His name was Andrei, and he drove a black Toyota Avalon. As a Russian cab-driver there were two interesting things about Andrei: he spoke very good English, and he had actually been a professional wrestler. He felt that being a good cab-driver was more useful to society than being a wrestler. He arrived at 7 AM to the lobby of the Azimut, where we sat having wafers and coffee in lieu of a breakfast buffet that wouldn't open till 7:30. He whisked our luggage into his car, and we were off in the light Satuday morning traffic toward Pulkovo Airport.
He headed down the Stalin-esque corridor of Moskovskaya Prospekt to the Imperial Highway.
"Which Pulkovo?" Andrei asked. "There's only one, isn't there?" I replied. "No, there's two of them now; they just finished a new one. You're going to Moscow?" "Yes. To Sheremetyevo-1." "Does it say on your ticket?" "No, it just says Pulkovo. It's with Rossiya." "ah, Americans should not take Rossiya..." he chuckled. "Why not? It's the quickest and least expensive..." I said. "Of course. It's for the babuchkas. No one can handle what they can!" he replied.
We took a new turn-off ramp and headed toward some bright glass buildings off to the west. This was the new Pulkovo airport. "We'll try this one first," Andrei offered. "It's closer." We waited in the car after he parked; Andrei ran in, and a few minutes came running out. "Not here. It's the other one." Off we went, heading back to the Imperial Highway, and onto another cut-off. a smaller brick building was the old Pulkovo airport.
Andrei handled our luggage like it was loaded with feathers, rushed up stairways and down corridors, and finally seated us in waiting room for Rossiya flight to Moscow. (It was easy to see why he'd been a wrestler.) "When you see your flight number come up on that sign,' he said. pointing toward the ceiling. "Then you will go thru Security, and then you can go down-stairs." We shook hands, and off he went. "What a nice guy," Phoebe remarked. I concurred.
So, we sat there, watching the young biznismeny in white shirts and dark ties, utliizing the automated self-service air-freight station: wrapping large cardboard boxes in yards of transparent tape, then weighing them and applying the receipt, then disappearing with them some where off to the left. After about an hour of this, our flight number came up. We lined-up, and went to the right, behind a floor-to-ceiling partition. No one asked us to remove our shoes and place them in a bucket; but we did have to empty our pockets. No conveyor belts. Instead, we went one-by-one into this strange 'phone-booth'.
Inside, there were two footprints on the floor where you placed your feet; there were eerie white lights that seemed to swirl around you. Beam me up, Scottie! There's no intelligent life down here! I was about to shout.ut the tough-looking young men in olive-green uniforms with red tabs didn't look like they had any sense of humor; it's just when you say some smart-aleck thing in English in a foreign country, that you discover some one you didn't expect to speaks it. Silently, I waited for them to open the other door, and simply exited to the staircase they pointed out. I assume it was some kind of holographic machine that would not only detect any dangerous devices, but also identify any one they were looking for.
Downstairs was a smaller waiting room, filling up with the people coming from the staircase. We had a second 'breakfast' of coffee and chips, and waited for our plane, a Tupelo-10. We boarded from the runway, up an old-fashioned rolling stairway. From the top, we turned to look-back at our last glimpse of St. Petersburg. In a few moments we were airborne, on our way to Moscow. There, another cab took us from Sheremetyevo-1 airport, in a green residential area, to Sheremetyevo-2, in the crowded commercial area. This driver was not very friendly, and the cost -- considering the distance between airports was not far at all -- a bit exorbitant. But we were there before noon, only to discover our next flight departure on Aeroflot had been changed from 2:20 to 4:00 PM. Which meant our last connection (from New York to Richmond) on Delta this evening would not be possible without a time-reversal machine (hey, maybe the Russians would loan us one?) We managed to change the Richmond flight to 9 AM the next day, and book an overnight room near JFK Airport for the night (both at our own expense.)
We hadn't been in this part of the airport before; it was large, crowded, noisy and filled with colored neon lights, all very glitzy. But the announcements on the loud-speaker could not be deciphered, and we wound-up going through Customs twice. The building may be renovated, but the transportation staff certainly hasn't been. But at least, we weren't the lady in front of us, who had tried to hide a large item of Guelph pottery in her suitcase. (No doubt she would soon be on her way to Lefortovo Prison.) We took-off a little after 4. This time they honored our seat request, and we had the bulkhead seats behind the first-class seats, with plenty of leg-room. What a relief. And Phoebe sat next to a charming young woman, who was originally from Belarus, but now lived in Maine. We had a good time during the long flight, gaining insights as we gained the lost hours of time-zones from Moscow to New York City. We landed at 7 PM, five-minutes after our previously-booked flight to Richmond took-off. (That was the last one this evening.) American customs and passport control were a breeze this time, and the airport staff seemed to have been re-trained in the 3 weeks since we'd left. A cheerful Hispanic stewardess directed us to the complimentary elevated train that took us to the bus station. There we could place a call directly to the DoubleTree Hotel and request a free van to take us on to the hotel. The sun was attempting to set through a dense muggy haze. The temperature was well-over 90, and there was no breeze. So much for Spring. The DoubleTree was crowded with flight crew people over-nighting. The desk clerk was none-too-friendly, but he did give us a free cookie when we signed-in. No bellhops. Our room was on the 6th floor. and the elevator was close-by.
By Russian standards our room was enormous. The beds were solid and comfortable and far from each other and from the walls. We had a nice view of the airport lights as night came-on, a large TV to watch a Yankee baseball game, and complimentary water bottles and a furnished coffee maker on the credenza. There would be a free copy of the USA Today at the door in the morning. The air-conditioner was quiet and efficient.And the price was about the same or less than our accommodations in Russia. We were spoiled Americans once again. And Russia was now far far away. The next day the free-van took us to the airport at 7 AM. and our flight took off on schedule at 9AM. We arrived at the Richmond airport at 10:30. It was already 101 degrees out. We phoned some friends, who came and picked-us up. And we were home again.
Before closing, let me say a few words about air travel. Certainly, Aeroflot and Rossiya still have a ways to go with changing their image. But -- since 9/11 -- ALL airlines and airports in all major countries have a long way to go. Flying has become an uncomfortable hassle, and not just to and from Russia, but EVERYWHERE. But how else are you going to get there from here without flying? It was easily the most negative part of our entire journey. But it was worth it. Oh yes, it was most certainly worth any hassle!
06.07.2008
