Tajikistan Air

I recently--and voluntarily--took part in a terrifying experience called Tajikistan Airlines.

Having passed through the Sharjah Airport in UAE, we loaded ourselves onto a bus and drove to the airport rear where a fleet of very old and tired-looking airplanes lay in repose. Looking at the airplanes, one would assume this was where air vehicles were retired to live out the end of their rusty and ageworn days after decades (or possibly centuries?) of loyal service to the aviation industry. Not so, as they were very much used and in full service. While I was not in any particular rush to board one of these relics; my fellow passengers, however, felt quite differently and rushed out of the doors and onto the airplane with an enthusiasm incongruent to the idea of becoming airborne on such a machine.

We climbed the stairs and entered the cabin, which bore a striking resemblance to what you would find in a historical museum dedicated to the early evolution of aviation history. The walls were peeling and yellowing with age, the carpet was ripped and dirty and the seats were in definite need of some major fabric restoration. The plastic wall next to my seat hung loosely ajar from the window. I tried unsuccessfully to stow my carry-on in the overhead compartment, which was too small, until one passenger demonstrated the versatility of Tajik Airline seats. Not only did the seats flip up, but the seat backs also flipped forward (as I learned from the passenger behind me, who was zealously trying to stow something the size of a baby elephant behind my seat). Driven by my observations, I hurried to tighten my seat belt but, to my dismay, the belt was about 8 inches too long and hung limply over my legs. It was then that I looked up and noticed smears of blood on the back of the food tray in the seat in front of me. Oh my. The Tajik woman sitting next to me didn't even bother to put on her seat belt, choosing instead to trust in fate. I was reassured by her fatalistic stance--after all, this was a woman from the country flying this airline and would surely know their safety record--until I noticed the Tajik woman on the other side of her furiously praying with her prayer beads. Needless to say, this did very little to inspire my confidence in Tajik Air.
Looking around, I noticed that other passengers, too, had been unsuccessful in fitting their baggage in the overhead compartments. Instead, the overhead compartment doors were left open and plastic bags of various sizes were left hanging from the open compartments for the duration of the flight.

The flight itself was uneventful, punctuated only by the serving of a meal--the entirety of which my seat companion promptly stowed in the seat pocket in front of her. The only other remarkable event was that during our descent, the roof started leaking on my director. It's also possible that the reason I don't remember any astonishing events was because of the several pills of valium I consumed prior to the plane becoming airborne.

We arrived safely, and upon landing in Dushanbe, I breathed a sigh of relief and looked out onto the airstrip at the welcome land. Below the plane, a man was happily riding a bicycle around in circles on the tarmac.

Hello, Tajikistan.