The Trip to The East

March 30, 2009


07:00 am Time to rise and finish dozens of unchecked items on my “to-do-list while Irina quietly sleeps a little longer. She won’t enjoy the long trip.

The baggage is the major problem. Every year I think we take more and more clothes and junk than the year before, even after promising that we will keep stuff in both places rather than lugging it back and forth. “OK this is the final weigh in” I scream. “Irina, Irina, what did you sneak into your bags last night while I was not looking? Your bags weigh in at 49 and 52 pounds – unacceptable! Unload and move to my bags. ASAP!”

Typical Russian behavior is to deny that there are rules and even if there might be rules nobody will enforce them, they are there only to be broken. But my practicality and knowledge of this sneaky Russian behavior pattern forces her to dig back into the bags and redo the packing for probably the 15th time. Finally! I think we are in the limits: 48 lbs, 49 lbs, 49.5 lbs and 40 lbs. “But wait! There’s more we have Tolick’s Disney fire truck. We must carry it on” Irina says.

“Yes dear” my reply “Let me go back to the computer and once again see what the allowable dimensions are. OK British Air.com, baggage, here it is – 22inches long, 18 wide, 12 tall. Irina this is the only duffle bag we have that will meet the specs.” As I pull out my old salty Nauticat sea bag, beautiful sea blue and red, good memories of sailing.

“Patrick! That bag is too ugly, we cannot use it. I will go buy a new one.”

“Irina, NO! We use this one or everything stays here”. Reluctantly she agrees and we start filling up yet another bag.

So the final count is 4 large bags to check, the duffle bag weighing in around 20lbs, my computer bag another 15-20lbs, Irina’s designer nick-nack bag 10lbs maybe, and her purse. I hope we can keep track of all these bags.

Our ride shows up around noon and we head for the airport. I tell John that he will have to wait just a minute while I make sure that the bags weigh in under 50lbs. Sure enough our scale was light by about 2 lbs. The first bag comes in at 51.5lbs. ”Is this one OK to go” I asked the girl behind the counter.

“Not today.” She said “My supervisor is here and I must be very strict about the weight limits”.

So we had to lay the bags out on the floor of the terminal, open them to the world exposing all of our treasures or dirty laundry and start swapping around things. Looked like the Clampets of Beverly Hillbillies fame heading out on vacation. We got them all in or at 50lbs and
Proceeded with out checkout. Gave her my tickets and told her we were headed to St Petersburg Russia and would like to check our bags through. A blank expression appeared on her face. I could see trouble and we were running out of time. “Let me check with my Supervisor” she said. Returning quickly she said “I don’t have time to do that, it takes too long. I will just check you through to Houston. Oh, and by the way you owe me $80 for all the bags.” Things were just getting better and better.

I immediately realized this would be a major hassle, hauling 250lbs of luggage in 7 bags across the Houston airport. “In the past you guys always checked the bags through, and if we are making an international flight we should be able to take 2 bags for free. What is going on here?”

“Sir” she said. “Things have changed, I am the only one at the counter and”, pointing at the clock “your time is up, bag checkin just closed! If you want you can come back tomorrow and leave then!” We had to go so there was no point in arguing any longer.

In leaving I muttered “you guys would be better off selling tickets by the poundage of the passenger rather than the bags since ‘weight is weight’. And now ¾ of the frequent flyers seem to be over 300 lbs and I am always squeezed between them when I have the center seat”.

“Oh, no sir we couldn’t do that! Then we would get sued. And for that nasty remark God will punish you”.

With that we headed for the plane. The trip to Houston was normal. But soon as we hit the deck we were on a mission to get out bags checked in with British Air as we were on a short connection.

Quickly got our bags (thank goodness the Corpus clerk didn’t accidentally loose them out of spite), loaded them on the little dollies and headed for the train to the International Terminal. Of course the biggest hassle is getting 4 bags into and out of the terminal train. Hauling them two-by-two, they always are just a little too big to squeeze through the door and of course when the train stops you always seem to be standing in front of the one car that is filled with other travelers. So after missing the first train, we manage to lug our luggage into the tiny little train car and head towards the international terminal.

The instructions given to us by a newly arrived immigrant manning the information booth in some kind of Arabic/English dialect were a little hazy, but I knew which terminal we needed and didn’t have time for further deciphering. Unfortunately I didn’t know exactly how to get there. After a few misturns we found the BA counter. Of the 5 checkin counters manned 4 were for 1st class with only one person being served, the rest of the agents were doing their nails or some other important duty. So we waited patiently while the only other steerage class customer, an elderly Asian/Indian couple was being served. Looking at my watch, “we are not making any progress here. The elderly Asian/Indian couple seems to be reading every word of the small print and having the legal implications explained in detail. I will have to beg one of the 1st class ladies to break down and help us.” I begged, she agreed and finally we were moving forward again.

“Oh I thought, what if their scales are not the same as the Corpus scales”

I tell her of our problem in Corpus and she just shrugs and says “there’re OK”.

“Wheeeeu, one more problem eliminated”. And we head to the gate, only to find that the flight has been delayed. “OK, I will just set up my computer and Irina can go shop” that’s our life.

After about 45 minutes Irina shows up and I tell her that I am going to check on our seats since the BA check-in lady was suppose to seat us together and didn’t. I wander over to the gate guy and find a couple of seats together on an exit row. “Great! We’ll take them”. I told the guy. “More leg room” I thought, “plus if we crash and survive at least I am in charge of opening the door and jumping into the freezing North Atlantic where your life expectancy is probably 10 minutes, plus or minus a minute.” Meanwhile as I am standing there this African lady with two little kids pushing a stroller and a luggage dolly runs into me from the back. She apparently thought she could board now and didn’t quite negotiate the corner and slammed into my leg. Little did I know that this was an ominous omen!

Limping a bit back to our seat I told Irina the great news about out seats. She always struggles with these long flights and I knew the extra room would make it just a little easier.

Well we board with the rest of the great unwashed and proceed to our premium coach class seats to settle in for the 8 hr flight. The exit row seats are behind the bulkhead and next to a toilet and it’s waiting area. Not exactly what I had expected, but we won’t have anyone slamming their seat into our face when eating.

As we are settling in I spot the African lady coming down the aisle with two small boys. She is turning right into the seats across the aisle from us and Irina tells me how cute the little boys are. I tell her how this lady ran me down with her baggage cart earlier. Then we notice a large, probably 270lb plus man eying the remaining open seat next to Irina. Sure enough he plops down and kinda flows over into Irina’s seat zone. From behind us, or somewhere near by came that ubiquitous Foreigner Flavor, the aroma of 10 day old body odor. “It had the makings of a long trip” I thought.

As the little African clan pitches camp next to us I can see that the natives are a little restless. Our seats were in an open area with only the bulkhead in front; a perfect play ground. They are jumping around on the seats, running around the open area, squealing and having a great little time - boys will be boys. Which is not bad I just would like to be able to get a little sleep during the flight and am not sure if that might also be in their plan.

Sitting right by the toilet, had it’s pluses and minuses. Of course we could always get up and go with out waiting. Then I discovered another plus,whenever the door opened the succulent, sweet smell of the deodorant wafted over to us and temporarily replaced the BO smell.

It wasn’t long before the head stewardess was responding to pleadings from the other passengers about the little African clan. She marched down and began demanding in that very British way that the Mother, or Grandmother, or maybe a man whoever she was, we couldn’t figure it out, take control her kids and put them in their seats. At this point the African Mother/Grandmother, who seemed to understand English before, suddenly developed a comprehension impairment. I could hear the head stewardess screaming “there’re not my kids, there’re yours and you must get them in their seats!!!” No visible reaction from the Mother/Grandmother. But wait! I see her slowly grabbing those wiggling little bodies and then slamming them into the seats. Opps, a little too rough and one starts crying. Mother/Grandmother consoles the little fellow, he gets strapped in and we are off.

I started to think that a little extra legroom might not be worth all the extra excitement and I had noticed that the entire area in front of us, probably business class, was empty. So I decided to ask the head stewardess about the possibility of moving. My suggestion to her was “I notice that the cabin right in front of us has no one in it I wonder if we might be able to move up there and let the little kids have a bigger play area?”

A confused look instantly came over her face. “Sir, that is another Class, absolutely impossible. Perhaps something back here. Ahh you could have this last row in the center, it is empty”.

First, I didn’t think about it at the time, but I am sure my request to move up to the business class caught her totally by surprise. British, after all have always been very class conscious. And my request was akin to asking the Queen if we might just stop by for a spot of tea on the way to the market. So, even though you can occasionally get an upgrade on US carriers I guess it is a foreign concept to the foreign carriers.

“No, I guess we will stay where we are, my wife likes the extra room and hopefully things will quite down”. Back I trundled, resolving myself to what I expect will be an extra long flight. What do I find, but Irina befriending the little boys and offering them a banana. Maybe that will settle them down.

As we get to altitude the Mother/Grandmother throws down blankets on the floor around her seats, gets a big zebra skin bag out the overhead and I am thinking, “Are they going to start a fire and cook something up?” The in-flight meal service should start soon and maybe they had a special order. Nope, the Mother/Grandmother just wrestled the smallest little critter down and began changing his diaper. The perfect thing to get our taste buds activated for British Cooking – the smell of baby poop. “Oh well, the Brits have never been known for their gourmet skills” and after the delivery of the meal I could see that they were living up to their reputation.

Well after a few hours, a full stomach, everyone seems to be settling in around our little cabin zone. Irina is getting started on the movie and I am thinking about trying to get some sleep. The seats are actually the most comfortable I have found in coach. They have these kind of wings that hold your head in place and with a pillow on one side and the wing on the other your head is wedged in so you could actually relax without having your head snap down when you begin snoozing.

I closed my eyes and all the stress of the past couple of days was beginning to wane. I felt like I was actually falling to sleep. Then a loud thud and following vibration snapped me back to ready alert. Is the plane experiencing some kind of problem? Wham there it goes again!!! As I regain full consciousness the situation becomes perfectly clear - more trouble across the aisle. The older rascal had been quietly strapped into his seat, but now he has found the table. Our seats had the tables that folded up and fit into the armrest between the seats. So junior figured out that he could pull it up and then slam it back down – great fun for him, not for me. Not only was it loud the vibrations could be felt all the way to my chair. I gave the Mother/Grandmother a dirty look and she restrained the little fellow.

Soon thereafter I was once again drifting off in to sweet dreams! “Patrick” Irina shouts into my ear. I bolt out of my slumber, jump up, until my seat belt restrains my forward motion and I recoil back into my chair.

“What, what is it?” I ask in confusion. Irina starts yelling at the top of her voice something that I couldn’t quite understand in my stupor. I put my finger to my lips and go “Shussssss”, the universal signal for “quiet”. Well universal except for Russians I guess. Irina keeps yelling something and then since I could also hear the movie, I realize she has her earphones on and turned up to MAX. I calmly lift the closest earphone off her ear and using an elevated voice level ask “what do you want? You are yelling and waking everyone.”

Irina yells “I am not yelling! I just want to ask you about this movie”.

“Well I beg to differ, but I will try and answer your historical questions about why the Japanese were in China and why there were British there and why was there fighting and……” So after finishing the brief history lesson and Irina returned to her movie I decided hell with it; I was moving up to the next class cabin for some peace. Got my little blanket, went through the curtains, found a seat (that was easy since there were probably 40 empties and only one other person in the entire area) and tried to get back to sleep.

Then I discovered that the seats in the “upper class” were less comfortable than in the cattle car section. But, it was definitely alot quieter. “I will put up with the crappy seats and try to get back to sleep in the morgue-like cabin” I thought. Impossible of course after a couple of hours, give up and return to my regular seat. What the heck, breakfast would be served soon, sleep time was over anyways.

I was right and soon the meal cart arrived delivering our morning juice, yogurt and dry bun with only a cheese slice in between – delicious. The captain’s voice told us to eat fast that we would be landing shortly.

“Whoooa” poking our nose out the ladder I could instantly tell that it was not Houston weather. Cool and damp in England. I wondered what it would be like in Russia. The answer arrived quickly. As we had a quick connection in Heathrow we were settling in on the next flight to Russia, when the captain told us that it was 1 degree celisus (that’s just a hair over freezing) with blowing sleet mixed with snow. A perfect welcome for a boy from south Texas.

It was an uneventful flight with the plane not even half full. Looked mostly like Russians returning from their shopping trip to London. Guess the little jump in oil prices gave them cause to celebrate.

As we popped under the overcast scud layer I could see the white ground below. “Yep, just wonderful!” I thought.

Taxiing past the helicopter graveyard and some old, old apparently abandoned Poulkva passenger jets, I could see some things haven’t changed. But there was progress; the big new glass building, a hotel I think, was closer to completion. Exiting the airplane I knew the captain’s forecast was correct, it was cold! After a short wait we heard “Irina” called from the crowd. It was Igor’s parents, Valodia and Sevtlana, here to pick us up. All was well.

Fortunately Valodia had replaced his little Lada, which could hardly accommodate 2 adults and one suitcase with a larger Land Rover. We squished all the 250 lbs of luggage and ourselves in, then headed home.

As we were driving on the beltway everyone kept asking me where we were. Like I haven’t been there in 8 months, last year I only drove the highway a couple of times, I couldn’t see out the frosted over windows, we seemed to always be squeezed between large dirty trucks obscuring all front and side vision and of course I hadn’t refreshed myself as to how the Russian Cyrillic alphabet works to decipher the road signs – “Irina I don’t remember where we turn”. But Valodia pressed forward, accidentally took the right exit and we arrived safely at Lunacharskogo – end of the trip to the East.