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It's not a used jet, its a pre-owned jet!
Entry 49 of 86 | show all | print this entry |
I checked in at the counter, which was run by Frankfurt Airport Services. As I waited at the gate I watched the green and white painted Uzbek Airlines plane pull up. After a while someone dressed as a pilot, complete with wings walked from the plane with three female flight attendants in tow. As he reached the waste high glass gate at entrance he fumbled with getting it opened. He worked on it for another two minutes until an airport employee showed up and demonstrated how to lift a latch, turn the knob, and pull the gate towards him. With a low pitch voice he emitted a very Goofy type laugh and a smile which exposed about the same number of teeth as the cartoon character.
The next leg proved much less comfortable than the ocean crossing. The old beat up Boeing 767 looked old and more warn than any plane I had ever been on. I didn't even know that such stripped down models of this plane were available for purchase. The heat and heavy air caused me to look up to see if my small air blower was turned on. Missing! No air vents! And during the intro safety video on the blurry screen at the front of the cabin I swore I saw a Pan-Am logo. Looking around I saw very few ethnic Russians, and even less Uzbeks. The majority of the plane was filled with military, private security, and contractors... all coming to Uzbekistan because of the neighbor to the south, Afghanistan. I even mentioned that the plane was like my car, "the stripped down, used, base model." As the plane was pushed away from the gate, it started up its engine and awful stench blew through the apparently hidden vents. All passengers had an immediate reaction to this making, noises and waving their hands past their noses. No menu this time, but I was sure that if there was a menu I could have easily identified the meal in five different languages. A cheese sandwich.
I knew we were in Central Asia and nearing landing as the sun set and the general lack of ground lighting gave way to bond fires; probably local men who finally decided to take out the trash. The flight had lasted between 6 and 8 hours. The airport itself was very dark. Even the taxi way and runway lights apparently weren't up to FAA standards. I began to wonder if they would break-away if hit by an airplane tire, as required in the US.
After a hard landing, we were put into a tractor trailer converted into a people mover. The trailer had no lighting or venting. The employee who had driven the stairs to the plane was now waiting for ALL the passengers on board to get into the trailer. A young militsia man checked the plane, and gave a wave sending us on our way to the terminal. The man drove the truck like he would probably drive his car in Tashkent. Fast, and reckless with no regard for potholes or the fact that a plane load of people were standing up in the trailer behind him.
After slowly making it through passport control I met my driver from the embassy near baggage claim. We talked in Russian for a while as we watched baggage pass by. Then after an extended period of time the conveyor belt had turned off. I loudly exclaimed "Uh-oh!" and a group of nearby American security contractors and soldiers started laughing "That didn't sound good."
I entered the lost and found office where three guys, in their early twenties, were playing computer games on the sole desktop unit in the building. They explained in Russian that 17 bags are missing and to start filling out the paperwork, and check back tomorrow. I didn't understand how checking back tomorrow will help when the next flight from Frankfurt to Tashkent isn't for another three days.
After filling out the papers for my two missing bags, I passed through customs and out to the unmarked white Toyota Land Cruiser. I have always thought that the internationally used peace keeping vehicle always looks out of place in every environment in which they are used. The driver went in the vehicle and came out with a large black maglite and began carefully checking wheel wells and under the vehicle. We then got in the car and drove quickly to the hotel. He mentioned that he is a head security officer and was driving because of the lack of qualified drivers. We quickly passed militsia who the driver labeled as 'crazy' out looking for money through bribes.
Though we wouldn't have stopped even if they had signaled us, primarily because of our diplomatic plates. I asked him what would happen if we were stopped in a private vehicle and didn't have enough money for an adequate bribe. He explained that the militsia would keep your car until you returned with the money.
As required by law, I gave the front desk my city of birth and city of origination on my trip. He copied my passport number down and gave me a key.
I was now in Tashkent. No bags, no plans, and a three day holiday. The death of former President Ronald Reagan prompted the closing of all government offices on Friday, including Peace Corps Uzbekistan.
The secure compound seemed desolate and even abandoned, as if all staff members knew the President personally and had to attend the wake.
I slowly made my way to the poorly ventilated lounge, sat down on a couch, and began the waiting.
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