Wednesday, July 07, 2004
Final Leg
Flight Time: 00hr:00min
Made it back to Schiphol with plenty of time. Wandered down to the gate holding area, and the cultural transition really began. A varied cacophony of language: some Italian, some French, but mostly what I assume is Turkish. And already a taste of that frenzied mid-east procedure. No boarding by rows. No neat queuing (which I'd seen in clear evidence just a few gates down, on the flight to Stockholm).
On the flight, and again the wonderful middle-eastern behaviors: that familiar determination to make things work - five men jamming an overstuffed bag into the overhead bin. I smiled as I watched the answer not so much appear, but evolve through a sledgehammer sort of investigation. But all the bags were stowed. And the men cheered and were cheered.
And of course the aroma. The sense of proximity. Of dwindling personal space. Families of 8 or 10 all traveling together. Three generations in two rows of six seats.
It's raining in Holland right now. I can watch the bags as they're loaded wet onto the plane, which was supposed to leave 10 minutes ago. I'm sure we're still considered "on time" - I can feel the rules changing. Loosening.
The strict precision of the militant Dutch woman behind me on the LAX flight is giving way to approximation.
Even the jet-way seemed to echo with the exotic as we boarded. No carpet. Riveted steel walls instead of refined airport-style decoration. Can this really be any different? Or is my perception being shifted by the flavor of the crowds around me?
I've got a window seat this time, so I can (hopefully) watch the lights of Istanbul and the dark void of the Bosphorus as we approach.
I feel I’m in a different world already, and I haven't even left the ground.
(But my light works!)
----
Flight Time 00hr:35min
A Boeing 737-800 this time - it nearly feels like home after countless flights on Southwest Airlines. We’re over Germany, then we’ll turn south and pass over Romania, the Czech Republic, ultimately the Black Sea…
There’s a screaming baby in my row, of course, but I’m trying to shift my expectations. I’m a visitor now, and this is all to be expected.
And again with the food. KLM just can't stop feeding me. Which, really, is a wonderful thing on such a long flight. There’s an oriental flavor to the offerings now, and I’m happy to have them.
-----
Flight Time: 01hr:33min
My, how the Turks like their sugar! Only myself and the ragazza (a gaggle of Italian teenage girls several rows in front) bothered with the Diet Pepsi (Pepsi Light) - nearly every other drink order, from the cockpit to the rear lavatory, was a forgone conclusion: Pepsi. Pepsi. Pepsi. Pepsi. The occasional older gentleman asked for tea (and was handed three sugar packets for good measure). But for everyone else, a blue can of cola. And always the whole can.
Sugar and nuts. Already nuts in everything. Must remember to write Pensiones, to further my annoying, demanding ways by asking not only for vegetarian food, but that it not involve nuts.
I opt in with the Italians and have a Pepsi Light. My first caffeine all trip. According to every article ever written on countering jet-lag, this is a cardinal sin, but I'm nearly there. And must try to stay awake.
Left for the airport in L.A. almost exactly 24 hours ago...
----
Flight Time: 01hr:28min
Already getting used to the carnival atmosphere - the constant stream of people in the aisle, the shouting over the seats - the frenzied exchanges trading mini-cups of Waldorf Salad for packaged crackers and brownies from the snack box.
The men are all congregating at the back, arms around each other, smiling and shouting at the woman as they tend to the kids running wild up and down the aisle.
It's halfway into the flight.
Don’t know why this is less annoying now than when it's a plane full of Angelinos and Dutch. Maybe I'm already acclimating.
Maybe I'm just exhausted.
Or maybe they just know how to do it properly. The boisterous camaraderie that seems so obnoxious and forced in the West seems to be natural here.
It may also help that I have no idea what they're saying. (Probably something about how they hate Istanbul and only crazy Northern Turks even consider it part of the country...)
------
Flight Time: 01hr:48min
The Dutch have had enough.
The charming chaos in the cabin has reached a fevered pitch. (I realize now that in this instance, an aisle seat would be a bad thing - I like being cloistered away by my window.) The ranking Dutch flight attendant has decided to act. With wild gesticulations, arms expanding over his head, he's put a stop to the socializing. He's enforcing order.
The drink-carts must get through.
(It's just come to me - the explosion of social craziness might just be related to the simultaneous consumption of about 150 cans of sugar-laden, caffeine-laced cans of Pepsi half an hour before. It's all coming together... I expect them all the have an energy crash in another 30 minutes...)
----
Flight Time 02hr:14min
DRAMA!!! The Captain has just rebuked the plane for dangerous, unruly behavior, for not regarding his "colleagues" (flight attendants) and, most sternly (and rightly) for SMOKING IN THE LAVATORY!!!! I haven't noticed it, but apparently the alarms sounded several times. The captain mentioned, "It's a violation of the law, so I strongly suggest, NOT TO DO THAT ANYMORE." He then cruelly pointed out there's still just over an hour left.
What I really love, is that he (clearly following company policy) had to make the entire announcement first in Dutch. As if anyone understood, beyond his colleagues. I wonder if the Dutch version was laden with in-jokes and insults...
----
Flight Time: 03hr:02min
Landing.
We’re swooping down over Black Sea. I can see the lights of the occasional super-tanker below. Other than that, nothing.
In the cabin: Dead quiet. Dimmed lights. A sense of tension as we hit a little turbulence. Lights appear below. A sudden, violent drop. A lone child shrieks with surprise.
Then the rubbery-bounce of touch down followed by wild, cascading applause. Raucous jubilation. It’s a if Apollo Astronauts or Iranian hostages had finally landed home. I can’t believe how long the raucous cheering lasts.
I’ve always liked the (now nearly lost) tradition of clapping at touchdown. It seems to rightly acknowledge the miracle of flight - the fact that for most of human history, what we’ve just done would seem to be the impossible.
We hesitate for a moment on the runway, miles from the terminal, and instantly everyone stands up. The flight attendant bellows into the P.A. system: "Please be seated. SIT DOWN! It’s for your own safety, not mine...!" Finally she gives up, and takes to the aisle as the overhead bins are already emptying, those impossibly wedged-in over-stuffed bags being pulled down one by one. Her patience as stretched as her English vocabulary: "Now you're really breaking my neck!” she screams. Never heard that one before.
But in the end, no necks are broken, and my journey is nearly complete.
|
Made it back to Schiphol with plenty of time. Wandered down to the gate holding area, and the cultural transition really began. A varied cacophony of language: some Italian, some French, but mostly what I assume is Turkish. And already a taste of that frenzied mid-east procedure. No boarding by rows. No neat queuing (which I'd seen in clear evidence just a few gates down, on the flight to Stockholm).
On the flight, and again the wonderful middle-eastern behaviors: that familiar determination to make things work - five men jamming an overstuffed bag into the overhead bin. I smiled as I watched the answer not so much appear, but evolve through a sledgehammer sort of investigation. But all the bags were stowed. And the men cheered and were cheered.
And of course the aroma. The sense of proximity. Of dwindling personal space. Families of 8 or 10 all traveling together. Three generations in two rows of six seats.
It's raining in Holland right now. I can watch the bags as they're loaded wet onto the plane, which was supposed to leave 10 minutes ago. I'm sure we're still considered "on time" - I can feel the rules changing. Loosening.
The strict precision of the militant Dutch woman behind me on the LAX flight is giving way to approximation.
Even the jet-way seemed to echo with the exotic as we boarded. No carpet. Riveted steel walls instead of refined airport-style decoration. Can this really be any different? Or is my perception being shifted by the flavor of the crowds around me?
I've got a window seat this time, so I can (hopefully) watch the lights of Istanbul and the dark void of the Bosphorus as we approach.
I feel I’m in a different world already, and I haven't even left the ground.
(But my light works!)
----
Flight Time 00hr:35min
A Boeing 737-800 this time - it nearly feels like home after countless flights on Southwest Airlines. We’re over Germany, then we’ll turn south and pass over Romania, the Czech Republic, ultimately the Black Sea…
There’s a screaming baby in my row, of course, but I’m trying to shift my expectations. I’m a visitor now, and this is all to be expected.
And again with the food. KLM just can't stop feeding me. Which, really, is a wonderful thing on such a long flight. There’s an oriental flavor to the offerings now, and I’m happy to have them.
-----
Flight Time: 01hr:33min
My, how the Turks like their sugar! Only myself and the ragazza (a gaggle of Italian teenage girls several rows in front) bothered with the Diet Pepsi (Pepsi Light) - nearly every other drink order, from the cockpit to the rear lavatory, was a forgone conclusion: Pepsi. Pepsi. Pepsi. Pepsi. The occasional older gentleman asked for tea (and was handed three sugar packets for good measure). But for everyone else, a blue can of cola. And always the whole can.
Sugar and nuts. Already nuts in everything. Must remember to write Pensiones, to further my annoying, demanding ways by asking not only for vegetarian food, but that it not involve nuts.
I opt in with the Italians and have a Pepsi Light. My first caffeine all trip. According to every article ever written on countering jet-lag, this is a cardinal sin, but I'm nearly there. And must try to stay awake.
Left for the airport in L.A. almost exactly 24 hours ago...
----
Flight Time: 01hr:28min
Already getting used to the carnival atmosphere - the constant stream of people in the aisle, the shouting over the seats - the frenzied exchanges trading mini-cups of Waldorf Salad for packaged crackers and brownies from the snack box.
The men are all congregating at the back, arms around each other, smiling and shouting at the woman as they tend to the kids running wild up and down the aisle.
It's halfway into the flight.
Don’t know why this is less annoying now than when it's a plane full of Angelinos and Dutch. Maybe I'm already acclimating.
Maybe I'm just exhausted.
Or maybe they just know how to do it properly. The boisterous camaraderie that seems so obnoxious and forced in the West seems to be natural here.
It may also help that I have no idea what they're saying. (Probably something about how they hate Istanbul and only crazy Northern Turks even consider it part of the country...)
------
Flight Time: 01hr:48min
The Dutch have had enough.
The charming chaos in the cabin has reached a fevered pitch. (I realize now that in this instance, an aisle seat would be a bad thing - I like being cloistered away by my window.) The ranking Dutch flight attendant has decided to act. With wild gesticulations, arms expanding over his head, he's put a stop to the socializing. He's enforcing order.
The drink-carts must get through.
(It's just come to me - the explosion of social craziness might just be related to the simultaneous consumption of about 150 cans of sugar-laden, caffeine-laced cans of Pepsi half an hour before. It's all coming together... I expect them all the have an energy crash in another 30 minutes...)
----
Flight Time 02hr:14min
DRAMA!!! The Captain has just rebuked the plane for dangerous, unruly behavior, for not regarding his "colleagues" (flight attendants) and, most sternly (and rightly) for SMOKING IN THE LAVATORY!!!! I haven't noticed it, but apparently the alarms sounded several times. The captain mentioned, "It's a violation of the law, so I strongly suggest, NOT TO DO THAT ANYMORE." He then cruelly pointed out there's still just over an hour left.
What I really love, is that he (clearly following company policy) had to make the entire announcement first in Dutch. As if anyone understood, beyond his colleagues. I wonder if the Dutch version was laden with in-jokes and insults...
----
Flight Time: 03hr:02min
Landing.
We’re swooping down over Black Sea. I can see the lights of the occasional super-tanker below. Other than that, nothing.
In the cabin: Dead quiet. Dimmed lights. A sense of tension as we hit a little turbulence. Lights appear below. A sudden, violent drop. A lone child shrieks with surprise.
Then the rubbery-bounce of touch down followed by wild, cascading applause. Raucous jubilation. It’s a if Apollo Astronauts or Iranian hostages had finally landed home. I can’t believe how long the raucous cheering lasts.
I’ve always liked the (now nearly lost) tradition of clapping at touchdown. It seems to rightly acknowledge the miracle of flight - the fact that for most of human history, what we’ve just done would seem to be the impossible.
We hesitate for a moment on the runway, miles from the terminal, and instantly everyone stands up. The flight attendant bellows into the P.A. system: "Please be seated. SIT DOWN! It’s for your own safety, not mine...!" Finally she gives up, and takes to the aisle as the overhead bins are already emptying, those impossibly wedged-in over-stuffed bags being pulled down one by one. Her patience as stretched as her English vocabulary: "Now you're really breaking my neck!” she screams. Never heard that one before.
But in the end, no necks are broken, and my journey is nearly complete.
|
