Babyflot

'Where else in world do passengers start disembarking from either end of the plane, because it's structured such, that if you don't, the plane will fall over? Where else in the world do they not wake you up when you are about to land and you wake up in this froth, because you think the plane's going to crash? Where else in the world, does the captain get off the plane before you do? Where else in the world are there plastic cups that have got teeth marks on them? It's only Russia. It's got to be Russia.'

- Airplaneski

Once upon a time in early-90s land where satin low-rise flares flourished in the West and the Soviet Union broke up for good under more easterly skies, a national carrier called Aeroflot was going through some pretty insane changes. Like aluminium puberty, it grew from one organisation and blossomed into hundreds of different domestic airliners, dubbed Babyflots.

1. The word Baby does not sit well with my puberty metaphor.
2. Don't let the implied cuteness of the baby word distract you.
The safety record for many of these new airlines were so appalling, that the International Air Transport Association recommended train travel in the former Soviet Union as a preferable and less death-y option (closely followed by unicycling head first into an Amur Tiger's mouth and riding a Snow Sheep back to front through the Siberian Alps*)

Essentially, the amount of planes needed for such a huge Baby(Flot) Boom, just couldn't be met. So the crafts often used were geriatric, rickety and poorly maintained. Parts for broken planes often couldn't be located for weeks. Sometimes not at all. Documentary, Airplaneski delves into the murkiness, poverty and pilot frustration of 20-years-ago-Russia, with some incredible first hand accounts of flights that were at best bonkers, and at worst, foggy (inside the plane) white knuckle rides culminating in multiple and unscheduled pit-stops, often decided by bribe or passenger vote ('Can we drop our eldest and naughtiest off at Rostov-On-Don, please? He's being a dick. Yes, without the comfort blanket.')

In 1998, the Moscow Times announced the 'end of the Babyflot era.' But the safety debate inside Russia still persists. I appear to have found some like minded geeks on the Wings of the Web. According to one, the only carriers to fly with inside Russia these days are, Aeroflot, Rossiyer Airlines, Vladivostock, Transaero, S7 and Ural. All the rest are potentially a full-panted nightmare. In particular the regional jet liner, Yakovlev. I can't help but wonder how 'bad' it all is. Or if it's over sensationalised. A recent article in Forbes seemed to compound rotten safety issues up to the present day, but it received a complete belting on the Wings forum. However, according to the Aviation Safety Network, it's not that wrong. Inside Russia is apparently the most dangerous place in the world to fly (their international fleet of Boeings have a near perfect safety record). But so much for the 'end of the Babyflot era'...

Why is it all going so wrong? I learned today that Aviacor is the largest manufacturer of Russian planes. It makes the gloriously named Antonovs, Tupolevs, and Yaks - but it only makes one new plane a year. The government says, 'buy Russian.' But how, if there's nothing to buy? It's like saying, 'go to the soap shop and buy some soap. There's no soap in there. Just some rank old stuff. But make sure you buy it, yeah?' Most of Aviacor's time is spent servicing ancient planes, which clearly doesn't work as there have been six fatal crashes this year. Now I love a splendid retro plane, inside and out. But not one that's still in active service and being run into the ground. It's like making Grandma work a 50-hour week and then poking her with a stick if she sits down.

I sort of want to see the whole situation for myself. Aviacor has been described as a 'chilly hangar' not unlike a 'museum' (left). That's already a geek-win. I do wonder if there is a market for some sort of eccentric, tailor-made holiday encompassing a trip to Aviacor, a tour of a Tupolev-144 (my all time favourite looking creature inside - orange lozenge-seat o'clock) and a TU-95 (not a passenger plane, but my all time favourite on the outside - the most festive looking prop plane ever made, so definitely an alternative for Father Christmas, should the sleigh malfunction) and a stay somewhere remote. With lots of vodka. The proceeds of every trip could be used to make planes which aren't complete death traps.

The final Act
Shock. In the wake (turbulence) of far too much furrow-browed information-overload, now for something lighter. One thing I noticed on my tour of Babyflots, is the array of (sometimes endless) generally quite poetic sounding company names. Just for kicks, I have plucked my favourite sounding ones and listed them below. I base my choices and ponderings purely on the arrangement of letters and sounds my eyes and ears enjoy...

Flylal. Sounds like something you might say on waking from an anaesthetic. Pretty punky hot pink livery. Still exists.

Nikolaevsk-Na-Amure Air Enterprise. Well, it just rolls off the tongue, like a bag on a conveyor belt destined for Murmansk but labelled Scunthorpe International...

Novosibirsk. Twice bankrupt. The most juicily Russian sounding. Almost all their fabulous cargo lifters were Antonov 'giants.' One of which - the An-22 Antheus - was nicknamed the 'cock' and most of which were like rotund, obese airborne walruses. The others in this blatant trio of power- in- size, were named the Condor and the Cossack: which both sound like plausible, meat-head lead roles in an 80s action flick. And definitely starring Arnold Schwarzenegger. In both parts.

Polar Airlines. Because I wonder how much vodka you'd have to imbibe to think you've seen a bear in a cockpit.

KrasAir - because I'm a child and it sounds like crass. And Crass in turn, happens to be a defunct 70s punk band.

Rock on.

*lies.