TU154Ms into UK
I was a regular on the Pulkovo/Rossiya flights from London to St Petersburg, and the last Tu154M I came back on was into Gatwick on Sunday 30 March 2008, when the aircraft I see was RA-85836, a modern example built in 1998. I always used to try and bend the trip to get on the 154, that Sunday flight was the last to use the aircraft - the Saturday operation through Heathrow changed to 737s a couple of years beforehand.
For those who never rode in them, the aircraft had a thoroughly contemporary and up to date feeling inside, while the in-flight catering knocked spots off the BA offering on the route, certainly for quantity.
The Pulkovo/Rossiya website was always very precise on which types operate which departures, but Rossiya have now given up their London services completely, and closed their sales office which used to be in Berkeley Street off Piccadilly.
The replacing 737s, which incidentally were much older than the Tu154s, were secondhand from Aer Lingus, who had fitted them with green seats, with quotations from Irish poets and writers woven all across the fabric in a black old-fashioned script. Rossiya retained these seats. It was difficult enough for me to read them - what the majority of the Russian travellers made of them, goodness knows.
For those who never rode in them, the aircraft had a thoroughly contemporary and up to date feeling inside, while the in-flight catering knocked spots off the BA offering on the route, certainly for quantity.
The Pulkovo/Rossiya website was always very precise on which types operate which departures, but Rossiya have now given up their London services completely, and closed their sales office which used to be in Berkeley Street off Piccadilly.
The replacing 737s, which incidentally were much older than the Tu154s, were secondhand from Aer Lingus, who had fitted them with green seats, with quotations from Irish poets and writers woven all across the fabric in a black old-fashioned script. Rossiya retained these seats. It was difficult enough for me to read them - what the majority of the Russian travellers made of them, goodness knows.
Last edited by WHBM; 21st Jan 2011 at 15:53.
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A TU-154,was actually demonstrated to UK carter airlines ,Dan Air ,Brittannia and a few others at LUTON in the 70s,it was being marketed to them at the time as high capacity ,215 seats , less expensive alternative to 1-11s,Comets and 737s,needless to say none were sold in the UK.
Even in Russia the Yak-42 has always been seen as the poor relation of the Tu154, the latter being well regarded by operations geared up to support it properly.
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Hi
There is a Aero Rent TU154 due into Basle on 16/2 doing a football charter,it stays for 2 days.Arr 16/2 1210 Dep 18/2 1410.(Credit Basle Spotters)Very nice scheme.I'm hoping 2 Russian teams get to the final as the final is in Dublin and I am off there for the day,18th May
Cheers
Martin
There is a Aero Rent TU154 due into Basle on 16/2 doing a football charter,it stays for 2 days.Arr 16/2 1210 Dep 18/2 1410.(Credit Basle Spotters)Very nice scheme.I'm hoping 2 Russian teams get to the final as the final is in Dublin and I am off there for the day,18th May
Cheers
Martin
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Air Koryo DPRK.
peterperfect;
Air Koryo the national airline of the Democratic Peoples Republic of Korea ( North Korea ) still operate the TU 154 on regular schedule routes. Key into Google--Air Koryo TU 154-- and have yourself a feast.
I travelled on an Air Koryo IL62 not long ago between Beijing and Pyongyang as a tourist and the flight was superb. [ 10 out of 10 for everthing ] At the time of disembarking at Pyongyang ( steps and walk across the apron, no air bridges ) I recall a number of Air Koryo aircraft on adjacent bays and apart from some IL 62m s I think there was some Tu 154 Their colour scheme is very eye catching with the red and blue flag on the tail being the centre piece.
Prince of Dzun.
Air Koryo the national airline of the Democratic Peoples Republic of Korea ( North Korea ) still operate the TU 154 on regular schedule routes. Key into Google--Air Koryo TU 154-- and have yourself a feast.
I travelled on an Air Koryo IL62 not long ago between Beijing and Pyongyang as a tourist and the flight was superb. [ 10 out of 10 for everthing ] At the time of disembarking at Pyongyang ( steps and walk across the apron, no air bridges ) I recall a number of Air Koryo aircraft on adjacent bays and apart from some IL 62m s I think there was some Tu 154 Their colour scheme is very eye catching with the red and blue flag on the tail being the centre piece.
Prince of Dzun.
Twice a week Gatwick to St Petersburg, Wednesday and Sunday lunchtimes to start with, with A319s. Alas, no Tu154s so far.
Россия - Российские авиалинии :: Специальные тарифы для полётов в Лондон
sorry, it's in Russian only on their website at te moment
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Itua 33
Would this be the UEFA Europa League Final you are referring to.Being non-football knowledgable you reckon it may be worth a trip? P.S wont shoot the messenger if two "local" teams make the final, Thanks.
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This won a prize in a Telegraph travel writing competition. Nice piece of descritpive writing.
By Tim Waters 12:09PM GMT 03 Dec 2010
I stood in the darkness looking up at it as the first snows of winter stung my ears. White, rippling skin pinned to its bones with countless rivets, wings swept back and downwards, impatient to fly. The red name on its nose said "Petr Panov".
"You'll die," the agent had said.
"Even I wouldn't do it and I know Tupolev's granddaughter," the translator had added.
Fed up with being carried through the sky in anonymous boxes, I had hunted out the last Tupolev 154 still working the Moscow to St Petersburg route. Fly UTair – fly Russian!
A woman in furs stood in front of me, her lapdog yapping at the wind. A man in leather swept the snow from his cropped hair with a single movement of his hand. Up and into the cabin we went. Grey vinyl sides, like elephant hide; emergency signs painted on Tupperware lights in messy, red letters.
I took my seat, staring at a tray table made of grey painted chipboard. The only intelligible phrase in the lengthy safety briefing was "long life, safe flying of this aircraft", uttered as if it were an incantation. I swear that the hostess was crossing her fingers as she spoke.
One engine began to spin, a metallic whine building. Then the second, then the third, each note rising discordantly until they all joined in a screaming, titanium harmonic, behind us and within us. Sitting at the end of the runway, the aircraft twitched as the brakes struggled to hold it back.
With an all-consuming roar, the Soloviev turbines hurled us forward and up, the distinctive eagle's feet of the 154 sweeping up beneath as we vanished into the snow and spindrift.
Built by engineers forging a Russia of cosmonauts, a Soviet Union for the space age, Tupolevs had been part of the new frontier, able to land anywhere, bringing aeronautical revolution to the farthest wastes of Mother Russia.
As we burst through the cloud in a dizzying climb, the seat beneath the man in leather creaked and flexed, stubbornly battling with gravity.
The woman's dog sank so far into her fur coat that only two terrified eyes were visible. Moonlight danced along the wing and I thought of Yuri Gagarin racing for the stars.
All too soon the lights of St Petersburg were beneath us. There was no fly-by-wire nonsense: the plane swept around, surging forward or floating as the muscles in the pilot's arms demanded. Purposefully, he brought "Petr Panov" down, a final flourish placing him softly upon the runway, the passengers breaking out into relieved applause.
More than 60 Tupolev 154s have crashed: extreme weather, idiocy or explosives usually to blame. Very few times have these Russian eagles themselves failed.
I stepped into the bus to the terminal and looked guiltily back at Petr. He looked reproachfully at me. My return flight was already booked – in an Airbus.
I am sorry Petr Panov, I am sorry. But next year I will fly with you again. Both ways.
I stood in the darkness looking up at it as the first snows of winter stung my ears. White, rippling skin pinned to its bones with countless rivets, wings swept back and downwards, impatient to fly. The red name on its nose said "Petr Panov".
"You'll die," the agent had said.
"Even I wouldn't do it and I know Tupolev's granddaughter," the translator had added.
Fed up with being carried through the sky in anonymous boxes, I had hunted out the last Tupolev 154 still working the Moscow to St Petersburg route. Fly UTair – fly Russian!
A woman in furs stood in front of me, her lapdog yapping at the wind. A man in leather swept the snow from his cropped hair with a single movement of his hand. Up and into the cabin we went. Grey vinyl sides, like elephant hide; emergency signs painted on Tupperware lights in messy, red letters.
I took my seat, staring at a tray table made of grey painted chipboard. The only intelligible phrase in the lengthy safety briefing was "long life, safe flying of this aircraft", uttered as if it were an incantation. I swear that the hostess was crossing her fingers as she spoke.
One engine began to spin, a metallic whine building. Then the second, then the third, each note rising discordantly until they all joined in a screaming, titanium harmonic, behind us and within us. Sitting at the end of the runway, the aircraft twitched as the brakes struggled to hold it back.
With an all-consuming roar, the Soloviev turbines hurled us forward and up, the distinctive eagle's feet of the 154 sweeping up beneath as we vanished into the snow and spindrift.
Built by engineers forging a Russia of cosmonauts, a Soviet Union for the space age, Tupolevs had been part of the new frontier, able to land anywhere, bringing aeronautical revolution to the farthest wastes of Mother Russia.
As we burst through the cloud in a dizzying climb, the seat beneath the man in leather creaked and flexed, stubbornly battling with gravity.
The woman's dog sank so far into her fur coat that only two terrified eyes were visible. Moonlight danced along the wing and I thought of Yuri Gagarin racing for the stars.
All too soon the lights of St Petersburg were beneath us. There was no fly-by-wire nonsense: the plane swept around, surging forward or floating as the muscles in the pilot's arms demanded. Purposefully, he brought "Petr Panov" down, a final flourish placing him softly upon the runway, the passengers breaking out into relieved applause.
More than 60 Tupolev 154s have crashed: extreme weather, idiocy or explosives usually to blame. Very few times have these Russian eagles themselves failed.
I stepped into the bus to the terminal and looked guiltily back at Petr. He looked reproachfully at me. My return flight was already booked – in an Airbus.
I am sorry Petr Panov, I am sorry. But next year I will fly with you again. Both ways.
I was lucky enough to be given a jumpseat ride including the takeoff on an Aeroflot 154 Leninabad (Tadjikistan) to Moscow daytime in the early nineties. Flightdeck crew consisted Capt and F/O, F/E and R/O and finally Security Officer. I count this as the most unusual of quite a few jollies on the flight-decks of various aeroplanes.
