My friend John is responsible, in large part, for my dislike of flying. When, once, we shared a disgraceful, environmental hazard of a flat over in Putney, he would detail – over morose beers – what an air crash would feel like. “Everyone says it would be quick,” he would say, “but it wouldn’t. Falling from that height, you’d be alive for five minutes, knowing your fate, before you actually died.”
John doesn’t fly much now, and needs copious amounts of drink to make it happen when he does. For me, despite his best efforts, it’s a dislike, rather than fear. I still fly around quite a lot, but now have at least one spell during each flight when, sweaty palmed and remembering John’s cheering words, a spot of turbulence has me swearing I’m going to take a ship, train or car everywhere from here on in.
The odd thing is, those moments are juxtaposed with the other aspects of flying I enjoy; during the cruise, a combination of enforced idleness and alcohol makes it quite a creative time – I’ve written a few decent pieces while flying home. And the approach to London City airport, which I experienced for the first time ever a few weeks ago, will live in my mind for ever – or, at least, until Alzheimer’s takes a hold.
Let me explain: coming into City is much, much better than going into Heathrow, and not just because if you live in the Docklands you can get from plane to sofa in 30 minutes. City’s approach is a remarkable low-level tour of London’s finest sights: flying from Edinburgh, as I was, you descend over North London before crossing the Thames above the airport, turning right and hurtling west, below Heathrow’s final approach, over south London, before swinging through 180 degrees right above the Houses of Parliament and the London eye, looking down into Downing Street, and entering the final approach.
Still really travelling, and with all those rumbling noises planes make when they’re gathering themselves to land, you pass over the City, then look down onto the pyramid atop Canary Wharf and then… oh God – (sweaty palms here) the little cityhopping plane points its nose at the ground and – fucking hell look at the Dome and the laserbeam picking out the Greenwich meridian! – descend, very rapidly, and – thump! – hit the runway before slamming on the brakes because the runway’s not very long is he slowing up that’s the terminal building going by when’s he braking oh thank God he is at last finally slowing and there’s the waves but at least we’re not going to splash into them with horrific loss of life this time.
Anyway – all of this is a long way of saying: I read this wonderful piece and thought of John. Would he, in fact, need sedation before flying Ariana, the Afghan national airline? (The image on this post, with possibly intentially funny caption, comes from BBC News – they once wrote about the airline too).
“Ariana has few peers in the airline business for many reasons. All of them are bad. Its history is abysmal. During Afghanistan’s quarter century of war Ariana planes were shut down, shot down or hijacked. Flights plunged into snowy mountains or vanished into remote deserts. Still, today, it is nobody’s airline of choice. A disastrous safety record means Ariana flights are barred from most European and American airports. Nicknamed, only half- jokingly, “Scaryana”, UN officials and foreign diplomats are forbidden to board. And most of the 1,700 staff are, as Atash cheerfully admits, spectacularly incompetent or corrupt. For them “inshallah” is more than a religious invocation – it is a corporate creed.”
The approach into Kabul also sounds a little like flying into the old Kai Tak airport in Hong Kong (an approach I once sat through, terrified, in a cabin full of fully bedecked morris dancers, although that’s a story for another day). A little like Kai Tak… only with the added fun of dodging Stinger anti-aircraft missiles…
“Thanks to US support the mujahideen were also armed with formidable Stinger anti-aircraft missiles. So Ariana pilots had to learn the “corkscrew”. On approach to Kabul, planes would cruise at a safe height, avoiding the jagged peaks around the city. Suddenly they dived towards the ground in a stomach-churning spiral, hoping to shake off any Stingers, before levelling off at the last minute for a bone-jarring landing.”
Anyway – fantastic piece, not least because some brave soul is actually attempting to turn the airline around, improve safety and make it respectable enough to be allowed into airports around the world. Indeed, I was amused to find that the airline has a very respectable website, proudly talking of plans to renew their fleet with new Boeings – and get training for maintenance and engineering staff too. Without knowing its history, even John might be lured into buying a ticket with them…
Thanks for that! As an inveterate hater of flying, shortly to take a cheapie cattletruck airline flight into UK from yer near continong, you’ve really made my day.
Why am I flying to the other side of the world soon? As someone who measures length of take-off in Hail Marys (average 2 per takeoff) I ache with empathy …..
Great piece, however – and a great blog too.
An aid worker friend of mine did the Kabul corkscrew, in pre-Taliban days. He says he’s been off flying since then.
In Laos, most Embassy officials are not allowed to fly with the national carrier. I’ve flown with them a few times from the capital Vientianne to Luang Prabang in the north. Inflight entertainment consisted of a boiled sweet and ‘disco smoke’ – kind of a spooky, cold fog produced by an air conditioner malfunction. Like being on top of a Munro in low cloud. Although, initially you think the plane is on fire which can be a little scary.
An hour or so later there’s a sudden, hearstopping lunge earthwards. A real divebomb. All the vacant seats crash forward. Quite unexpected and not a little unnerving. It’s a code brown moment.