Day 1: Berlin to Moscow

Check-in went smoothly. The woman who served me at the counter was from the traditional Communist school of thinking, where they don't believe "the customer is always right." They prefer the philosophy of "the customer is a traitor to our Communist ideals and should be shot." I've experienced this attitude in all former-Communist countries I've visited, even East Germany and Croatia (it was more common in Ukraine and Serbia), and there are two ways to respond: either with equal depression and misery, or with the biggest, cheesiest grin and fake friendliness you can manage. This is known as the "McD Approach". It's not clear if the approach is named after a 2nd rate fast-food outlet, or vice-versa.
Despite my best efforts, I couldn't even elicit a wish for a pleasant journey from the woman. I was most disappointed. All that effort for nothing. I was tired, and wanted my bed.

Into the waiting room, where there was room for waiting. I looked around at my fellow passengers. Nobody looked English. Very few people looked German. Almost everybody looked Russian.

Boarding time came and went. Then we started boarding. My friendly check-in lady was now checking tickets and checking them fast. When she saw my ticket, she looked up at me and her stony face cracked into the briefest of smiles. Aaaaah, the reward for all the effort. My trip was off to a good start.

It was my first flight with Aeroflot. See the post below ("Tickets booked!") for my thoughts on that. The Russian gentleman sitting next to me was in need of a good wash, and probably wasn't fluent in six languages. He had a tattoo on his hand. It looked like it said "Tom." I wondered if he'd tattooed his own name onto his hand in case he forgot it. Some people write their names in the label of their shirt, but if you forget it you need to undo the top couple of buttons and twist your neck round to read it. Some people write their names in the label of their trousers. I don't know what they do when they forget their names. But now Tom knew his name like the back of his hand.

The seats were quite comfortable, mixing a navy blue colour with an Easyjet orange. Nice. One stewardess was round and had bleached blonde hair. The other was tall, slim and dark. Pretty, and with typical Slavic ears. In their own way, both looked very Russian. Both of them had clearly been told they should smile at the customers; both of them clearly hadn't quite got the hang of smiling.

We took off, the lights dimmed, and I tried to get some sleep, turning my nose away from Tom. Sitting near the back of the plane is not good for sleeping, especially if your nose juts into the aisle, and you're travelling with a crowd of Russian passengers with bladder problems. The lights came on. Now what? Ah, food.

I like East European food. It's simple. Solid. Fills the hole. What culinary delights were in store for us? Pieces of meat and half a slice of bread. No fancy sauces like on BA, this was as simple as food could get, AND with a cherry tomato. The slice of bread (actually, it was half a slice) was individually wrapped. Aeroflot may have the Easyjet orange as part of their colour scheme, but they're still a classy outfit.

Food finished, the lights dimmed, and I tried to get some sleep. The lights came back on again. Now what? No, no duty free for me, thanks, I'd like to sleep.
The lights dimmed again. Then back on again. Now what? The captain wants to tell us what speed we're flying at, but I want to get some sleep.
Lights off. Nice and dark. The non-stop toilet trips continue, but I start to drift off...
Lights on, and bright. Now what? Nothing. Lights go off again. Somebody somewhere thinks they're being really funny.
Lights on. Now what? We're coming in to Moscow. Great, no sleep for me. Tom, sitting beside me, is getting restless. The tattoo on his hand doesn't say Tom. If I can read the Cyrillic letters correctly, it says "Tanya." That makes more sense. Putting his girlfriend's name in his shirt would just be silly, but like this he'll still be ok even if he forgets her name.

And so, to Moscow.