to calm Inna down, I overhear a conversation between the check-in staff we saw earlier and one of the crew members. Turns out that the airline has decided to take all 60 passengers instead of 50, to make more money. The flight is also very much overloaded, exceeding its cargo weight allowance.

What the hell? Why can’t I just find an inexpensive but civilised way of traveling?

I freak out but decide not to tell Inna – no one knows how she will react to this piece of information.

As we get checked in and go through security and passport control, we walk into the waiting area, which has a funny sign – ‘Накопитель’ – on its entry door. I am sure that this white and blue board has been there since Soviet times, and I find it quite difficult to translate or explain to the part of the world that doesn’t speak Russian. Instead of simply naming the waiting area ‘waiting area’ or ‘departure lounge’, the sign says ‘Accumulator’, meaning that the area was designed to gather travellers before boarding. But the nature of the word and its usage gives the passengers a feeling that they are not humans, but a flock of sheep that needs to be restrained.

It has such a communistic flavour – ‘From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs’. [22] Karl Marx, The Critique of the Gotha Program But it always happened that people’s needs were reduced to the point of absurdity. For instance, when the rest of the world had been using Pampers since 1961, the greatest and the most powerful country in the world wouldn’t even consider producing a similar item. To make its people’s lives better or more comfortable was never a part of Soviet policy. Up until the end of the 90s, we were using swaddling clothes or napkins.

Same story here… the preposterous sign leads to the waiting area filled with uncomfortable and half-broken wooden chairs, dirty toilets, and a dodgy kiosk selling cheap vodka and instant swill that can hardly be called coffee, both served in awful plastic cups.

Classic!

This attitude touched every aspect of people’s lives. The level of technological development, including utilities for the home like washing machines, dishwashers or microwaves, medicine, and the auto industry, was low and shamefully backward. Nothing was ever done to improve the living conditions of the regular Soviet citizen, because it was always assumed that he or she needed basics and nothing more.

The word ‘Накопитель’ on the doors of the waiting area is a perfect example of the quality of life that we Soviet folk had through all those years. We were brainwashed puppets, who actually believed that our country was the best in the world, and that it gave us the best living conditions possible… ever!

Arggh… pathetic…

Nevertheless, it was not the end of our shocking trip; the low point was the actual boarding. The procedure is different from anything you’ve ever experienced before: the passengers walk across the apron to the aircraft, carrying their own luggage. As they approach the plane, they have to lift their bags and pass them to the man in the cargo section. And now for the best part: imagine this process when all the travellers know that there are ten fewer seats on the plane than the number of people about to board. Ha! Unforgettable scene! As soon as the ground crew leads us out of the building, all the passengers (excluding Inna and me, of course) start a race to get a seat.

Oh my fuck!

Inna and I continue walking, experiencing a culture shock. ‘What’s wrong with these people?’ I can hear from Inna’s voice that she’s quickly sobered up. ‘Are we in a war zone or something?’ She continues her comments while pulling her luggage through the thick, tall grass. We are the last to get on board. Sweating after the walk and the battle with our bags (the cargo door was higher than our heads), we finally get on board.

‘Can I see your boarding passes?’ the young flight attendant approaches us with a welcoming smile and confusion in her eyes. ‘I am sorry – there are no more seats available…’

‘We can see that,’ Inna interrupts, calmly, but with a hopping-mad expression on her face. ‘Shall we make ourselves comfortable on the wing?’

It’s funny, but no one smiles.

‘Would you mind going to the cockpit? Unfortunately it has only one folding seat, but you could share, and the flight is only an hour and a half. I am really sorry for the inconvenience.’

‘Fantastic!’ Inna throws, and heads to the front. As we walk down the aisle, we notice that some people are sitting on each other’s laps, while a few have settled themselves on the floor near the toilet at the back.

Despite all this, the flight goes smoothly and we get to Istanbul safely.

Alleluia!

I switch on my cellphone to a text from Alexandra. ‘I believe you are back, girls. I will need both of you tonight. Call me back as soon as you can.’ I show it to Inna, who frowns, lights a cigarette, and mumbles, ‘Back to work…’