October 10 - 11, 1999
London - Moscow - Ho Chi Minh City
Take my advice - don't try it.

The flight from London to Moscow was nothing if not spartan, the monotony broken only by the pathetic drunken songs of beer soaked Russians who've been called up to go to Chechnia.

And, for god's sake.... don't eat the food. Half of it is not even identifiable - and the other half is unfortunately very identifiable. Either way you loose.

The four hour stop-over in Moscow begins with wandering around a huge and completely signless building, being violently pointed the way by people who don't know the way. Those who do are keeping it to themselves.... "Why", you ask? Because they can!

Finally, I know I'm in the right place because I stumble upon a large group of Vietnamese who all act like they are related to one another. It turns out that they aren't. But the Vietnamese have a way of looking related when approached by foreigners.

It isn't until I'm about to board the plane that I realize there is a quick and completely unscheduled stop-over in Mumbai (Bombay). "Why?", You ask again. Because they can!

This leg of the flight is not nearly as spartan. We get pillows and blankets (the really wooly itchy kind that make you feel like you are developing a rash) and Jackie Chan.

But the food - which must be looked at, smelled, poked and suffered through - happens twice and it never improves at all. I don't believe this ever came from a chicken - it's completely the wrong shape. It's rabbit and I know it - so don't try to pull a fast one on me. Chickens don't possess bones shaped like that.

One wonders what possessed the designers of this particular aircraft to do out the toilets in wood parquet - but you can imagine just how hygenic that gets after 12 hours of far misses during turbulence.

Or perhaps at the begining of the flight, they hire someone to come in and piss on the floor for that "Aeroflot" touch. That kind of service would be completely in keeping with the rest of the magnanimity of the cabin crew who, for some reason, keep acting like you raped their grandmother back a while ago and now they are forced to serve you dinner.

In fact, I am sure that they must know that in a past life I was some sort of national criminal because everytime I finally get off to sleep, they wake me up by smacking me on the head and try to make me eat something else that got overcooked in a nuclear reactor somewhere.

22 hours after I started, the plane touches down (none too gently) at Tan Son Nhat airport in Ho Chi Minh City. I am expecting the torture to continue at the imigration counter. But to my astonishment, the officers are so nice... (I didn't say anyone smiled) and so efficient, I get past the official part in 10 minutes flat.

Then... it's out into the dusk and the heat of the evening in H.C.M.C