Siberia, Russia Part 3 - Communist Planes and Defining
In the first two parts of this series, we covered my decision
to move from San Diego to Chita, Siberia to be a professor at
Chita State Technical University. We pick up the story aboard
the flight from Anchorage to Khabarovsk, Russia.
Day 3
Technically, it's day two and half. I think. Time began to blur
as we flew over the international date line. Wait, do we add a
day or lose a day? I was so confused that I didn't know whether
to whine about losing or gaining a day in my life. Whatever day
it was, we were flying along happily on Aeroflot.
I must say that communism had some things going for it. The
average airline ticket in the U.S. should come with a shoehorn
to help wedge you into the seat. God forbid if the person in
front of you should put their seat back. Damn people in first
class! Communism solved this problem nicely.
I wouldn't say our plane was old, but the younger planes around
our gate were crowding in to hear our plane tell stories about
the first flight of the Wright brothers. Despite some
interesting details [My God, does that look like a crack in the
wing? That better not be duct tape!], the "maturity" of our
flying bull had some distinct advantages.
A central concept of communism is that there is only one class
of people, to wit, the workers. Theoretically, everyone gets the
same treatment. The benefits of this theory are debatable, but I
can tell you it stomps capitalism into the ground when it comes
to flying.
The seating compartment on our plane was uniformly first class.
There was plenty of space for one's rump and legs. Each two-seat
section was the equivalent of three seats on a U.S. airline. It
was at least two feet to the seat in front of me. Those that fly
a lot will understand as I quietly shed a tear in memory of that
flight. Dozing comfortably, I didn't give a damn if the wings
fell off. At least we were going in style!
Our flight consisted of about 100 people. Of these, 90 percent
were Russians. Grae and I counted as two and the remaining five
or so people were religious volunteers going to convert the
godless masses. They appeared to be having no luck on the plane,
but Grae and I were able to strike up a few conversations.
I must say that the Russians on the plane were extremely nice
and very honest. While honesty is generally a good thing, their
frankness made me a bit uncomfortable. First, there was a clear
consensus that we were out of our mind for agreeing to go to
Chita. "You are going WHERE?!" was followed by a lot of
whispering between Russians and bulging eyes. Since I doubted
the pilot would be willing to turn the plane around, this wasn't
particularly comforting.
Our conversations raised an additional problem regarding the
definition of "fluent". In my mind, being fluent in a language
meant that one could get directions, tell boring stories, etc.,
in the language in question. It quickly became clear that Grae's
definition of "fluent" was something less. This was verified
when he turned to me and said, "Man, I've forgotten a lot."
Great. Khabarovsk was only a few hours a way. But that's a story
to be told in Part 4 of this series...