EREVAN 1988

For the first time the Soviet Union opened its doors to the press and Western aid.
In a show of international solidarity, planes are arriving from all sides to Yerevan, the capital of the Republic of Armenia and one of the few airports with international capacity.
Three days after Moscow's request for assistance, the first Air France plane took off in the mist of an early morning; destination Marseille, Istanbul, Yerevan.

The day before, in the afternoon, an effervescence at the level of the Direction of Air Operations, but nothing was decided. And then, around 5 p.m., the decision of the emergency cell of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the agreement of Air France arrive: we make the flight, the next day at the first hour.

An Airbus A300 was chosen. Unusual passengers at the Charles de Gaulle terminal, 60 sappers from the Paris Fire Brigade board with helmets and luggage, in perfect order.

Some tell us about Mexico City and the experience they have already gained there: "here it may be harder".

At the 1st stopover, we embark a second detachment of 120 firefighters, rescue specialists and a delegation of doctors led by Professor Robert Vigouroux, Mayor of Marseille.

The stopover is hectic because of course all want to embark a maximum of equipment and medicines necessary for their interventions.

Unusual loading: the Airbus in the cabin has an unusual look with a pile of bags and helmets, moored on the available seats.
At the last minute, the person in charge of the sailors comes to see us: "There is no longer a corner of free and I still have my tents to climb: it is -10 ° there; where are we going to sleep? »
I have experienced this in other circumstances already: the impossible choice between what is indispensable and what is very important.

The next step is uneventful; a warm and friendly atmosphere between the crew and the rescuers.

The stopover in Istanbul is necessary because we do not know if we will find fuel in Yerevan, for our return. The stopover is very short and the last stage engages us, between black and Caspian Seas, in an area very little frequented by our colors.

From the first radio contact, the activity seems intense and feverish: a little in English, but especially in Russian, it calls from all sides.
A collision the day before between a Russian plane and a helicopter, probably due to an unusual intensity of air traffic, puts everyone on guard.
On the other hand, a good surprise: the accent is a little rough but the English of air traffic control is quite satisfactory.
Out of caution, an Armenian doctor, part of the rescue team, assists us in the cockpit, the headphones on the ears and the microphone ready to intervene.

And then, everything goes well. It crosses in all directions, a blow to the left, a blow to the right following unusual procedures but at the end of the layer of clouds, the city of Yerevan, illuminated and the track are in front of us. Seen from here, no trace of earthquake. The night hides the miseries and then, it is true, the big damage is further north towards Leninakan.

Landing without problem, on a horribly bumpy runway.
It is by clearing the runway that we discover the multitude of planes parked on the ground. There are everywhere, of all origins, of all sizes: on taxiways, in the grass, on manoeuvring areas.

It is necessary to sneak in the middle of this crowd, fearing at any moment to hang a wing, to blow a smaller one.

In this gymkhana, the first testimony of friendship comes to us by the radio "Spassiba Franzousky": "Thank you French".

Our Armenian interpreter translates, happy with this welcome, happy to be able to help his people, he who is a little from here and a little from there.

We are finally stationed, in the middle of a jumble of planes, rudimentary trucks and machines of all kinds.

As soon as the engines are shut down, a considerable strain jostles at the foot of the plane: soldiers of all ranks, of all kinds, recognizable officials and unrecognizable officials, aid organizations of all kinds: those who are waiting for equipment, those who are waiting for reinforcements and then, there are the others, all those who,  astonished but happy simply come to see that in the face of distress, men sometimes know how to forget their differences.

Yet this is where the problems begin.
In the Soviet Union, you may sink steeply, but you still check the identity of the savior before grabbing the buoy he hands you. The head of the police, while warmly thanking the rescuers, will verify each identity before letting the first passenger of the plane disembark after two hours of control.

And then, but we expected it, the technical means are more than insufficient.
A good surprise: there is fuel, but nothing to unload the plane.

The technique is lacking but the arms are not lacking. So, everyone rolls up their sleeves and parcels by parcel, one hold after another, with screams, with laughter, the plane is unloaded in almost three hours.

In this joyful "rubbish", silence is sometimes made around a man who tells. He speaks in Armenian and our friends translate the essentials, but beyond the short sentences, words that we understand only half, there is his gaze and especially the silence of those who know, of those who have seen and will never forget again.

In Yerevan and especially at the airport that we could not, for lack of time, leave during these six hours of stopover, no trace of damage.
The epicenter of the earthquake was further north in Leninakan and especially in Spitak. The French doctors, already on site for a few days, tell us their difficulties in getting to the scene, due to lack of means of transport and organization.

A surgeon from Médecins sans Frontières, explains to me: "Of course, there are wounded, kidney dialysis to do, but above all there are lost children, hungry men, by the hundreds, by the thousands, who wander through a bump of apocalypse. They need, above all, clothes, blankets, food and, above all, structures capable of resuming the organization of long-term aid.

During our six hours there, women, men came, a sad smile in the back of their eyes.

An entire Aeroflot crew invites us to their plane because they can't do better.

With words that we did not know and that we understood well, all wanted to say thank you: thank you for the help we were able to bring, thank you especially for being there with them.

The departure was also folkloric

Stuck among a pack of planes, machines of all kinds, empty containers, scattered all over the ground and broken walkways, it was difficult to get out of there, without a fork and without a tractor to be able to push us back.

Whatever the DIY side, the formalities that we do not always understand, the doubts about the weather or the 25 hours spent on a plane, it also does not matter what will be said later by all those who were not there.

There are privileged moments when, beyond all their differences, men find friendship across borders.

If it had only had that in its bunkers, Air France Flight 4310 had every reason to have landed in Yerevan.

The 12 crew members are happy to have been there: I am proud to have been one of them.

"Spassiba Franzouski ... Thank you for coming.