Our flight leaves Gatwick at 8.30am, so we stay at Iain's parents, a 20-minute drive from the airport, overnight. This also allows us free parking for a fortnight - bonus! We wake at 6am after seven hours sleep and are at Gatwick by 7am, thinking we've plenty of time to spare. There's a lengthy queue at check-in, but not enough to be initially worrying. We seem to be the only non-Russians in the queue, which feels strange, though I suppose expected, since we're flying Аэрофлот. Two school parties take what feels like hours to check in, and although the desk is due to close at 7.30am, we are still checking in at 7.45am.

Ten minutes before we're due to board, we are running round buying last-minute forgotten essentials in the departure lounge. I lose Iain twice, hear the final boarding call and am panicking. We'd agreed to meet at WH Smith, but there are two of them... Both of us run around trying to find each other, getting hot and sweaty. At 8.25am I spot Iain, he's been to the gate and back looking for me. We sprint back to gate, thankfully others are even later due to the delays at check-in. We are sent to board immediately on arrival at the gate, and outside to the plane. I loathe flying and am nervous.

The plane is an old 100-seater TY-154, very basic, old and rattly, more than slightly scary. As we board, the aisle carpet is rucked, to unveil a metal floor and wires. I don't think I've been on a plane like this since the early 1980s, feels like it might fall out of the sky. To top it all off, there are no sickbags! We take-off late, around 8.50am, and head directly east. It's cloudy and there isn't much to see. I feel ill, and sleep, then attempt to communicate my sick-bag requirements to a stewardess with basic English, who helpfully finds not only a sickbag, but medication. Don't know exactly what it is but it makes me drowsy, which is good, since I can't vomit when asleep. I awaken to the sight of the Finnish coast, sea and then Russia. It looks very British - rolling fields and small towns.

The plane's engines are next to me, and extremely loud on landing (3pm, including +3 hours time difference), which prompts me to dig holes in Iain's arm with fear. We land about half-an-hour late and follow everyone to immigration (absolutely everything is in Cyrillic). We queue for half hour queue (getting used to queuing now). No-one around us is an English speaker until two planes land from Europe, which include some Americans. We're a bit nervous of immigration, having read too many horror stories, but it's very quick - the official looks at the visa, stamps it, returns the passport and we're done. As we go through to pick up luggage, everyone's bags have been abandoned on the floor in a big pile. We retrieve them, and attempt to complete the confusing customs declarations, which imply we need to declare a mobile phone and a newspaper. We duly head to the red channel, but a waving bloke directs us to green. Someone else waves us straight through, past the queue, and into arrivals. We're suddenly and unexpectedly in Russia! Bit of a shock. First thing to do is get some cash, so we find an ATM, which is thankfully dual-language. It's higher tech than UK, and accepts payments by mobile phone.

Looking for a route to our hostel, we decide to try taxis first. We ask a couple of drivers, who want 50 Euros. The guidebook suggests this is daylight robbery, and suggests a complex bus route. We fail to haggle with the taxi drivers in basic English, then spot a minibus pulling over to the pick up area, with a recognisable metro station name on the side in Cyrillic. There is a sign marked 14 rubles (30p), approximately 1% of the taxi fare. We decide the adventure is worth the saving. Thankfully someone who speaks a little English is sitting next to the driver, and we explain where we want to go. A French family get on the bus, who we establish are staying at our hostel when we chat a bit in French as the bus moves off.

First impressions - Soviet! Like Bulgaria; with big, wide boulevards and square concrete buildings, all a bit crumbly. There seem to be lots of signs for McDonald's and Coca-cola. After about 20 minutes the bus stops and the driver indicates this is where we need to get off. The French family come with us as we try to locate the relevant Metro station. Not as easy as it sounds, until we read in the guidebook that we need to look for a big red “M”. We enter through the exit, not knowing what the Cyrillic means, and have to go back and start again. Finding a way in is the least of our problems; we now need tickets. There are barriers at the entrance with what looks like coin slots. We can't fit any rubles into them, and a man in uniform mutters something (possibly about hopeless tourists) and waves us towards a woman in a cubicle. She doesn't speak a word of English, nor show much sign of trying to help. We point to our destination station in Cyrillic and she tells us an amount to pay. In Russian.

A brief discussion concludes that the French family are actually heading elsewhere, so we part with our last connection with non-Russia, feeling somewhat nervous. We still haven't seen any other foreigners, which is a little disconcerting.

The escalators are (as in Prague) extremely steep, long and fast, knocking me off balance a little. The trains are rattly and basic (similar to Eastern European, as you'd expect) but quick and frequent. We count the three stops in accordance with the map, and compare the station sign to our book. Following the crowd to the exit, Iain proves a whizz with the map to get us straight to our hostel in ten minutes walk.

The reception is helpful (and speak English!), and the hostel basic but clean. Unfortunately we're in separate dorms - the doubles were sold out when I booked. With concern for security over cost, we've booked a double tomorrow and for rest of the trip. There are five beds in my room, all occupied, and I'm a bit nervous about who by. We sit on my bed and eat emergency biscuits and read The Observer. A Canadian girl called Erin comes in to the dorm. She's very friendly and we chat about our various travel experiences. She's travelling on her own for a week in St Petersburg. It's lovely to talk to someone who speaks English fluently. We've only been here a couple of hours, what's it going to be like in two weeks?!

I decide I need to sleep for an hour. Iain reads in his dorm, then we go out at 7pm for dinner. Reception recommends a cafe nearby where we can point at the food choices we want. It seems very traditional and a bit Germanic (wooden benches). There are a surprising number of British and other European people eating here.

Most dishes come with meat, as you'd expect, and I point to the "vegetarian" phrase in our book. I get a salad with dressing, mainly lettuce and pickled cucumber, and some stuffed cabbage with rice and mushrooms. It's all reasonably nice, but my stomach still isn't quite 100% after the flight. Iain has pork and rice, which he pronounces "okay". We drink beer and Pepsi and finish with a rather good chocolate mousse. The bill is £6.00 in total - Russia isn't as cheap as I'd initially imagined, particularly in the cities. We're starting to relax a little, and walk back to the hostel at 9pm. A British girl, Meg, comes in, and Erin. Iain joins us and talk for a while, getting some advice about St Petersburg. Finally I write today's diary entry and sleep at 10.30pm, pretty tired after a long day.