Russian Air Roulette

(2 of 2)

Perhaps such incidents should come as no surprise from the heirs of an airline whose legacy includes a pilot who, in 1986, tried to demonstrate his feel for an Aeroflot passenger jet by attempting to land with the cockpit blinds closed. More than 60 people were killed. But like the skipper, who survived, the tradition lives on. During a recent flight from northern Russia to Moscow, one curious passenger discovered a party in progress at the back of the plane. Vodka and sandwiches were being shared by most of the crew, including the copilot who, less than an hour from landing, had passed out drunk on a mountain of baggage.

The worst offenders are the domestic carriers. For a bribe of about 20,000 rubles on top of the price of the ticket, most attendants and pilots will be only too happy to accommodate latecomers by jamming the aisles and cargo bins with standing room only. On many flights, preflight safety briefings are nonexistent; smoking is permitted before, during and after takeoff; access to emergency exits and even the toilets is blocked by everything from sacks of potatoes to wire cages filled with twittering birds.

And then there are the delays. Glassy-eyed passengers can spend days huddled in dimly lit waiting rooms called, with spectacular aptness, "accumulators." Last summer, after enduring four stuporous days stranded in Moscow's Vnukovo airport, 350 passengers stormed the runway in an attempt to force a plane to take them home. Riot police were called in, and three people were injured.

Perhaps such chaos is an inevitable by-product of an economy turned upside down, but aviation experts warn that air travel is an enterprise in which even minute compromises in standards are inevitably measured in human lives. "Russian air safety," says Dan Cook, editor of Air Safety Week, "unfortunately is an oxymoron." Cook means what he says: on a recent inspection trip to Moscow, he and a team of safety inspectors declined to use Aeroflot. They flew Finnair instead.