A Traveller’s Tale

I recall a resolution I once made never to fly with a pilot who was not the same religion as myself, namely atheist. I figured that the less the captain believed in an afterlife the more likely he was to do his best to stay in this one.

I’m not a nervous flyer. More fatalistic than anything. I have had my share of interesting experiences including the kind of landings the produce an hysterical round of applause from relieved and grateful passengers.

This is a plug for a new page on this blog, A Traveller’s Tale. It is the story of my worst ever flight — and damn near my last.

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3 Responses to A Traveller’s Tale

  1. Dylan. says:

    “I figured that the less the captain believed in an afterlife the more likely he was to do his best to stay in this one.”

    Haha!!
    Oh man, well said.

  2. George W Russell says:

    I’m off to Laos tonight … on Tuesday and Thursday I fly Vientiane-Luang Prabang and return on a Lao Airlines … wait for it … Xian MA60 turboprop. Holy hell!

    And I know this is late, but what did you do to your arm?

  3. Russell C says:

    You might be interested in the customer list for the redoubtable Xian MA60, developed in China from the discontinued Ukrainian Antonov An-24
    Domestic purchasers include Okay Airways, Wuhan Airlines and Sichuan Airlines.
    Courageous foreign customers include Bolivia, Indonesia, Laos, Zambia, Republic of Congo and Zimbabwe.
    I know you scorn danger as a rule, but perhaps on this occasion you might consider insisting on a seat on the outside.

    My arm: other than a displaced name we have in common a distain for risk and personal safety. The Bernoullian curve of the suspension of the Bolte Bridge was too great a challenge to resist my skateboard.
    Oh, ok, alright. It was late. I was tired. I tangled my feet in extension cables and fell – whack.
    I kinda shattered my left humerus into about a dozen pieces.
    I had never before broken anything more substantial than a promise or spent a night in a hospital (not counting tonsils and adenoids, age eight). Shit, other than some stitching up, I had not seen a doctor I was not drinking with in 30 years.
    The rest of that night and the days following changed a lot about how I understand and feel about a lot of stuff.
    I want to write that down, as soon as I can type with two hands.
    Bon voyage.

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