Wednesday 9th April: Volgograd to Moscow, Moscow to London, and home, almost, but not quite.

Wednesday 9th April - one of those days in your life when emotions are very mixed. At the end of a very long day, after three flights, the prospect of home - always a good feeling. The planned journey itself can be something to look forward to, or to be endured. The saying goodbye to people and places - the worst part of any departure day.

My alarm was set for 07.00, but I didn't need it. I was looking forward to seeing Daria again, for breakfast, before she went to work and I caught the hotel shuttle bus to the airport, at 10.00. Then my Russian phone  'dinged' - a message from Dasha - she wouldn't be able to make it to the hotel, as she was already at work. It seems that the Minister of Education was arriving at the University that morning, and because she had taken off so much time yesterday, she just had to be there very early. I was so disappointed. You know, that kind of hollow feeling in the pit of the stomach, a kind of hopeless sadness. I received another SMS message from Dasha:

pas de tristesse!!!!!! beaucoup de bonheur , peace and love!!!!!!!!!!!!

And of course, she was absolutely right. My young friends had given me an unforgettable few days, I shouldn't be feeling sorry for myself. And surely it would have been worse if I had to say goodbye, au revoir face to face, again, as I had done on the platform at Volgograd Railway Station, when Iraida had left.

So, I had breakfast, completed packing my suitcases,  and took a small bag of presents down to reception,  so that Daria could collect them later.  When I wrote her name on a label, one of the reception staff smiled and said she knew Daria. I was able to print out my boarding passes in the hotel business centre for the S7 flight to Moscow,  and the BA flights to London and on to Newcastle. It reall is a very good hotel, and given the opportunity,  I would not hesitate to stay there again.

Then it was up to Room 316 for the last time, to collect my belongings,  and back to reception to check out. All that remained to pay for was the 500 roubles for the shuttle ride to the airport. I could see that the shuttle bus was  standing outside, and so saying farewell to the staff fo the last time, I pushed, pulled and trundled my bags out through the doors. It appeared that I was the only passenger scheduled for the 10.00 departure. The driver carefully packed all of my bags in the back and climbed into the shiny 8 seater people-carrier, which itself was very well-equipped. I noticed that it sported the video-camera on the dashboard, which seems an essential in Russia. Do you remember the shots of the meteorite shower falling on Chelyabinsk last year? The ones shot from a moving vehicle? It seems that these cameras are very popular in Russia, and one wonders whether they are there more for insurance purposes than scenic video-photography or the capturing of historic events such as the meteor shower.

The driver made his way on to the dual-carriageway leaving the city, and it was slow-going. We saw the reason ahead -a road-traffic accident had restricted the three lanes to one, half on the outside and half on the in side of the carriageway. We eventually squeezed though the gap, as an assemblage of discontented drivers stood around the vehicles involved in the accident. After that we made good time, and it wasn't long before the minibus pulled up outside the new terminal building at Volgograd Airport. The driver was unable to drop me off directly outside the building, since his pass did not seem to operate the final security barrier. Nevertheless he helped be with my baggage and pointed me in the right direction to the correct entrance. I lugged, pulled and trundled my bags across the paved area outside the terminal, and another helpful official pointed out the entrance. Just within that entrance was a metal detector/scanner through which all bags and mobile phones etc had to go, as well as passengers.

They didn't have to go through the same scanner, did they?

What do you mean?

Well did the baggage, phones and humans all go through the same scanner? I was just thinking, those rubber flaps would give you a bit of a slap on the head if you had to go through in  recumbent posture.

No. Bags through the horizontal scanner, humans through a vertical scanner, and mobile phones simply passed around on a tray. But bear in mind that this was for all visitors to the airport, and not just those arriving and departing via air.

Anyway, the preliminary security successfull negotiated, I made my way to the check-in desks for S7. There was a short queue, but I didn't have to wait too long before it was my turn to hand over documents (including the immigration certificate) and lift my suitcase on to the 'weighing-machine' at the check-in desk. I noticed that the scales read 22kg.

Oops, 2kg overweight. Would they notice?

Oh yes, they would. What about my cabin bag? I was signalled to check its size in one of those "if it doesn't fit in the metal frame you are knacked' devices. The first four inches slotted in easily, but by cabin case does have a protruding section (the lid carrying computer etc) which didn't fit. I think I was just about to be told that it would have to go in the hold, as excess baggage, , when a young guy behind the check-in desk, who was a very official looking unofficial official, if you know what I mean, intervened on my behalf. He shook his head at the slightly more zealous gentleman, and indicated that my bag just needed a label attaching. Because my main suitcase was 2kg over weight for S7, (but 1 kg underweight for British Airways, interestingly enough) I was handed a form by the lady at the desk, and told to go to the Kassa. I regognised this as being the cash- desk. I wandered up the terminal until I found the S7 desk and handed over the paper-work. It appare that I had to pay 300r for my extra 2kg. At £6.00 I was not going to argue.

Ha! I would like to have seen you argue. Might have been quite amusing.

Hmm. Then it was back to the check-in desk with my receipt, which would hve to be checked before my bags could be checked and my boarding pass given back to me. There was some discussion amongst the staff at the two desks as to who was to have the privilege of dealing with me, and paper-work was passed between the two before the lady at desk one decided that I should be dealt with at desk two, where my suitcase was still waiting . With smiles all round papers were processed and handed back to me. I wandered up stairs to an observation lounge, where one could watch aircraft land and take-off. I sat for a while, bought a coffee, and failed miserably to work out how to buy a bar of chocolate from one of those vending machines which needs a degree in mechanical engineering to operate. I mean, come on, two vending machines joined together, one for drinks, one for 'snacky' things. How difficult could it be? Well, clearly too difficult for me. I quickly consumed the drink and consigned the cardboard cup to a wastebin. I then wondered past the "Taste of Azerbajan" kiosk which sold caviar and other fish products, and a small chapel, for those requiring heavenly encouragement before taking a flight. I was looking for the exit to the departure gates, and the security check. Nothing to be found. So back down stairs to the check-in desks, just beside which was a small dark entrance in to the security check area. Shoes off, coat off, belt off, laptop, tablet and mobile phones out. Everything passed thought the scaner, and so did I. The matronly looking lady who stood by the baggage scanner  looked me in the eye and indicated that there was a problem. Ah, it will be that head-torch again, I though, and moved to unzip my cabin-bag. No not in there, I went to my shoulder bag. No not in there either. Here it is, she indicated the offending article, which was in the clear plastic bag for liquids etc. There were only two items in the bag. One was a small bottle of hand-wash gel and the other a small canister of medical adhesive removing spray. It was the latter which had caused the problem, because as the good lady indicated, there was a small sign on the bottom of the canister which indicated that the contents were flammable. She pointed out the sign, saying that such objects contravened the safety requirements. I could only agree with her, and hand over the canister which was duly confiscated. I do hope it was recycled ,and used correctly. I didn't point out the fact that the canister had passed through security checks at Newcastle International Airport, London Heathrow and Moscow Domodyedovo airports. It would have seemed a bit churlish, I felt.

Oh yes, very churlish. Or maybe your vocabulary would have let you down again. Now if you had been ordering a tea with lemon, or a coffee without milk, you would have taken her on, but .....

Maybe she was just being more efficient than all of the other security personnel.

Anyway, having redressed and re-packed, I made my way through into the quite small departure lounge, which was quite full. So this is where everyone was. I had wondered why the 'departure' lounge upstairs was quite deserted, apart from people buying caviar and  icons. Now I knew, they had all gone through security and were sitting comfortably awaiting the call to the gate. That call came quite soon, and in some ways I was glad I had not been able to operate the snack-vending machine, as I might still have been munching on a snack and drinking coffee. I could quite easily have missed the call, and my flight.

We all moved out onto an airport bus which ferried us the the lime green S7 aircraft which awaited on the tarmac. I ws in seat 4A, a window seat. There was a spare seat between myself and a lady occupying 4C, and it seemed that there were quite a few spare seats on the flight. We took off on time, and had an uneventful flight, broken up only by the S7 Snack-box and a hot drink.

Did you?

Did I what?

Did you order tea with lemon?

Of course, and very nice it was, with the chocolatey cake that forms the main part of the snack-box.

There was quite a lot of 'manoeuvring' on the approach to Domodyedovo, with some fairly significant changes of direction which involved much banking this way and that, until having just cleared the tree tops of a birch forest near the airport we made a perfect landing and taxied to the terminal building. Sitting in the fourth row meant that I was able to disembark quite quickly, and made my way to the baggage retrieval area, where I found myself a luggage trolley and awaited the arrival of my suitcase on to the carousel. There as no one to bump into here, as had happened in St.Petersburg, no Bruno Pelletier ( I think he was by that time en route to Warsaw), no Beth Hart, who was probably en route to Australia. Just me, the one who had to find his way to arrivals and then departures, via security and passport checks. These were all negotiated without problem. It was interesting, however, to notice that at passport control, my immigration card was removed from my passport, and replaced with a simple stamped mark. I wonder what would have happened if I had not found that immigration card in Volgograd, and whether i would have been able to enjoy the pot of jasmine tea, with a ham and cheese sandwich, and a triple scoop vanilla  ice-cream at one of the airport restaurants, if that small piece of paper had not been present in my passport.

Yes indeed. A great unponderable.

But I had, and I did. The ice-cream was particularly good - it was the only one I had on this trip. I had remembered for 48 years how good Russian ice-cream tasted, and I wasn't disappointed.

As departure time approached I wandered down to Gate 13 and found a seat in the crowded departure area. As I sat there I leaned my head on one hand, rubbing my eyes with my fingers.

"Are you alright there?"

The voice came from a young chap who had just sat down a seat or two away from me. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you, just a little tired."

"That's good. Have you been here on holiday?"

The conversation proceeded for a few minutes, based upon my supposition that I was speaking with a young English business person or student. I was wrong. I was speaking to a young Russian with an immaculate English accent. It transpired that he was a native of St.Petersburg on his way back to England, to school, to private school, to a very well-known English public school, near Windsor. He had been attending Eton since he was nine, and as he said, it would have been very disappointing if he did not have a perfect English accent. On his return he would be going off on a rowing trip to Portugal with the school. He also made me aware that in meeting him, I met someone from a very unusual Russian family, a family in which no one drank alcohol. That greatly amused him. We had a very pleasant conversation, interrupted only by the call to the Departure Gate. He said goodbye, intimating that he was going to hang around for a while until the rush was over. I interpreted that as meaning he would be making his relaxed way to business class on th Boeing 747 which awaited on the tarmac.

This was the second time I had flown in a Boeing 747. The last time had been the hastily re-arranged flight from Paris to Montréal last August, for which Air France had kindly upgraded me. No such luck this time however. I was sitting towards the rear of this massive aircraft, again in a window seat, with a spare sea next to me, which did give slightly more comfort. Take off was due at 17.15 Moscow time, with an expected flight of 3 hours and fifteen minutes. That should mean that I would have arrived at 17.30 London time, allowing a good two to three hours before my flight from Heathrow to Newcastle.

Ah, 'should have' ... do I detect a problem?

Yes you do, and so had flight staff. A problem with an air-conditioning valve. We didn't know that to begin with, but it was very warm on board the aircraft, and it was getting warmer. Cabin staff paraded the aisles offering glasses of iced water, which was very welcome. The we were all thanked for having arrived and boarded the plane promptly, which should have allowed for a departure at the scheduled time.

There's that 'should have' again.

Well spotted.

The air-conditioning valve had developed a fault, and would have to be repaired before we were allowed to depart. A delay of ten minutes turned into twenty minutes, then half-an hour, by which time it was getting so hot on board that a door was opened at the rear of the plane, to allow a flow of cooler air to enter the fuselage. The first officer was confident that the repair would be completed fairly quickly. In the meantime, the cooler air which was flowing into the aircraft was indeed cooler, around about 0°C, to be precise. I could hear various mutterings come from the rear, from slightly disgruntled passengers.. I needed to make use of the facilities - must have been the iced water. I checked with the cabin attendant if it was ok to use the toilet facilities whilst we were still on the ground.

You mean a bit like using a toilet on a train in a station....

Yes, something like that. Having been given the go-ahead I did, and then had a conversation with the flight attendant  before returning to my seat. It was really quite bizarre. There was the rear door wide open, and passengers in the rearmost rows of seats wrapped in blankets to protect themselves from the freezing Moscow evening air, whilst those at the from of the aircraft were almost melting as quickly as the ice cubes in the water distributed earlier.

Then it started. 
Excuse, me but I've got a connecting flight to Belfast. Will I make it?
I've got to catch a flight to Boston. Will we get there in time?

I had noticed that the replies to these questions, which came from one of the female flight attendants, were delivered in a very familiar accent, clearly from within a ten mile radius of my home. So when I voiced my disquiet, I was greeted with a "I certainly hope so pet, I'm on the same flight as you!"
"Aye, and so am I!" exclaimed a second female flight attendant. Ah well that might give me a chance.

Eventually the fault was repaired, and all we had to do was to wait for the proper paperwork to be completed. I do believe that the repair had been undertaken  and completed within an hour, but the aircraft did did not take off until 20.30, three and one quarter hours late. It meant we were on board for a total of 6 and a half hours - the equivalent of a flight from Montréal to London.  

The flight was good, and I saw some splendid cloud-scapes as we flew south west over Russia, Belarus 

and Poland.  It was interesting to think that in Warsaw some 30000 feet below, that Bruno Pelletier  might well be preparing for a concert in the Polish capital.The flight plan showed that we skirted Denmark before turning towards the south east of England. The next land to come into view was that of the Netherlands and then the coast of England. As I watched the map, I noticed the expected time of arrival changing, and  it meant that as each minute ticked away on the approach, the chance of making the connecting flight became more and more remote. I did notice that the North-eastern contingent of the cabin staff were all dressed ready for a quick escape, so maybe they made it across the airport in the twenty minutes available once we were docked at Terminal 5. For lesser mortals there was no chance. I found my way to the connections desk, and was told that i would be given overnight accommodation in the Sofitel Hotel,which is actually attached to Terminal 5. Nice one, I thought. 
You will be offered a free dinner this evening and breakfast tomorrow morning. 
That will do nicely, I thought. 

Don't forget the British Airways complimentary overnight pack!

Ah yes, I'd forgotten the British Airways complimentary overnight pack, replete with useful items for the traveller in distress.

Do you mean money and whiskey?

No, I mean miniature toothbrush and really miniature tube of tooth-paste, white plastic comb, and a large white T-shirt. There may also have been some shower gel and hair conditioner. I have never seen such a small tube of toothpaste. Clearly meant for one squeeze and one use only, it would not seem out of place in Barbie's overnight bag. Nevertheless, useful.

I made my way through passport control, choosing the e-passport line, which was largely unmanned and relied upon iris-recognition technology. Very clever, and for me, with a new found talent for gazing into the lens of a camera, no problem at all! Thank you Daria and Iraida  for giving me so much practice!

I found my way to Sofitel and to the reception desk and booked in.  Well?

Well what?

Well? No snide comments about immigration cards and passports?

No, none at all. It was all your fault, so why would I bring it up at this point?

The Sofitel Hotel is large. Very large. I took a photo to show how long the corridors are - they seem to stretch to infinity. And there were indoor gardens of quiet and relaxation too. I'm always impressed by a bit of Zen in a hotel, and i seems to be a bit of a theme in Accor group establishments.

My room was excellent, almost too nice to disturb. It was rather late, I felt, for dinner, and I'd already been fed on the aircraft, so I decided to forgo a walk to the dining areas, and having drunk the two free bottles of mineral water, one still, one fizzy, I went to bed.

Breakfast the next morning was a very impressive affair, and provided a most impressive choice. It would have been possible to have eaten enough to last for three days, with waiters and waitresses clearly trained to watch the levels of juice and /or coffee in glasses/cups. Once the level dropped below two thirds, someone was by your side, asking if you required a top up.

"How is your fresh fruit, sir?"

"Is the orange juice the right temperature, sir?"

"Would you like me to cut your sausage, egg, bacon and fried bread into little cubes, and mix them all up for you, sir?"

Really, they asked that?

Well, not the last one, and that really disappointed me, because that's the way my mother used to serve my breakfast when I was a small boy. If I had to mark my waitress out of ten, I could only give her a nine, because she clearly had not been trained in providing the ultimate in customer service.

It was free though.

Yes, absolutely true. Ten it is.

Lifting myself from my set with difficulty, I made my way back up to my room and then walked through the connecting corridors to Terminal 5. I made my way through passport and security controls without incident, and made my way through the terminal to the A-gates, to await my flight to Newcastle. As I walked past the Wetherspoons pub, I noticed that there beer festival was still on. Should I? It was only 09.00, and I had just eaten a huge breakfast. Oh well, go on then. I sampled three beers - the equivalent to a pint, and thoroughly enjoyed all three. I did omit to score them on WhatPub however. I apologise CAMRA.

Then it was a 50 metre walk to the Newcastle Gate. Every television screen I had seen since re-entering the UK seemed to be about the Oscar Pistorius trial in South Africa. After ten minutes of listening and half-watching the prosecutor 'building his case' I move seats so that I could neither see nor hear it. Oscar Pistorius and UKIP, that's all that seemed to be in the news, and are probably two reasons why I don't watch the news very often!

The flight to Newcastle was short and sweet, and at the end of it my daughter Julia and grand-daughter Lucy were waiting to meet me.

I had been away from home for just nine days. Nine unforgettable days.