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Every time I fly into Zvartnots Airport, I think about
the first time, more than six years ago.
A beat up Tupolev with seats that bent forward, torn
carpet and industrial tape in places where I'd rather
not see it at 30,000 feet brought us onto a sparsely
lit runway. We got off the plane into the cold outside
and walked into a dank terminal that smelled of urine
and decay. In fact, the door to the toilet was boarded
up, so that business that should have been taken care
of inside was nonetheless done against the wooden doors.
The effect was what you would expect.
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