It was a quiet Tuesday night at home and I went down to pick up my mail. Then it derailed …..

So there I was, in my house slippers, going down to pick up the mail. How ordinary can it get ? The elevator already contained a food delivery lad, so masked and protected from the elements that there was practically no skin visible. He is about 5ft 5ins .. seems to be the median height for food delivery guys around here. Five floors down, we were joined by one of the building maintenance guys, my good mate Jason. He is 45-ish, fairly large, near skin-headed and covered in tattoos and loves to travel to the orient, with his drone, so we have had many conversations about such places and he usually reports back that he met some nice girl in a bar and she showed him the sights …. duh … sure.

So all is progressing well southwards, when the elevator jerks and stops. Nothing is happening. The digital readout says we are at floor 19, thus all I am thinking is there is a lot of airspace under my feet. Jason says just stay still, it will rectify himself, in his best “I am a building maintenance person” voice. So we stand. After about a minute, nothing has happened. Jason hits a couple of buttons. Still nothing is still happening. Fortunately these guys all have radios, so he is in touch with the front desk. He even gave a sort of ‘who is there resume’. “I am here with a food delivery guy and a resident”. I thought he could have used my name, as I am well known to all the staff here… but anyway. They assure him we are known about, which is kind of consoling and stops me trying to work out how many feet there are between floor 19 and the -5 level. I could never do mental arithmetic and frankly, am not much better with a calculator.

We stand. The fool delivery guy is calm, so I enter into conversation with him. Ali is from Bangladesh and has been here for two years and as far as he is concerned, it is the ONLY place to be. Good news. He is amazed that I can name three places in his homeland and even more gobsmacked that I have been there. He clearly think I am nuts. Jason gets involved, between various radio communications and thinks that Bangladesh is in India, which under the circumstances, is pretty close and I draw a little air map of north eastern India. Jason wants to go to Myanmar, as he knows there are great sights to see ….okay you folks ….just don’t go there.

The elevator jerks a bit more and then the doors open and we are about 18 inches misaligned with floor 19. Ali and are I are helped out. We take another elevator opposite and Ali went off to tell his tale, as did I.

Another whiz around the world. April 2001. Part 4. Off to the Seychelles, via Jo’burg.

So, having sent the plane off on its way to Kathmandu, I leaped on to the squeaky clean world of Silkair from Singapore and rushed off to the Lion City. I cudda gone 30 mins earlier on Royal Air Cambodge, but thought that too much of a good thing, so opted for Singaporean efficiency instead, which of course, it was. Perfect looking crew, doing all that they had been trained to do and more. SIN airport still the world’s best (sorry if I’m repeating myself here, but after all those years in airports, when you find something as wonderful as this, then you just have to continue to be impressed). Jumped into a cab – it being Good Friday here (rather than, confusingly in Cambodia, New Year – honest), the place was dead and I was at Raffles in record time. Mate Richard was there – mucho apologies that they were 100% full, so he cudn’t give me a room for the day (what is the world coming too ??) so I went off to the Spa and had a nice massage from a sweet girl who tried no tricks and felt much relaxed afterwards and lay out on the long colonnaded balcony and went to sleep for a while (terminal exhaustion being the order of the afternoon). Nothing like being wrapped up in a nice thick toweling robe and lying out on a day bed in sultry tropical air and pretending to be thinking deep thoughts (like what did I want for dinner?) and in reality passing out from terminal exhaustion. Then had nice dins there in a trendy restau and a couple of glasses of red wine for the health and instead of going to bed, which I would have much preferred, back to the airport for the 0120 (jeeeeeeez) flight to Johannesburg.

ONLY another 10 hours of flying with the night, but fortunately the Biz Class was light and I had a spare seat next to me which is a great psychological help, so I popped a pill and refused all offers of food ( I think they owe me a refund for all the meals I’ve turned down) and slept for a whole 8 hours, which is more than I had done in bed the previous two nights. Typical Singapore efficiency all the way and just how those girls survive in their skin tight uniforms is a miracle – each one is totally made to measure and if your waist goes over about 18 inches then you are in trouble. Had a good chat with the very mature Chief Purser guy who had started with them a long time ago and went dreamy eyed over the mention of the B707. He said he could never imagine how planes had changed and just grown and grown.

The former Jan Smuts Airport, now politically renamed Johannesburg International, in the dawn. Planes falling out of the sky from all over the place. I now had a 7 hour wait, but of course to me it was later in the morning, so the body clock was UP. Fortunately Air Seychelles in Jo’burg gives its Biz pax access to the BA lounge, which in good corporate image style, is the same, new open plan, modern, aren’t we trendy design and has nice comfy chairs and lotsa snax and sarnies and various other goodies. The nice motherly soul running the place promised she would wake me up in case I had gone into drool mode by then. So there I sat, catching up on Brit papers and fueled by endless cups of coffee to prevent the aforementioned drool happening. But it did become boring in the end – that awful feeling of knowing that you didn’t have a night in bed. I went for a walkabout. The departures level there has been totally transformed from the drabness of the old days and now true to form of most airports, has become a shopping mall that just happens to have airplanes attached at some of the exits. And eventuallee the Air Seychelles plane arrived and it was turned around and a 100% pax load boarded, mostly S Africans either resident there or going on their hols. Announcements made in both English and Creole, which sounds like a drunken Frenchman with his teeth out. Sort of French noise but most of the rest is a mystery.

You get a break.

Granny Sybil Goes West.

After I had been living in New York for a couple of years, my mother expressed interest in coming to visit.  She was already 68 and had never been further away from home than Italy.  I could find a good airline deal for families of airline staff, so getting her here would be easy.

First things first.  A passport and a visa (these were the old days). Fortunately, her passport was up to date, so I told her how to go to the American Embassy in London to obtain the visa application form.  This she did and returned it, along with the necessary picture.  She was told to return the next day (see, it was really long ago!) and when she got to the window, was told that someone had to come and have a word with her.  So, she sat to the side and soon “a nice young American man” (she reported) came to see her.  He needed some clarification on an answer.   There were questions on the form that would never be allowed today, including ‘color of skin’.  My mother had never been asked that question.  She was renowned for having what we would call a ‘high’ color.  She never looked pale and if caught in the middle of cooking something involved, she would be scarlet.  Thus, when faced with a direct skin-color question she put down what she thought was accurate.  That was the problem for the nice young American man.  She had written PINK.   Having ascertained she was not spreading the word of Lenin, her passport was returned to her.

Then came the day of flight.  I was, of course, convinced she would never cope with Heathrow and being pre-cell phones, there was no way to know what was happening.  I could only call TWA for an ETA and stand outside the customs doors and wait.  The time dragged and dragged and hundreds and hundreds of passengers from all over Europe were disgorged, some being much greeted by probably their offspring, but no sign of Granny Sybil.  I had an awful sinking feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.  Oh You of Little Faith!  Out she came, looking very spry and my relief was enormous.

At home, with a restorative cup of strong tea, I asked her how she enjoyed the flight.  I knew it was on a B747, which is pretty intimidating when you have never been inside one.  She thought it was fine.  Was there anything she would remember about it?  Yes … she had something to drink for the first time in her life.  Whatever could that be, I thought?  Some fine Italian wine or a rare liqueur? She had had a Coca Cola!  Did she like it?  Oh yes.

Since organizing this trip had taken months, she was also planning to go to visit two women, one in Chicago and one in North Carolina. Contacts from the small ladies’ magazine that Granny Sybil edited. I managed to get them both on the phone and reconfirmed her flights and times and made them promise on a stack of bibles they would be right there at the gate to collect her.  They said they would.

Being also pre-credit card days, travelers went around with either cash or traveler’s checks and I had thought it would be much easier if these checks were in USD rather than UKL.  She had managed that by going to a branch of Thomas (Thos.) Cook, so there would no problems getting conversions made.  Next day we went to the one bank in Long Beach NY, where I lived.  It was Chemical Bank.  The teller behind the counter stared blankly at the check as if she had never seen one before in her whole banking career.  “Whose this guy Toss Cook?” was the question. A kind of difficult one to answer, so I mumbled something about it being a global travel company which issued millions of pounds/dollars travelers checks every year.  We were just cashing $20, so hardly likely to bring the Chemical Bank business to its knees if it was duff.  Having held it up to the light and also stared overly long at my mother’s passport, she was finally awarded $20.    First hurdle over.

Granny Sybil was far more curious about things than I remembered, but I realized we had hardly traveled together before.  A big supermarket had to be really investigated, as of course there was a lot of new stuff to see and be examined or commented on. (This is something I inherited.  I say you can get the vibes on a country by going to a supermarket).  The Green Acres Shopping Mall was like a day at Disney for her.  She could not imagine so many different stores under one roof.  I almost had the idea to say I will drop you off here at 2pm and collect you at 6pm.

She stayed 5 days and we did it all.  I’m not sure who was more exhausted, she or me.  And soon we were at La Guardia for her TWA flight to Chicago.  I stayed until the aircraft was airborne and crossed my fingers.

Ten days later, I am back to meet the flight from Charlotte.   She is still running at high speed and the color in her cheeks was intense.  She had seen so much and done so much and eaten so much.  It appeared that both her hostesses lived in big houses and didn’t often have visitors from the UK, so all the stops had been pulled out. She had been feted nonstop and many folks came round just to meet her and have their semi-royal audience.

The best bit was her contact in Charlotte was very well known in many circles and a great repository on local customs and such and was going to be interviewed on a morning television show about how to wash pillows… I kid you not.  Of course, Granny Sybil went too and was soon, I imagine, taking over. I expect all sorts of subjects were covered, but when asked, she could not remember.  “It was very hot and a lady kept coming over and blotting my face with a tissue”.

She was in the pink, for sure.

And another whiz around the world. April 2001. Part 3. In Cambodia and the science of the gift.

Dear Readers,

Yes, the Easter Bunny is still trolling along, as this is starting to be written on Easter Saturday (not sure if that day really counts, but I need perspective of some sort..)

This is really just a way of keeping me going, as I’ve been on the road for rather in the air) for what seems the best part of the last two days and the body is close to meltdown/limbo/becoming a Moonie/total collapse … but fueled with a few glasses of Air Seychelles Bordeaux, it seems to be taking on a new lease of life …… so first, a backwards step, to tell you where your correspondent has been since dispatching the last missive.

Well, he was in Cambodia for starters – if you like HEAT, then Cambodia in April is your dream destination. If you also like HUMIDITY, then go to the front of the line, as this is THE place for YOU. If you like walking off an aircraft and presuming that you wear glasses of some kind, your spex just clouding up within 10 feet of the aircraft door and you nearly fall over the rope that was put down to prevent you colliding with a propeller, then please do fly into Cambodia now and you will be in heaven. It is living hell.

Sorta place where you can just stand still and do nothing but breath and feel the sweat trickling down your legs and wonder just what did it actually say in those Depends commercials, cos for a moment it seems like THE TIME HAS COME. Next stop the Twilight Home ……. It is an ordeal and We bring them here and then expect Them to go Sightseeing and they can listen to local guides, who God bless them, have incredibly good English when you think where you are, but when you have to listen to a translation from Cambodian to Cambodian EEngleesh to Amurrican English, then it’s a bit of a work out all around. Poor punters have a hard time of it, believe you me. Current gang we have are all from the National Geographic Society in Washington DC – yes, them that puts out the magazine each month – well you would think that they would be globally aware and perhaps have traveled a bit and want to see more and they are spending $65,000 a head for this thrill – well my dears, what many of them want to do is to GO SHOPPING – Jeeeeeeeeez -there are a few who are good and actually seem to know where they are in the globe, but the average level is dismally low. What a shame. Really a case of pearls before swine. And here am I, running ahead, pedaling as fast as I can to get there before they do and therefore now one of my preoccupations is to make sure their little ‘pillow gifts’ are there on their beds before they arrive. At every destination, we give them a present.

GREAT RESPONSIBILITY this. I’ve set them all up in advance, so don’t have to rush off to the market the moment I get there but even so, there is a great science to it. Imagine that you had nearly 100 relatives and you had to give them all the SAME gift and it had to be one size fits all, not interpreted as either male or female and it’s got to be light and small and unbreakable and then totally unique to where you are … well, no point in going to Macy’s or Bloomies and I forgot to say that it has to be fairly cheap too, so forget Tiffany’s, though we HAVE actually done Tiffs stuff on the final night of the Millennium Around the World tour and you should have seen their greedy little fingers when they saw the eggshell blue box – something that all Amurrican millionaires are trained to drool over/have orgasms/wet knickers from at an early age. In Cambodia, their receive a small stone carving of one of the faces from the Bayon, one of the temples in the whole Angkor complex. It can be used as a paperweight, though more like to be shoved at the back of a shelf.

After this, I’m heading off to AFRICA !

And another whiz around the world. April 2001. Part 2. Rarotonga to Bangkok, via Auckland.

Two days later, back up in the air with Air NZ. Such nice girls and boys they are, though their coffee on this particular plane comes from such strongly chlorinated water that it’s more like drinking a lightly coffee flavored swimming pool.

Overall, we had a good stop in the Cook Islands. Several of the women went hog wild in the black pearl shop inside the hotel. These are very much a feature of the South Pacific and can be really beautiful. I had warned the shop the day before that they should drag out all the best pieces, as with our mob, it would be their best chance ever of cleaning up! And they did.

It was tremendously hot and sticky all the time and all we could offer as diversions were outside, which hit a few pax hard and also several arrived with dodgy stomachs, put down to bad ice in their Picso Sours in Peru. Such are the perils of international boozing. We had to endure the local tribal jump up show in the hotel (sorry, Resort) after dinner – much too long and too loud – it’s the norm here. But the best thing were the kids who danced. We have all seen sultry and solidly built, island maidens with flowers around their heads, grass skirts and hips a-twitching something terrible (they look like they are about to dislocate themselves here, such are the amazing girations) but they also had some small girls in training, one we calculated to be all of 6, up there twitching away like real pros – it was a riot and everyone fell for their professional aplomb – they were really playing to the audience and loving every minute. Heaven help the local lads when they grow a bit.

And so, onward and upwards, which meant a very very long day that lasted about 26 hours and took two full days, due to crossing the date line. I always feel there should at least be a bump in the air when you do this, but no such luck. In fact most of the flying around these parts is bumpy anyway, seems to be a feature of the airscape.

As I was departing close to the same time as our B757, it was fun to listen in on local conversations as to what the hell they think our machine is. I’ve heard everything from “It must be the Sultan of Brunei” to suggestions on drug smugglers or pop stars like Madonna – we must seem very boring should they discover the truth.

The Air New Zealand crew which carried me off to Auckland, had noticed our aircraft also and listened with wide eyes when I gave them the scoops – as usual, they all wanted to know where to sign up to work on the plane. You fly for what seems like days, over nothing but water. It is water 30 seconds after take off and then land pops up about 5 minutes before landing. And BOY, New Zealand is sure GREEN. It is no wonder the human population is heavily outnumbered by sheep.

Auckland airport is a nice, small, organised sort of place and the Air NZ lounge is a comfortable pad to wait in. Homely touches like warm scones complete with clotted cream (kinda fits in with their v arable country). There is a young guy there who makes the announcements in the most dulcet tones, great diction and he makes them actually sound interesting and is a real pleasure to listen to. I had complemented him last time I was there (on the grounds that you should give praise when due) and he was v flattered and there he was sitting behind the desk looking v smart and I remembered him immediately and he did admit that he had received other positive comments from punters there – I told him he should apply to Radio NZ to read the news and he blushed at the thought. Seem a pity to waste a natural radio voice on stupid passengers.

After a few hours I was back again in the purple world of Thai International. Fourteen hours end to end on a B747-400 from Auckland to Bangkok, with a stop in Sydney. Just UNENDING !! And it was packed the whole way.

1964. The day I propped up a DC-3 aircraft at Gatwick Airport and saved the day. Sort of …

In the summer of 1964, I worked for UTA French Airlines at Gatwick Airport, south of London.  We had a series of regular charter flights taking the sun-starved Brits to France.  And then one day, we had a very unusual flight.

The President of the former French colony of Togo, in West Africa, was coming on an official visit to the UK. He would arrive on an Air Togo aircraft from Paris on Monday afternoon and depart on Wednesday afternoon.  I was expected to be there.  I had never heard of Air Togo (and I was a 100% airline nerd) which was not surprising, as it did not exist.  UTA had found a DC-3 (think WW11) and had painted Air Togo on the side.  Air Togo was now in business.

I don’t know if there was something big at stake between Togo and the UK, as it became quite a massive production number.  The President and his good lady wife were to be met by Princess Alexandra and a whole assembly from the RAF were there on the tarmac and their official band and best of all, the regimental goat.  I kid you not.  Regiments had goats as mascots and they got to wear a sort of embroidered tabard draped over them too.

The aircraft arrives, the President et Madame descend and inspect the troops (and the goat too, which was probably being sized up for dinner) and we had both God Save the Queen and the Togolese national anthem and in to the big black limo they went.

Two days later we were to do it all in reverse.  The aircraft flew back from Paris.  They even had found a Togolese Captain and First officer.  I was there and all was falling in to place.  Suddenly I was asked by one of the crew to go to one of the wings, as they were going to do a test run of extending the flaps and I had to be there to hang on to them.  For those of you do not know what a DC-3 looks like, it basically not big and has a set of wheels under each wing and then one under the tail, which is tiny.  Thus, on the ground, it slopes down and back severely.  You can practically get in and out of the door without steps.

So, I stand there and the flap start to droop down and I bravely put my hands out and took some of the weight.  All was well, as suddenly it retracted back up again.  This had to be repeated on the side of the aircraft, which was parallel with the building.  So now all the RAF guys and the band and even the goat, were all watching me.   Just as the flap starts to come out, around the corner comes the big black limo and the RAF crash to attention and we have the national anthems again.  MY problem was that the flap had come down but was showing no sign of returning to its original position.    As some others later told me (once they had wiped their eyes many times), it looked like I was doing some Herculean act and propping up the aircraft.  I was terrified to let go, in case it all just came apart.

The President is looking at me.  The wife of the President is looking at me.  Various Brit royal flunkies are looking at me. All the RAF are looking at me. The goat is looking at me. I am a star.  I could see the staff I knew, who were inside the building, looking down on the scene and they were all in various positions that corresponded to uncontrolled mirth.   SO, very gently, I tried letting go of the flap to see what would happen and it just started to come down further.  Clearly I just could not let go.

My entire life flashed past my eyes while trying to look very nonchalant and ‘Don’t all DC-3’s have someone propping them up?   Suddenly the flap started to return and I let go pronto.

The President and his wife boarded and gave a semi-royal wave and the aircraft engines started in a rush of smoke and steam.   And I went down in Gatwick history as the man who propped up a DC-3 and saved the day.

And another whiz around the world. April 2001. Part 1. NY to Rarotonga in the Cook Islands.

And now, just 3 days later, I was back in the Friendly Skies of UA back to LAX – only trouble was that the Biz was full and I could not try to chip away at my mile mountain to use some to upgrade, so had to sit with the packed in sardines in the back – my goodness, how cozy !! But the service was OK and we were fed and watered at intervals and they have changed things so that you don’t get all your meal at once, coming round a second time with the hot stuff, which must have taken a lot of negotiating to get them to do, as flight attendants, by nature, spend most of their time trying to work out how to cut corners to their advantage viz: do as little as possible and then sit on jump seats and bitch about “THEM” and what they want us to do ….it’s a never ending cycle. In LAX, a quick walk between terminals in the balmy evening air, is pleasant after the hours of sitting.  And into the arms of Air New Zealand.   And thanks to friends at BA/LAX, they knew I was coming and I was given a much better seat, which was a huge relief.  We had a long night ahead of us and it was already way past my bedtime in NY, so I was yawning away already.

Another packed flight. The once a week milk run – LAX, Tahiti, Rarotonga, Fiji, Auckland – so many stops already  Just to make it a bit more of an ordeal, it departs late at night and as you are zooming west, the night comes with you, so soon we shall be in Papeete (Tahiti to you, Vera) and it will be 4am which is a bugger as I’ve never been there and wanted to at least see if it’s as pretty as they say. It’s been a v bumpy ride, for sure and Captain Speaking has given us a mini lecture on the jetstream and our involvement with same, which was far too long, esp when people were trying to pretend they were asleep. Don’t they ever learn ?

In Tahiti, they made us all get off, despite being the middle of the night and we were serenaded by a welcoming and very geriatric string band, playing with enormous gusto for 4am – all a bit too much for the ears certainly. I saw Air NZ had a lounge upstairs which may have been a/c, as the general area downstairs was certainly not. So I pushed on the bell and waited to be buzzed in – after about three tries at that, the buzzer went but I could not move the door in or out. Buzzed again – this game went on for a few rotations and eventualee the madame inside put her shoulder to the door and it flew open, nearly flattening me. She told me I had to ‘ poussez” a bit – more like taking a running charge was the only suggestion I had and hope it would not fly off the hinges. Anyway, it was cool inside and I had some water and watched a huge flat screen televison that was blasting out CNN – there is no escape, even in Paradise. I imagine they probably have CNN in Heaven these days, although it’s more my idea of Hell.

Meanwhile a new crew had taken over, in the amazing non mix and match Air NZ uniform. Must have been designed by a terminally blind committee I think, as it does them few favors. Final insult is a large bowler hat which they have to pull down so that it just about flattens their ears – they look like something out of the Keystone Cops. Anyway the final hop to Rarotonga (found that yet, Vera ?) was only one hour 40 mins and soon we were rushing up through the turbulence again so that we could come back down through only minutes later. Flying around here can be a very bumpy affair. In Rarotonga, yet another slightly demented and very senior guitar player was waiting to blast our ears at 6am, with the sun coming up. Lazy, lush tropical air the moment you get off the plane and huge puddles on the tamac indicated that this is somewhere that can have rain at any time. It was quite sauna-like. Very militant immigration lady demanded to see my ticket to get off the island a few days later -perhaps they have a problem with people deciding that this is paradise and not ever leaving. The nice young lady from our ground agent was waiting for me and soon I was whisked off to “the resort” as it is known (rather than the hotel), pretty drive along the coast with the sea breaking over the reef in the distance, waving palms, sultry air, hibiscus everywhere and a general air of slow living – looked just like the South Seas, and yes Vera that’s just where I was.

April 2001 Part 6. From Malaysia to New York, via Dubai, Damascus and London.

Can’t remember where I was last time I left you (which just goes to show how befuddled I am these days…) Right now I am midway between Damascus and London, in the cosy world of British Mediterranean Airways. So that means I was in Syria. Luvly hoarding outside Damascus airport advertising men’s underwear, except it was written ‘underweab’ !! Not as good as Rajasthan in India, where there are more ads for bulging men’s underwear than anything else – it begins to get spooky.

Went there from Singapore, with a v quick night in Dubai. Was so knackered that I just slept and then took a taxi back to the airport, so no update this time on the shipping scene there. From the hotel window it looked like it was all happening, with one splendid dhow setting off into the sunset and a little bit (a very little bit) of me wanted to go along too. Perhaps one day I shall do it…

The airport chock full of the last wave of Haji’s, heading home from Saudi to Indonesia. Wearing what seemed to be layers and layers of multi colored robes, they were all in heaps on the floor and generally cluttered the place up something dreadful. Dubai airport has been designed to keep people moving through and does not seem to take into account the fact that flights can be late or people can have long connection times and therefore thousands may be in limbo. There is a always a sort of international flotsam wandering around the place, some of whom look totally lost and confused and may possibly be there for days before being carried off on unknown carriers to ‘stronds afar remote’ – anyone know Henry IV Pt 1? It’s great to try to work out just where some of them come from, let alone where they are going to. Businessmen in suits, with laptop bags and mobile phones are boring – give me a gang of tribal-garbed women, armloads of bangles, gold teeth, carrying an assortment of infants and bright purple plastic buckets and several miscellaneous plastic bags and bundles, squatting on the floor (who needs chairs when you can squat?) and that becomes a challenge. I’ve been known to walk around such little groups and look for telltale tags or just anything that will give a clue as to what the hell they are doing in such an alien environment. I did, once bravely try to look like an ‘official’ as there was a wonderful Pakistani family squatting there and the pater familias had their boarding cards sticking out of his top pocket, so I smiled and gently pulled them up to see their destination.  It was Casablanca.  I felt someone should write a short story as to why a family of very Paki Pakistanis was going to Morocco?

Spose I’m just nosey by nature, but enquiring minds want to know. I could identify a gang of Sudanese by the tremendous blackness of their skin, coupled with the amazingly bright flowing robes, which they carry with great aplomb. And a very clapped out Sudan Airways 737 landed soon after to whisk them off to Khartoum and I just muttered ” good luck”, as that is a real hell hole. Yes, Caro, it’s probably the same aircraft we flew in all those years ago. And while on old planes, Keith, do u remember how in LHR in our British Eagle days, we used to handle Luxair ? – well wudja believe, in FRA, I think, I saw LX-LGB, one of the F27’s we did loadsheets for some 35+ years ago and it’s STILL FLYING – how many take offs and landing has that poor thing done ? It was quite like meeting an old friend after many many years and I had a dreadful nostalgia attack for being early twenties and Keen and all that sort of stuff. Ah Bisto !

I loved being back in Damascus.  One of my favorite cities, as you have Arabic being spoken around you, the locals are wonderfully friendly and in the souks you have lots of great stuff to examine and if you look up, there is a real Roman arch over you, which has been there +/- 2000 years.  I saw the hotel I stayed in c1966, traveling with two American girls, who picked me up in Beirut and wanted a male minder for a visit to Syria. That is a whole other story. I made sure I went to the real hamman, or bath, in the souks.  The local agents think I am quite crazy going there, but if you want to become so squeaky clean that, just like a new cleaned car, the water just bounces off you.  And the trad. ice cream which is unique.  I think it must have gum Arabic in it, as it sort of stretches .. the rose water one is just like a frozen rose… make of that what you wish! 

The arrival of our aircraft coincided with one from Iran, filled with black robed women off to do a tour of religious sites in Syria.  Religious tourism is HUGE in this part of the word.  So, standing outside the customs, to welcome my punters, there would be a sea of black and then amazingly under-dressed looking American woman in the middle of them.  I would have loved to know what the pious Iranians were thinking .. we look like a sort of geriatric hookers outing, to them.   So, they had a whiz around Damascus, including The Street Called Straight, which is actually a narrow part of the souks and not particularly straight.  A night in the Damascus Sheraton and they went off next morning for a night in Palmyra, which is just one of the greatest Roman sites anywhere.   And that was it for me with them, so they went northeast in a couple of coaches and I went west to London on an A320.   And I even persuaded the friendly crew that I was upgradable, so had a much better seat to doze in.

It was good to be in the UK just for a breath of fresh air, daffodils out in the park and the Four Seasons welcomed me back with all their usual grace and friendliness. I am so totally at home there and know all their back doors and march into the sales office and present them with small glittery things from strange places and they think I am the bee’s knees. In return I have a nice bottle of wine and goodies in the room. There is a plethora of small glittery things in strange countries and you just have to keep yr eyes open in the bazaars and remember to pick things up for donating later. The Iran things were just truly dreadful. heart shaped danglies, looking like iced petit fours, with silver or gold balls stuck on in swirls (just like yr mum used to put on cakes if she was into things like that). Then to complete the image, one inch strings of glitter dangling off the rounded corners – truly awful masterpieces of tack I can tell you, but Boy, you bring one of these out of yr pocket and dangle it in front of someone who commutes from Hammersmith to Wl, and their little eyes light up and many oohs come forth. The sales office is beginning to take on a very motley appearance cos of moi

Best thing in London was an outing to the Royal Shakespeare Co. production of Henry V which was just superb. Done in modern dress by a young cast of unknown names to me, it was riveting – luvly to hear real poetry spoke proper. The ‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more’ was delivered with such power that most of the audience would have come along quite happily.

Then home, for a whole two weeks. The house still stands. And I got organised for MORE Shakespeare at the end of May, as suddenly the RSC is coming to the Brooklyn Academy of Music (my local big theatre/concert hall, 10 mins walk from home) with Hamlet, which I can always see. It was suddenly advertised in the NY Sunday Times, so I bopped on down on Monday and picked up tix. I’m on their mailing list and had not seen anything about them coming and the guy at the box office said it was all a v last minute thing – BAM had the dates and the cast was free in London, so they are coming over for just five performances- seems an awful upheaval for such a mini run, but I am sure they will be able to sell it out. By going early, I got front row seats, which in the theatre I really like, as I want to see the spit fly and hear every word.

I think we will take a break here as I am now about to go back around the world again.  I know, I know .. someone has to do it. First stop, Rarotonga … a prize if you know what country that is in?

April 2001 Part 5. In Sandakan with the orang outans, who are our closest relatives. A magical experience.

OK – now in Kota Kinabalu airport in Malaysia. NOT somewhere I would choose for my winter sunshine holiday. It would a good place for anyone who enjoys sticky heat, as they are doing much in the way of reconstruction inside and therefore, the a/c is not working up to par .. in fact, it’s barely working at all, so what with it being about 90F outside, it’s a balmy 85F inside. Nice place to sit and feel clammy.

Malaysian immigration is the silent type of service, take passport, scan, stamp and return. The inbound form takes a bit of completing however, esp. the health declaration which wants to know if you have in the last three weeks suffered from “diarrhea, abdominal pain, vomiting, fever, headache, sore throat, rash, jaundice, severe cough, dyspnoea, abdominal bleeding or convulsion” – I haven’t clue what dyspnoea is and was too intimidated to ask, in case I have something that I don’t know what it is … if everyone was 100% truthful, then all of immigration would be full of people waiting to see the MD. Good thing this is not heavy farming land as I am sure some visiting Oz would get in on the act and have us all interrogated for visits to farms in the UK.

Having asked the Malaysian agent outside the security check if there was somewhere nice to eat Malaysian food inside and she smilingly said there was, I gets through and discover a perhaps less than wonderful snack bar with some fermenting noodles – man says they are nice so I take a risk – I may have to go back and do a retroactive fill in of the health form. They could be guaranteed to bring on all of the above, including dyspnoea ! Ah me, there’s a luvly local lady sitting opposite me who is carrying a large striped golf umbrella which she has just been using as a back scratcher – right down inside her blouse it went.

Shops here absolutely full of interesting things to purchase – several would rank as mini supermarkets anywhere else and have a huge range of items, including many quantities of dried fish – or dried sea slug (which is actually a vegetable but don’t tell anyone). Hope no homesick Malaysian returning to Oz ever comes through here, as there is enough to put the Oz Quarantine into a tailspin.

I am back in Dilarang Merokok land – CS or anyone, know what that means ? No Smoking to anyone else who does not have the encyclopedic memory of CS. Got a new one for you – u can put it up on the wall in SEATAC  KETIBAAN ANTARABANGSA, which is International Arrivals.  In Yemen I once saw a No Smoking sign, but it was a bit garbled and became No Somking, which sounded much better. The same country, the museum in Ta’iz, also requested you ” To leave your weapon at the door”, as local visitors were prone to inspecting the place with a Kalashnikov casually draped over the shoulder. Don’t know what Mae West would have made of that !

So now in Sandakan, Borneo, Malaysia … hope that puts it on the map for those of a lesser geographic bent. We come here to see the Orang Utans (those huge chimpanzee-like animals who manage to share 95% of their genes with us.) It is an easy trip to the reserve where they live. Forestry has much decimated their living quarters and until about 30 years ago, it was legal to have a small one as a pet – of course when they get big, they get too much to handle and would be thrown out or killed. Fortunately, the Malaysian government came to its senses and designated a huge area of land for them to live in safety. Like human babies, they need years of feeding and protection and training from adults before they can fend for themselves, so what you are allowed to visit is the center near to the feeding platforms.

Over the years, they are reintroduced back into the wilds and there are feeding platforms at different distances from the buildings. Eventually they are being fed on a voluntary process at the furthest out platform, where to all intents they are living freely back in the jungle. And it really IS a jungle here. HOT and HUMID, but amazingly not too buggy, though we were all covered with enough repellent to kill mossies by the ton. You cannot guarantee you will actually see any of them, as most of the time they are off foraging for their 100% fruit diet.  It is also absolutely imperative that visitors remain SILENT … not a squeak is permitted.  Try telling a group of Americans that they will have to shut up for up to an hour and a half. You walk single file along a path in the jungle to one of the feeding platforms.  There is no guarantee you will see anything.  The scheme is that you will stand there, in silence, for an hour exactly.  If they come, they come. If they don’t, they don’t and you have to troop back through the leaves.  The local naturalists bring buckets of bananas, which is any orang utan’s idea of a good time. We were in luck, as no less than 7 turned up for a meal of bananas and milk, one of which had a small baby tucked underneath. They are just so wonderfully human and observe you with long rather dismal faces – they look practically on the edge of tears ! One young male, about 3 feet tall, came along the walkway we were on and managed to sneak behind yrs truly and a client and we were told, very sotto voce by the guide that we had to walk slowly past him and hide cameras etc as he was likely to make a move, so that was an excitement for both of us ! Don’t think HE was so impressed. They swing through the trees and lianas with wonderful ease, using all permutations of arms and legs – their arms are actually twice as long as their legs. It was a good morning out and the pax were v impressed and I had to swear up and down that we did not have them locked up in cages and released just for us.  When I went to inspect it about two years before, I did the same route and we stood in silence for 59 mins and it looked like a wash and at the last minute a whole family came swinging through the trees and it was total magic.  I remember a woman crying and I could easily see why.  And the rain has stayed away, as around here you can have some real end of the world downpours.

The town of Sandakan is pretty uninspiring. Was once the shipping center for logging, but that has now ceased, so it has become rather a backwater. It has a new very modern mosque with a minaret that looks more like a lighthouse and also an extremely garish new Chinese temple which is the last word in scarlet and gold – you need sunglasses to look at it !

And now back in SIN again – it has become my new crossroads. Singapore Airlines brought me here safely yesterday afternoon – they certainly do have the most good looking crews in the world – the girls must weigh all of 50kgs soaking wet and are stitched into their outfits so that an extra noodle would show. They are all exceedingly sweet and when I think about the air warriors at UA and AA, all I can do is shudder. But what a crappy meal they gave us – someone was having a bad day when they put that menu together. I cudda done better.

In SIN, it was pouring torrentially in best tropical fashion, but tucked up chez Raffles I did not hear a thing. But such problems in my room – phone lines not working, butler call button not working, unable to access internet from this pc, TV and radio stations somewhat scrambled, a litany of disasters as far as they were concerned. Poor Richard looking besides himself. Great off-stage mutters about shaking this place up and using my visit (as a great potential client shipping oodles of rich Americans through here), so I had to remember to act miffed, rather than saying ‘ Oh these things can happen anywhere’. Many flunkies called to a degree that was glad to be in a suite, otherwise it was in risk of turning into the Singapore version of the Marx Brothers party in the ocean liner cabin. Only the band was missing. I stayed well out of the way while people crawled under furniture and generally made themselves useful. End result was a phone line and not much more – such loss of face already !!!

Thnk that’s enuf for now – can’t overload my readers.

I’m off to Dubai tonight to check on the dhow loading scene and then later tomorrow to Damascus. So more from somewhere like that….

April 2001 Part 4. I take on Our Sharon, a Qantas cabin crew of many years and reach a compromise worthy of the UN.

We now see so many repeat customers, mostly nice and a few less than. If I were a Mormon, then I would have a chance of hitting a REAL fortune, as we have a Mormon family gang with us again, from Seattle too, of all places.

One of the daughters has dumped her husband (who came last time and I thought he was a weed) and is now obviously in the market for another and I get on like a house on fire with mother, who has all the lolly (00000dles of it), so have already suggested that I come over to the other side and become a client and told them I would know how to get them upgraded into suites everywhere, which they could easily afford anyway, but of course don’t …. I meantersay, Mom is presumably footing the bill for the current outing and not getting much in the way of change from $200,000 and they have come back every year for the last 4 …. so do the maths yourselves and u can see what a nice idea it would be to become part of the family ! Ah me, such is life!! Don’t know what my friends in Iran would make of it all – their eyes just cross completely when I tell them how much money these people are spending.

I really don’t understand some of these airlines. Here we are, all 15 of us in the Business Class cabin of a 747 and the bloody crew determines that we have 4 hours flight from Darwin to Singapore and it is 4:30pm and we should eat dinner immediately. Basicaly, they just want to get the meal service done and over with, so they can skive off the rest of the flight. Ha I say to that. I tell the Japanese/0z f/a that  No, I wud like to eat later – throws her for a complete loop – do I or don’t I want to eat ? – yes, but not now – not now ? but we are serving now … we start to get into a loop -she gives up – next thing, Big Sharon, a seasoned Sinneysider comes in to the scene – but we are cooking the food now …. so I says, well bugger the hot food, I’ll just have a salad and some cheese later – how about that? Hnmunm – almost seemed something that was going to cause a riot in the galley.

GIVE ME A BREAK – I point out nicely, that with 4 hours and 15 pax and it being only late afternoon, they could do the whole meal service (which on Qantas Biz is not exactly extensive) in one hour flat. We settle on the salad and cheese compromise. Am v pleased to observe that there are 3 other pax who did not eat either – felt like pointing THAT out to KoKo (yup, a female high executioner) and our Sharon, as further proof but felt my point was made.

Changi airport, Singapore continues to amaze me. I meantersay, I was off the plane, did a longish walk to immigration, which was deserted as always, through them, with the offer of a candy too, around the corner to the first bag belt, where the Biz bags had already come up first of course (they wud be AMAZED to hear that this is not ALWAYS the case elsewhere) and through the non-existent customs and straight out to a waiting cool taxi, driven by a man in white gloves and all this within 20 mins of getting off the plane. Here it’s the norm – almost anywhere else it’s called a miracle.

And for those of u who want touches of Ammurrica home, there at the departure gate next morning, they are playing WHEEL OF FORTUNE with Vanna and all -Some of you would never have boarded the flight ….

Now later, in flight from Singapore to Kota Kinabula on the Malaysian end of Borneo. And wud you bloody believe, on a Malaysian 737, with all of 20 pax and leaving at 1005 for a 2:25 mins flight, they have done LUNCH immediately after take off – I may have to go down to the back galley and have a few gentle words of wisdom here, as the crew is all young and may benefit from my road warrior status. And why would Malaysian Airlines, with all its sources of cheap labor, have its sick bags made in Switzerland ??  Inquiring minds want to know (or who got some huge kickback for the contract, cos it sure is fishy ….)   Thomas, being Swiss, do you have an insight?

Had a very nice night, thank you chez Raffles. Richard Yap, me mate there, was waiting and I was whisked off to my suite without having to stop for a second. It’s kinda frightening when the lady butler was standing outside the door to the suite, waiting for me and my retinue and she had to show me how to insert the key into the lock and turn it – nothing unusual about that -insert key and turn – they just wanted to make sure I understood ! Oh dear oh lor, I must be looking even worse than I thought. I then had to have a detailed, inch by inch explanation of exactly what worked what inside the room, most of which I cudda probably worked out for myself. They did presume I could turn the taps on and off and flush the loo, but otherwise nothing went unexplained. Best thing was the arrival a few mins later of a tray with two nice flutes of champagne and the caviar from Iran that I had left with Richard while I went to Oz (see above ref Oz health regs – they wudda swiped it and incinerated it too, which would have caused many tears before bedtime!). So we had a maxi caviar feast as it had to be eaten and I was determined that it WOULD be eaten and none left to waste.

Consequently, did not need dinner and fell into bed at 2130 and finally slept til the alarm went off at 0645. No such thing as a lie in is permitted anywhere on my sked,and in fact 0645 almost qualifies as one!

Yet more to come from the top of Malaysia…what do you know about orang outangs?