The All-Salami Airlines

It was a clear day over Eastern Europe, and the piston-engine Ilyushin 14 plane of Tarom, the Rumanian airline, was flying smoothly on course from Bucharest to Constanta, Rumania. All at once, the plane began pitching and banking erratically. While passengers paled, the captain stepped out of the forward cabin and plopped into a vacant seat. "The comrade director," he explained, "is a very nice man and likes to try his hand at flying."

After a quarter of an hour, the comrade director relinquished the controls and the aircraft resumed its straight and level--more or less--course. Such incidents are not uncommon in Eastern Europe, where flying aboard the national airlines--known to veteran travelers as "the salami lines"--is often a surrealistic experience. TIME'S Eastern European Correspondent William Mader has been a frequent passenger over the past two years. His appraisal: "Flight with the Eastern Europeans is often hectic, uncomfortable and even, too frequently, hair-raising. The reasons are Communist inefficiency and relative backwardness, lassitude and native temperament. Even though the best people are chosen by the regimes to staff planes and airline counters, there is still a considerable gap between East and West."

Spitfire Syndrome. Nonetheless, Western businessmen and tourists are flying into Eastern Europe in greater numbers than ever, and their yen for exotic travel is more than matched by the Communists' eagerness to carry dollar-paying passengers. Next week Czechoslovakia's CSA will begin scheduled flights with Ilyushin 62 jets from New York to Prague, though Western travel is forbidden to most Czechoslovaks.

On short-and medium-range flights, most Eastern European lines fly Soviet aircraft, which are primarily designed for rapid conversion into military transports. The seats are uncomfortably narrow and invariably dusty. More often than not, seat belts refuse to fasten. Pressurization is weak and uncertain.

Veteran passengers can usually name an airline by the idiosyncrasies of its pilots (see box). Quite a few Eastern European pilots flew fighters for either the British or Russians during World War II, and have never lost their Spitfire habits--though Western experts rate the lines' safety records as average.

Captive Passengers. The airlines are invariably jampacked. Experienced travelers learn never to count on a reservation. Clerks regularly overbook, schedules are meaningless, and aircraft often inexplicably sit on the tarmac hours after departure time--not that that is so unusual in the U.S. these days. Once in the air, passengers can never be sure where they are going to land, especially in winter. The airlines fly regardless of the weather at their destination and frequently have to detour to other cities in order to land. One recent Bulgarian Balkan Airlines flight, destined for Vienna, set down in Budapest. The pilot disappeared, the agent said it was his day off, and the Hungarian airport staff declined to help the passengers. After eleven hours of negotiation, some passengers wangled transit visas and a car for the 160-mile drive to Vienna.

Flying in Eastern Europe, in short, requires infinite patience and a certain sense of derring-do. For those who risk it, TIME'S Mader offers this advice: "Fly Eastern European only when there is no choice, and then with CSA if possible. Plan appointments no earlier than 24 hours after scheduled arrival. Obtain transit visas, if possible, for all Eastern European countries in the flight pattern in case the flight is diverted. Steel nerves for rough flight, regardless of weather. Be armed with plenty of Western reading material, for only in Yugoslavia can you buy it freely. If plane is diverted, immediately upon landing rush to transit counter and start demanding whatever other transportation is available. It will take hours to gain results. If not in a hurry, try to find most comfortable chair, settle in for a long stay and relax."

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