|
|
|
Have you ever visited Seattle!
The City of Seattle had it’s beginnings on a rainy day in 1851, when the Denny party landed on Alki Beach, in what is now West Seattle. Seattle is named for Chief Seattle, of the Duwamish Indians, who aided these early pioneers in settling the...
Hotels aren't the only place you can stay on vacation!!!
Today, we as travelers have a ton of options to consider. Where to go, how to get there,
where to stay, what to take, how to plan, where to find deals…
You get the point.
Well, this article is to introduce you to options on where to stay other...
One Of Cancun's Best
It's hard to believe that a short 30-mile bus ride from the
Spring-break haven of Cancun is one of the top-ranked hotels in
Central America and an exotic, unrivaled tropical paradise.
While it sounds like typical romance copy, we're not just...
Visit Santa Barbara California
Ninty some miles north west of Los Angeles lies the lovely beach city of Santa Barbara, California where you will find some of the cleanest and best tended beaches on the west coast. The city of Santa Barbara which includes Hope Ranch and...
Yacht Charters Provide a Luxurious Escape
Ernest Hemingway, the Nobel laureate author of “Old Man And The Sea,” loved to go on fishing expeditions off the Cuban coast in a sailboat that was well stocked with rum. James Bond, the legendary British spy, loved to spend intimate moments with...
|
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Siberia, Russia Part 3 – Communist Planes And Defining “Fluent”
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…
About the Author: Rick Chapo is with http://www.nomadjournals.com - makers of small, compact travel journals, hiking journals, rock climbing journals, fly fishing journals, bird watching journals and more. This story series is being created from journals entries in a Nomad Travel Journal. Visit Siberian Intercultural Bridges at http://www.siberian-bridges.org to find out more about teaching in Siberia.
Source: www.isnare.com
|
|
|
|
|
|