Almost didn't make it onto the flight to Vladivostok. We were
booked on a company called Transaero, a new private Russian
airline. Anything to avoid flying Aeroflot. When we went to
check in at the Transaero counter, they refused to accept our
tickets because they had been purchased through Aeroflot by
my travel agent in Paris. They confirmed that these were
indeed tickets for the flight and we were officially booked
on the plane, but they couldn't accept tickets issued by
Aerofolt because they wouldn't receive the money. Of course,
the only way to purchase a Transaero ticket abroad is
through Aeroflot. Just when I was starting to think things
might be changing in this country we run into a classic case
of Soviet-style logic.We tried to put up a fight, but it was obvious that we were doomed. They were not going to let us on that plane with those tickets. That left us with two options. Either stay in Moscow another day and deal with the Aeroflot offices in the morning, or buy new tickets. With time running out and reasonably sure of the futility of trying to get reimbursed by Aeroflot, I grudgingly bought two new tickets ($800) for the same the flight. The sympathetic folks at Transaero assured me that Aeroflot in Paris will reimburse the unused tickets. "They're as good as money" the woman promised, "it's100 percent sure". Somehow I'm less optimistic.
Nine hours and five time zones later we arrived yesterday
morning in the capital of the Russian Far East, Vladivostok.
In the end, the Transaero flight was remarkably good. The plane was a brand new Boeing 757, as opposed
to the usual and aging Soviet-made Il 62's with balding tires,
broken seats and a 1960's mod-style interior. The service was
warm and friendly, the food was good by airline standards,
and they even had movies. One giant step for Russian air
travel.After waiting an eternity for our baggage to arrive, we headed off to the airport lounge to officially celebrate the beginning of our journey. We drank a couple Korean beers and ate stale nuts, as The Simpsons, dubbed in Russian, blared in the background on TV. Later we hopped into a Japanese minivan and drove into Vladivostok. Often called the San Francisco of Russia, I was surprised to see that it does vaguely resemble my home town. Surrounded by water, this city of rolling hills covered with sprawling Socialist housing complexes actually looked charming from the distance as we came into town.
In Vladivostok we are guests at the self proclaimed
"Svetlanskya Cafe". The spacious apartment (on Svetlanskya
Street) of two American ex-pats, Dave and Dan, who have an
open door policy for wayward foreigners passing through
town. The Cafe will be our base while we make the final
preparations for the long journey that lies ahead of us.
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