year three ...

“So … welcome back, Mr. Nerd, to the land of the perverse and the perplexing. Are you sure you’re ready for another year of this?”

That, in case you’re wondering, was the voice of the universe. Specifically, it’s what the universe seemed to be saying to me as Yuliya and I ran madly towards gate G1 at Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi airport, to board flight KC932 to Kazakhstan.

Running beside us was an airport employee, looking extremely worried. “Hurry Up! No time!” he kept urging us, in the manner of someone who fears the wrath of a superior and has reason to think that said wrath may be close at hand.

Yuliya and I did our best to keep up with the guy, though we were a little confused as to why the situation had suddenly become so urgent. Our plane wasn’t due to take off for another 35 minutes, so when we’d heard our names read out over an airport PA system in close proximity to the words “final” and “immediately”, it had come as something of a surprise. But when a uniformed official repeatedly says “You have to get to the gate right away!”, and you’ve paid $700 each for the flight, you tend to adopt a ‘run now, ask questions later’ approach.

This flight was part of an international move, so we had a ridiculous number of carry-on items with us. After going through security and passport control, we’d grabbed two of those miniature trolleys you can get in some airport departure lounges to help you carry around your extended family of little bags. We were pushing those frantically in front of us now.

As we got closer to the gate, a random thought surfaced from my subconscious and began back-stroking around my head:

“You know”, I thought, “this is exactly like the shopping trolley races I remember from high school.”

I’m sure it’ll cause you no great surprise when I report that, upon further analysis, this comparison turned out to be less-than-perfectly accurate. I mean, for a start, none of the participants in those trolley races had been grown adults. And there was usually a second person inside the trolley – as opposed to a laptop, a digital SLR (that’s a camera, not a rifle), a bulky winter coat and a backpack full of books, snacks, medication and laundry. Also, as far as I can remember the teenaged trolley races usually ended when one trolley fell over and everyone’s attention was transferred to dealing with the occupant’s injuries – not when, for example, we reached a departure gate and a person wearing epilettes took our tickets and motioned us onto a waiting aircraft.

Thinking about it more, I realised as well that the trolleys were bigger back then, had dodgier wheels and sharp soldered edges, and were often found abandoned in suburban streets… so basically they were the trolley equivalent of rough-edged moggies with a habit of straying, whereas today’s sleek Suvarnabhumi model was the pampered Siamese* who never leaves the comfort of her owner’s slick city pad.

Still … apart from that, the similarities were eerie.

Anyway, we finally made it to the plane, and were welcomed on board with an icy “zdrastvuiyte” (hello). The brusque Russian greeting contrasted dramatically with the cheerful Thai “Sawasdee ka(p)” we’d been hearing all week, in roughly the same way that bathing in freshly chilled mango juice contrasts to bathing in your own blood. We were the last people to board, and everyone else was already in their seats. A few glares were noticeable as we walked down the centre aisle.

But why, I wondered, had we been rushed onto the plane so far ahead of time, and with such urgency? Well, we soon found out, and here’s the reason:

It was so that we could watch the safety demonstration.

Mm-hmm, that’s right. I'm not making it up, or leaving bits out for comic effect. See, while most airlines ask their cabin crews to demonstrate the safety features while the aircraft is taxiing toward the appropriate runway**, our airline had decided to provide us with this information while the plane was standing completely still at the gate. Only then, after the hostesses had simulated pulling an oxygen mask down from the ceiling and attaching it to a child’s face, would the pilot turn the ignition key and start the engines.

Result: twice as much ‘dead time’ between boarding and take-off.

Very post-Soviet, I thought.

Small compensation came from the fact that it was quite an entertaining demonstration … or at least, it was if you were watching the air hostess nearest to us. Her range of expressions was great: there were a couple of moments when you could see her looking down the aisle at another crew member, grinning about a dirty joke they’d no doubt shared earlier. At other points in the performance, she made no attempt to hide her boredom, looking almost contemptuously at the life jacket with its ridiculous lamp, and blowing the whistle with all the joy and enthusiasm of a person signing insurance documents before undergoing bowel surgery.

Then we were ready to go, and the aircraft began taxiing away from the terminal. We’d flown three times in the previous fortnight with Air Asia – not what you’d call a ‘top shelf’ airline, but fairly decent – and once again, the contrast was immediately evident. Our plane shuddered to life, pulled grudgingly out of its parking space, and treated every tiny bump and crack in the asphalt as a personal insult, bouncing along like something that would have difficulty getting up a steep-ish driveway without falling apart, let alone into the air. When our turn finally came to take off, I was pretty close to being terrified (and I’m usually pretty good with flying).

A few minutes later we were climbing towards the clouds, and I started to relax. Years ago, I read somewhere that most airline accidents happen in the first or the last minute of flight, and I often use this randomly-gathered statistic to calm myself down if I feel nervous about the aeroplane that’s carrying me. It came in very handy on this occasion!

Putting all the post-Soviet weirdness to one side, though, the crucial fact was this: we were on our way to Kazakhstan. And somehow, the weirdness/scariness of the flight seemed like a fitting re-introduction.

I definitely didn’t expect to be back in the 'Stans so soon … I mean, it wasn’t the plan at all. Plan A for the 2010-11 academic year was to stay in Ha Noi and get our teeth into Far Eastern culture, taking up cycling, morning yoga and perhaps a martial art along the way. On the other hand, though, when I realised that a return to KZ was imminent, I can’t say that I felt overly surprised. Ever since I’d left Almaty 18 months ago, it had always seemed to me that I had a future date to keep with the ‘Stans.

And so now that date begins.

No idea how it will go, of course, but I’ll let you know as things unfold.

Here’s to Year Three!


(* We were in Thailand, after all – home to the Siamese breed. And let me say, the cats there are gorgeous, and they all have that fantastic deep and strident Siamese “miaow”.)

** (for ESL people) we use “taxiing” to describe an aircraft travelling very slowly across the ground at an airport, and a “runway” is the long straight road on which aeroplanes take off and land.