The Great Escape - A Tale from Cuba

Now a yak, even to someone with limited knowledge of the animal kingdom such as myself, is not famed for its ability to fly. It is a big, hairy, aerodynamically substandard beast designed primarily to withstand the cold. Except for their large size, aeroplanes and Asiatic members of the bovine family should have nothing in common.

Clearly, our Soviet cousins had had one too many vodkas when they named the YAK-42. And a few too many more when they built it. Airliners built by companies such as Airbus and Boeing usually share the wild yak's ability to withstand the cold, featuring as they do highly complicated climate control systems. This is important high up in the air, where average temperatures are even lower than in Scotland . Unfortunately, the YAK-42 doesn't even have this in common with its beastly namesake. Its air-conditioning system consists of an unconnected motor somewhere in the overhead lockers making air-conditioning-like noises combined with large gaps around the emergency exits where fresh air enters the aircraft and soiled air departs.

The result is twofold. At cruising altitude the cabin temperature is decidedly chilly – somewhere in the region of -50c. Even a wild yak can only survive temperatures of -40c. The twelve thin, pre-enjoyed Cubana blankets on board may go someway towards making the experience more bearable, and these are distributed on a strict first-come-first-served basis. Unless you are unfortunate enough to be non-Cuban, in which case you get very, very cold. This seems unfair given that I had paid somewhere in the region of $300 for the two and a half hour flight whereas Cuban passengers had enjoyed a government subsidised fare more in line with the flight's actual value of $0. On landing in Guatemala , the YAK-42´s unusual air-conditioning system proved equally over-effective, using the heat from the three engines to bring the cabin temperature near boiling point in seconds. Fortunately, I wasn't amongst the unlucky group of passengers continuing to Costa Rica , most of whom were pretending not to notice the unmistakable smell of burning rubber.

Still, the climate control system, along with the little grey metal folding tables stashed in the arms of the emergency exit seats, seemed to be the plane's most technologically advanced component. After the first YAK-42s were built, three essential parts were found to be missing – the engines. Once located, some engines were fastened to the plane, one on either side of the tail and the third right on top of the fuselage in front of the tail. Such an engine configuration, combined with any writing not in the Romanic alphabet, should immediately spark fits of panic in any self-respecting pteromerhanophobic.

And looking out of the window at gate twelve of Havana International Airport , trying to settle my stomach with a half-tube of horrific Malaysian Pringles, the misplaced engines caught my attention, and the fits of panic started. Worse was to come. The ill-fitting covered walkway exposed not just the Yak's main door, but also half a line of writing in an unmistakably Slavic script. Regrettably, the crack my head received from the top of the 5´6 high doorway as I tried to decipher the sign failed to render me unconscious.

Once in flight, the Yak's sole functioning toilet made a much better attempt at numbing my senses. Cubana´s cleaning staff's valiant attempts to compensate for not cleaning the toilet since their acquisition of the plane by applying copious amounts of extra strength disinfectant to every available surface had somehow failed to mask the smell emanating from beneath the little metal flap separating the toilet bowl from the waste tank below. The stainless steel surfaces were heavily stained; the 127v. plug socket in unusually good condition, possibly due to a lack of compatible appliances. I assume these can still be bought second hand in some remote Siberian mining towns.

Still, the toilet was markedly more comfortable than my seat. The stained, fraying blue and white squared fabric and angular plywood frame shouldn't have posed a problem. Except that this particular YAK-42 was built during a Soviet Union wide shortage of aeroplane seat padding materials. This may explain why so many passengers chose to visit the toilet regularly rather than hold on until Guatemala or plead incontinence. On the other hand, it may have had something to do with the selection of bright red meats accompanied by raw potato salad which constituted the in-flight breakfast.

The rest of the cabin appeared to be constructed in a similar way. The carpet was attached to the floor using carpet strips like those fixing my bedroom carpet to the floorboards below, where it was attached at all. Sadly, I was too scared to look out of the window and examine the wings in order to determine whether this build quality was replicated on the important bits.

My worst fears were confirmed as the YAK lumbered over the mountains on its approach to Guatemala . The thunderous din of the engines abruptly ending as the ten inch clout nails securing the motors to the fuselage finally gave way and we were left gliding, powerless. And then, after barely five seconds, the roar returned. This heart-stopping scenario was repeated several times before the YAK flopped down on the tarmac. Either the pilot had mistranslated the instruction book into Spanish, or the only way to slow a YAK-42 down is to periodically switch off the engines for a few seconds before firing them up again. Simple, but effective.

And then it was over. The big, beautiful billboards lining the road outside Guatemala airport confirmed that I had indeed managed the unthinkable. Despite the conviction of Fidel, Ché and Camilo, I had succeeded in escaping the twin inconveniences of death and socialism. Unless the onboard catering succeeds where the YAK failed.