Tag: sas

Trip Around the World 2003, Part 3. St Petersburg. Meet Valentina, who loves me…

Well here we are in Russia.  I escaped from Greenland on their nice big red plane and 4 hours later, Copenhagen loomed.  A quick night in the airport Sheraton, at some huge price and a good breakfast in the company of many other businessmen, all in suits and ties.  The elevator was fragranced by many exotic colognes from them, as none here would go out without something dabbled behind the ear or on the chin.  One of the waitresses, who was Thai, could also speak Danish, which seemed a great feat to me and of course her English was fine.  I congratulated her on this achievement and she added that she had a good working knowledge of Lao too.  My poor little mind was in meltdown.

Then a bit of luck.  The SAS flight to St Petersburg was clearly overbooked, as the system had not been able to find me a seat and they were desperately asking for volunteers to be rerouted via Stockholm.  I just could not take up the offer, as my time there was short.  By keeping the ears open at the gate and I don’t know why they used a bit of English, I heard the words ‘jump seat’. Perhaps there is not a Danish translation? Hmm, I thinks, let me have a word.  I told them I was not unfamiliar with such a perch and would be happy to be strapped in next to a nice Danish lady.  They had a think about it and eventually after much radio use, one of them waved and said would I be okay to sit on the flight deck jump seat?  I said it would be a great idea, so I ended up in the very cramped flight deck of an MD-88 with my two new best friends Arne and Lief.  The only thing that worried me is they both looked young enough still to be wearing short trousers.  And the icing on the cake was that just before they closed the door, another SAS girl came rushing in and presented me with a nice $100 bill because of giving up my seat.  I said I’d go anywhere if you move me up to the very very front like this and give me cash too.

The flight was fast and uneventful and they gave me a headset so that I could hear the ATC.  I must say when we got in range of Russia, the accents varied wildly. Some I could not make out a word of their English, to the poshest of posh, with a guy sounding like he had learned it right from Queen Elizabeth.

Then I meet my new best friend Victor and his clapped out Volvo Estate. Sweden would be in shock I can tell you. He, me and Nelly get into this old bright red car and then he had to get out to hot-wire it to start the engine. Welcome back to Russia ! We then lurched off (I would  imagine there were clouds of steam and smoke behind but I dared not look). Nelly and I are in the back trying to catch up (and she is better in German than English, so she lapses into that the whole time which is very frustrating. I am going to be with her for the next week, as she will accompany me to Armenia, so that’s just a tease and trailer for forthcoming attractions. Be patient and Vera get the atlas out dear…Harry will help you.

We are driving along and I get this message to the brain from the nose saying ‘something’s burning’ and so does Victor. He pulls over and opens the hood and pokes around generally. I make plans for instant evacuation as don’t fancy being a charred corpse on a Russian road, but anyway we continue and all appears well. (A later note, the next day, the same huge smoke smell arrived inside the car and was located in the cigarette lighter, which for some reason had decided to show it worked and heated up the area of the dashboard to prove it.)

At the hotel, the most powerful woman in Russia was waiting for me.  The once seen and never to be forgotten Valentina.  She runs all our movements in Russia and the former -stans like Uzbekistan etc.  We can do nothing without her.  She was an Intourist guide when the government handled every tourist movement and when that broke up, she started her own agency in St Petersburg and by being one of the ballsiest women in Russia (and there are very many), can unlock any door and fix things that no one can ever think of. ‘You want to meet Putin ?  I will fix..”  A statuesque 60’ish lady, amply bosomed and with a taste for dramatic, outlandish clothes and much hair (usually some variation of very red).  She puts her arms out like some great operatic diva and I take a deep breath, as I am about to disappear in to a fuzz of sparkling angora or the like and there will be a mass of jewelry and dangling earrings that can take an eye out. She is the queen of bling. She clutches me like some long lost son and the air is fast being squeezed out of my lungs. We all know this is coming and compare notes as to how long did she hold you for this time?  She professes she loves me dearly and I get another kiss on the strength of that. I always have to check for the lipstick transfer that just happened. I have capital spending authority to go to any duty free shop and ask for absolutely what is the very latest, just released perfume (and hopefully it is exceedingly cloyingly sweet) and I make a big presentation of the duty free bag.  She feigns the sort of wide-eyed Miss Piggy ‘Pour MOI”? look and I say just for you and she rips it open and screams. She knows every sweet smell there is on this globe and nearly passes out from joy. “Now I am the ONLY woman in Russia with this…” and then I get re-clasped to the bosom all over again.  I need danger money.

 I ran around with Nelly and a couple other guides and just went over the usual route.  We have been here several times before, so nothing new and we had it down pat. Our TCS plane came from Finland on sked and Nelly and I and the guides are standing outside the doors from customs, which was where they were supposed to exit and it did seem rather a long time, with no sight of anyone. What was the problem?  Well, we discovered there was NO problem and we are in such good stead with the Russian authorities that they took everyone off the aircraft in a couple of buses, which then exited the ramp via a sort of back door and our guests and staff are already sitting on the coaches outside, waiting to go to the hotel.  It really does not help us if they decide to do something useful like that but fail to pass the message down the line. 

The weather cooperated and apart from the zillion or so other visitors, we had a good time. We had a wonderful dinner in the Throne Room of Peter the Great’s palace at Peterhof. This epic man (6ft 8 ins tall no less) had been to Versailles and said he wanted something better and it’s a 50/50 toss up which is grander. It’s baroque on speed I can tell you, with exquisite handmade 18th century Chinese silk ‘wallpaper’, lavish furniture and much much more. As the dinner was on July 4th, I had bought some good Amurrican flags in Brooklyn to go on the tables and the pax thought that was the icing on the cake. The room itself is all gold and mirrors and totally over the top and they were all blown away by the grandeur and agreed that they would never ever again dine in somewhere so great.

Our hotel, the Astoria was also superb and I could happily return … at about USD500 a night, so it should be.  It is enormously GRAND for sure.

And how about a country which produces canned gin and tonics? Honest, they do. I spotted the cans in a line of kiosks, which are the best way of describing shops near the hotel and of course, in the interests of science and general global knowledge, I purchased a couple to put to the test. They pile up everything they sell against the glass and helpfully put nice big price labels, so in a country where speaking and reading the language is a definite challenge, you can do the whole transaction by pointing and showing how many on your fingers. The financial transaction is done through a hole about 12 inches square located in some cases almost at crotch level. The same works even for the currency exchange place next door … we don’t want anyone actually coming into our space here. These g and t cans, at a cost of USD.75 each, looked like a good deal, esp as they are a half litre. Mega cans of g and t’s. Granny Sybil (my mother) would be giving them the thumbs up.

Mind you, public drinking especially later in the day, is a very much normal everyday activity in Russia. Not just the boys but the girls too are often walking along the streets, happily swigging from a beer bottle or even a g and t can on the way home. Just think what the 5.55 from Charing Cross to Orpington or the 6.01 from Grand Central to White Plains would be like if half the pax turned up carrying their own alcoholic refreshments?  Well that is what Russia is like. I have to tell you that the canned g and t’s turned out to be stronger on the t rather than the g, but as I have my own bottle to beef them up, then all was well.

The locals also are the world’s most uninspiring looking gang. I’ve had enough time today to walk some streets in St Petersburg and take a good looksee at the inhabitants and they really are a grim looking lot. And the way they dress does not do them any good either. Mutton dressed up as lamb may well have started here. There are sights that just make you stop dead in your tracks and say ‘NO – whatever were you thinking of when you bought That ??’ And even most of the lambs are pretty grim too.

On that note, take a break. Onwards with Air Samara and a longer stop there than expected, so I get to meet the near naked locals swimming in the River Volga.

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Trip Around the World, in many parts. 2003. It starts here. Part 1 Getting to Greenland

Just to give you a heads up on forthcoming episodes here, I am bound for Greenland, via Copenhagen, then back to CPH and on to St Petersburg. This is advance work for a new trip, which will be running right behind me. I just have to be there first and make sure all in in order and remind everyone that we expect a perfect visit. After that I am off to check out all new places, which have to be looked at really hard, in great detail, notebook in hand.  This is when I am scouting possible destinations for the Private Jet trips.  There is always a good reason for us wanting to go somewhere, but there needs to be more than just one big draw, so the more the merrier in terms of worthwhile diversions, especially if there are some things totally unique to the destination right there. You can never count on someone who lives next to some jaw-dropping sight/site to be able to see the rest of their home area  through the eyes of foreigners. Thus, I go look. And then there are the many hotels to check out, sleep in, eat their food, talk to the local inbound operator, meet the guides, look for potential problems and ask a thousand questions. It can mean long days, sometimes with people who are totally on top of things and ‘get it’ and then there are plenty of others who just don’t have a clue. This is when it is like drawing blood from a stone. And I ALWAYS check the toilets, everywhere.  I am near PhD level on international toilet inspecting. No seat or lid is left unlifted.

Coming up – Yerevan, capital of Armenia, then up to Samara, then east, very east, to Irkutsk and Petropavlovsk, both in Siberia and continuing as far east as you can go in Russia to Khabarovsk on the Kamchatka Peninsula and Vladivostok, home of the Russian Far East fleet and a place of such naval sensitivity that foreigners used to be banned from even going there. From there to get home, I fly down to Seoul and back to New York.  This long trip will be broken down in to many parts, so I hope you will come for the ride and don’t run out of steam.

So, to start at the beginning (an old custom and one that still seems to work), I am up in a plane … a nice Scandinavian one, from Newark to Copenhagen. And of course, I introduced myself to Madame la Purser as I boarded and said I’m a refugee from your business and anything she could do to rescue me from seat 36C would be greatly appreciated and it actually worked.  Many of these pleas tend to fall on somewhat newly deaf ears and she did not look like the too accommodating type. Very  senior, with the snowiest of white hair, but after the door was closed, a young f/a was sent back and I am summoned up to 8G, which is of course where I think should have been all along.

Going from NY to Greenland via CPH makes zero geographical sense at all. (Vera, I know it will help if you find your atlas now and keep it out dear, as otherwise you are never going to keep up – have one of your helpers assist you. OK?). But amazingly enough there is no air service WEST from Greenland to anywhere, which is hardly surprising once you have been there, as the whole place points to Denmark with as much fervor as all Moslems face Mecca. A severe shortage of mosques here though. They could almost have built a bridge to Newfoundland and only a few disoriented Newfies in search of cod or Ikea would have ventured forth. Thus I fly 7 hours east, to spend 3 hours on the ground, so I can fly 4 hours west. I think it warrants the Guinness Book for Records for daft traveling. Only real good thing is I end up with only a two hour time change (apart from losing tonight of course)

And lose the night I shall, as the bloody SAS flight left pronto at 1710, which is way too early for the Atlantic. (and they started to board a 60% full flight 50 minutes before departure). It will only be just after midnight NY time when we glide on to the concrete at Kastrup Airport and then I sit until 0315 NY time, which will be hell, as most of you know I am NOT a night bird. I usually find a reviving Tuborg or similar helps, as by that time you are dehydrated, even if you have drunk copious quantities of water in flight but are in a generally discombobulated  state. This reviving beer will set the personal economy back a fair old sum I can tell you. Welcome to hi-rent Scandinavia and airport prices – a bad combo.

Re losing the night … this being High Summer (I left June 22) we are going to have a curious light night as of course we are tracking severely NNE and thus it will never get anything like dark. I think l have seen (if that is the right word) my last dark night for some time. Kind of unusual to fly the Atlantic at night and NOT have a night of any kind. And to rub salt further into the wound, the flying map thingy on the wall screen shows us now south of where I shall eventually end up tomorrow.

Anyway SK Biz dinner was frankly nothing to get excited about. They produce a fancy looking menu and separate wine list that comes within millimetres of taking itself off, though not quite up to the great lush prose TWA menus of the early 70’s with their “Morning picked, dew fresh, sun kissed ….peas”, which to quote Basil Fawlty were ‘fresh when they were frozen”. Anyway, much OTT hyperbole here and I wonder who the hell do they think they are kidding? Mainly themselves.

Otherwise their classical music channel is fine … three warhorses. which is what plane pax want. We are NOT into the moment to hear experimental music or song cycles recently unearthed from Norse graves. Give us what we know and like and we can lie back in a semi- comatose state and enjoy. UA drives me mad as they think we don’t have an attention span of more than 6 mins and play many bits of things and spend half the time wittering on about them too.

We finally arrive in CPH dead on time and I get myself checked in for Greenlandair and there is their nice new A330 waiting, in their spiffy new colors too. They are now called Air Greenland, so what color do you think the plane should be? Hands up those who said British Post Box RED. It is totally painted all over; you could not lose this one in a crowd anywhere! And even on a Monday morning, it is packed to the rafters. Don’t think Ms Greenland will ever win Ms World as the passengers are a rather scruffy looking short-arsed gang. The 12-20 year old girls are all into the low slung jeans with the bare midriff look, which is all well and fine if your midriff is smaller than your jeans. but this lot are somewhat padded (I suppose could almost be blubber?) and it then immediately becomes seriously less than pretty. Metal adornments are de rigueur and one of them looks like she was the victim of a deranged staple gun attack.

Sadly none of the crew I met last year is here and this is a  much more mature group, but they sure smile a lot. They are all Danes, based in CPH and all they fly is this route, nothing else. And in the four hours 10 mins it took to bring me half way back to where I started, they never stopped being out and about in the cabin. Rather a dreadful “brunch’ meal (due to the four hours time difference, we were sked out at 0910 and in the other end at 0940, so neither one thing or the other). And yes Vera, those really are the times, I did not invent them. Much encouragement for imbibing alcohol (a Greenlandic way of life) and the smokers, of which there are many, must have been vibrating from lack of nicotine. When we get off in the sunshine and enter the terminal, the place is practically pea soup thick with smoke. 

We are in somewhere called Kangerlussuaq and of course, may be better known to you by its former name, Sondre Stromfijord.  Are you still with me?  It’s claim to fame is that it is perfectly geographically located right on the ‘over the pole’ sort of route from Northern Europe to the Middle and West of the USA and Canada.  Like Keflavik, in Iceland, and Shannon in Ireland, they were used to the aircraft of 20 years ago dropping in, sucking up a new load of fuel and off they went. Greenland is the country with unpronounceable names and also some of the longest words ever created.  I gazed at them in the in-flight magazine … some had more than twenty five letters.

Okay … you get a break here… there is an awful lot more to come… just wait until first Nellie and then all Mother Russia embraces me.