My father flew on a Chinese airliner in the early 1980s. There were two more passengers than seats, which wasn't a problem as they found a couple of deck chairs for them to sit in.
Trip from Shanghai to Wuhan in 1998. Those days if you were flying from Shanghai in the morning you had to book into a hotel by the airport the night before because you couldn't get from the centre of Shanghai in time. Two heavies accompanied me to the check-in and they bulldozed me through the crowd to the front. No seat selection, I got a boarding number, 11, similar to some present low cost airlines.
The boarding of the 727-100 was straightforward enough and I found myself a seat by a window underneath the fin attachment points. I worked on the basis that if we didn't hit something too hard the deceleration rate plus the fifty or so cushions in front of me would make it survivable. Both the seat belt and the ashtray were in place and the lights for them, in Spanish, worked.
We got airborne and as we settled in the cruise the overhead CRTs pivoted down from the ceiling and the flight's entertainment came on.
It was Karaoke.
You could hear the music through the headphones but also the person singing it. Removing the headphones meant that you could only hear the singing which was even worse. I was scrabbling around trying to find some ear defenders, it would have been grossly impolite to stick one's fingers in your ears, but with no success.
I cowered into the corner and resigned myself to the torture. Eventually it all went quiet apart from the air hostess wandering up and down calling 'She yi?'
She yi, I thought, that's eleven in Chinese so I held up my boarding ticket. She then came over and thrust the microphone into my face. I shook my head, "Mayo," (No nothing) I said and immediately about six Chinese jumped on me trying to get hold of my ticket.
At that time Wuhan airport was a joint military/civil airport in the middle of town. Kai Tak was quite spectacular dodging the concrete on the final turn to the runway but Wuhan had it in Spades. Both wingtips were clipping the balconies and at the last moment they retreated to be replaced by the threshold lined with twin engine Xian Y7s in various states of disrepair. The runway was built from large square concrete pourings with tar inlays at the joints and was incredibly noisy and bumpy. I thought for a moment the vibration had shaken the overheads open but it was the passengers starting to retrieve their baggage before the engines' reversing petals had closed.
After disembarking I was escorted the rear of the aircraft where they were unloading the baggage so that I could identify mine. I watched as the baggage was tossed out of the door onto the ground ten feet below and when I saw mine poised I shouted and it was gently lowered down.
I went Wuhan a couple of years later when the Yangtze flooded for the last time. To see rows of PLA soldiers in three ranks, chest deep in water, arms locked together, acting as a human dam to stem the flow of the floodwater through a breach in the dykes so that the sandbags being thrown in could get a grip has left an impression on me for ever.