Airport Security (or Lack Thereof) at a Remote Airport

Now that I am (safely) back from almost two weeks of air (and other) travel in Europe to speak at conferences, I can reflect on my observations regarding airport security (or lack thereof).

As an academic, I speak at conferences frequently, and especially, as a female, I believe that it is very important to, when asked, to accept invitations to give plenary talks. Such invitations brought me recently to the 2010 Computational Management Science conference in Vienna, Austria and to the Yalta Optimization Conference in the Crimea, Ukraine.

I was traveling to these conferences alone.

What struck me in a dramatic fashion was the different levels of airport security. My journey began on July 26, 2010, when I flew out of Logan airport in Boston and I flew on a total of 8 different flights over the subsequent 12 days, getting back to Boston on August 5 (and landing just before a major thunderstorm hit the area).

I conduct research in operations, with a focus on transportation, logistics, and network systems, and have a special interest in risk management and safety and security issues.

The airport security at Logan was, as one would expect, visible and thorough, and all air travelers had to remove their shoes, jackets, etc., while passing through security, and to have their liquids in plastic quart bags. My journey took me through the Frankfurt airport (en route to Vienna and then back from Vienna to Boston after my conference in Ukraine). Strangely enough, passengers did not need to remove their shoes (which is standard in every airport that I have flown through in the US in the past several years) when going through security at the Frankfurt airport but we did have to have the liquids that we were carrying through security in appropriately-sized plastic bags.

After my conference in Vienna (please see my earlier blogposts with photos on this great experience) I flew to the Simferopol airport, which is in the Crimea, Ukraine, through Kiev, the capital of Ukraine. My flights in Ukraine were on Ukraine International Airlines, and they were, unexpectedly, very comfortable and delightful.

The Yalta conference was a fascinating experience scientifically, culturally, and also personally, since this was my first trip to Ukraine, the country of the birthplace of my parents (and Ukrainian is my first language with Russian being my fifth).

Landing at the Simferopol airport, we disembarked under the skies, which were turning to dusk to a welcoming by a sea of taxi drivers (you can read about my driver "Igor" here). I urge all passengers to use the facilities of your airplane before disembarking your plane here since the restroom facilities are shocking (see bottom photo above). Not only is handicap-accessibility unknown but one has to lug the suitcases down slippery steps and then go up and down and then up again to reach a stall (with small wooden door) featured above. Yes, folks, I had nightmares after this travel experience and I have been to many countries.

After the conference in Yalta, on August 4, 2010, I was back at the Simferopol airport to take my flight to Kiev and then onwards to Vienna before I would begin my journey back to Boston via Frankfurt.

The almost gingerbread-looking house above is the terminal for intra-Ukraine flights. The landscaping, also featured above, is rather delightful. I noticed two gentlemen walking towards this terminal who were clearly tourists and who I had overheard speaking German so I spoke to them and they also spoke English (English is my second language and German my fourth). They were on my flight (see them drinking coffee above in the tiny airport coffeeshop) and, coincidentally (despite our flight being not even 1/3 full), had received seats next to me (21A,B,C). Some weird assignment algorithm must have been used for our seat allocation (or, perhaps, the gate agent just thought we were traveling together although we checked in separately).

Now for the punchline, at security at the Simferopol airport, not only did we not have to remove our shoes, we did not have to remove our plastic bags with liquids, AND we were all carrying large plastic bottles of water since it was so hot! Once the three of us passed the so-called security, we looked at one another with wide eyes. One of the Germans remarked that he was praying that the plane would not blow up. He was a physicist and even made sure on our flight that folks had their electronic equipment turned off upon takeoff and landing.

Waiting to board we were filled with anxiety and the plane (a Boeing) taxied for 15 minutes on a jetway with cracks and grass growing through. One of my new "friends" commented that if we were to have an emergency landing that it would be softened by the grass. Nothing like humor and jokes to alleviate some of the tension. We promised to all hold hands in the case of a "crash" landing.

Well, we made it to Kiev, transfered to the international terminal, whose main feature was the Irish Pub, and we hung out together until they were off on towards Dusseldorf and I was off to Vienna. My overnight at the NH hotel by the Vienna airport was heavenly and, if I am ever stuck, for some reason, at the Vienna airport, where you certainly can't starve, I will definitely stay at this terrific business hotel.

Driving with Igor -- My Taxi Driver in Yalta

I made it back to Massachusetts last night after almost two weeks of travel, including eight flights, to speak at conferences in Vienna, Austria, and in Yalta, Ukraine.

I was feeling like George Clooney in the movie, "Up in the Air," and even a Lufthansa stewardess told me that my schedule had been much worse than hers. Also, Clooney never had to speak anything but English during his air travels.

But this is not a blogpost about my adventures in flight (those will come later) but my experiences driving in Ukraine with Igor, my taxi driver.

As I had written earlier, I landed at the Simferopol airport last Saturday as dusk was approaching on a flight from Kiev. Simferopol airport is in the Crimea, Ukraine, and I have never been to such an unusual and tiny airport. I was met by a swarm of taxi drivers (some of my colleagues call them sharks but I recognize that they just want to earn a living) and was able to identify my prearranged driver, "Igor," by his white cap, big smile, and his sign with an "A" on it. When I asked him, in Russian, what his name was, he answered, "Igor," so we were on our way.

The one and a half hour drive from Simferopol to the Hotel Yalta, where the second conference of my journey was taking place, was rather anxiety-provoking, since there is only one road between these two points; the road is shared by 70 year old trolley busses, and the road is extremely curvy, with the Black Sea on one side and the Crimean mountains on the other. Also, cars pass one another regularly on this road. (I have taken taxis in Naples and have been on a bus up to Anacapri on the island of Capri, so I have had my share of scary land-based travel experiences abroad).

Plus, Igor had a tv set on (he was very proud of his German-made Opel car), and, every once in a while, he would answer his cell phone calls. To distract him from using the cell I engaged him in conversation in Russian and got a lot of practice. He paid me what I consider to be a compliment. He identified me, given my accent, as being from Western Ukraine (and not a US citizen).

Igor told me about his life, about his going to school in Chechnya, and having been trained as a military parachutist and serving in Pskov, Russia. He, ultimately, fell in love with a girl in Crimea and decided to settle there. He regalled me with stories of some of the passengers that he had transported to/from the Yalta Hotel, which is a 1,000 room amazing hotel that I stayed in that dates to the Soviet era.

When we reached the hotel, I breathed a huge sigh of relief, paid him $50US (he preferred this method of payment to the Ukrainian currency), and told him that I would probably be using him again the following Wednesday for my morning return trip to the Simferopol airport for the flight to Kiev.

When Wednesday came, Igor was waiting for me at 7AM at the Hotel Yalta and my journey back began. Driving with Igor in the daylight was delightful (since, in a strange way, we had become friends). Frankly, he reminded me a bit of of the gentle giant Shrek (see photo above), which, coincidentally, was the movie playing on my Lufthansa flight from Frankfurt back to Boston.

Igor displayed such joy in his family, in his garden, and in his cats and dogs, and in his job of being a taxi driver, that it was very refreshing. We laughed a lot during our journey back.

He stopped the taxi to show me some magnificent views featured above (but his photo of me did not work). Upon our arrival at the Simferopol Airport, he treated me to an espresso at a tiny cafe opposite the terminal.

I have Igor's business card and would definitely use him again should my travels take me back to Yalta or the Crimea. He has even driven passengers to Kiev (10 hours) when flights were canceled due to bad weather.