Our next destination was Khojand, the country's second-largest city in the north and the gateway to Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan.  Having had enough for now of 10-hour driving trips, we decided to take another chance on Tajik Air, which was supposedly more professional on this standard route.  And indeed it was, at least a little: we were able to buy confirmed tickets at the airline's office downtown, as they actually had computers and some confidence the flight would go. 

At the airport, it got more interesting.  The domestic terminal was closed when we arrived, but they opened it about 45 minutes before the flight.  We two checked bags, and the agent put both tags on the same one (I moved it to the unmarked bag).  Security consisted of an x-ray machine that spotted batteries in my checked luggage (“for cameras” I said).  They made no attempt to check my body after the metal in my pockets set off the scanner.  I could have been wearing ten kilos of explosives for all they knew.  But at least we were on the flight.

The airplane was a Soviet-era propeller model that came straight out of the 1950s.  The seats were as thin as bus chairs, most of them broken and permanently reclining.  The flight attendant passed out candies and cups of RC Cola and made announcements only in Tajik.

But the plane took off, flew calmly over the mountains and landed in Khojand.  We had made it on Tajik Air.