Pirates

Well, it turned into a large day after all.  On my walk down to the beach, I ran into two lost looking white guys.  There aren't too many of us and we really stand out.  Turns out they are two ex-military guys providing security for a large ship that just tied into the Mtwara port, real live pirate hunters with some very cool guns, looking for a bar.  Who better to ask than a pilot?

Pirates are a very serious concern for ship traffic along this coast, generally coming out of Somalia with AK47s and some serious boats, and these security guys have their hands full.  I had heard the risk of pirates is why we aren't staying at the oceanside resort where I'm headed to swim.  Damn pirates.

So off we go to the resort, and I watch wistfully as they drain a couple of Kilamanjaro beers, as I'm on night standby later and drinking tea, and listen to stories of pirates.  It's actually quite abit cooler than helicopter stories.

On the hike back to the hotel, I drop into a dark hut with some very cool carvings.  I find one I'm impressed with, turning it upside down to find a price tag of 15,000 Tanzanian shillings.  The lady shakes her head as she takes it from me, crosses out the 15,000 and writes 100,000.  I smile and walk out.

I direct the pirate hunters to the liquor store, and head back to the hotel.  It's volleyball night!  I had somehow forgotten.  So off we go, to this dusty field with wild dogs running about, and ex-pats from Germany and South Africa and France drift in to join the game.  Doctors and engineers and teachers, it's good fun.  The Germans take it far more seriously than anyone else on the dirt court, but they were relatively subdued this time around.  It's good to burn off some steam and a highlight everyone looks forward to.

Jumping back to our move, we weren't very far into the unpacking in our new home on the East Coast, and they asked if I'd mind dropping into Baku, Azerbaijan for a quick tour.  I was kind of hoping to get settled, but what the heck?  I'd never been to Azerbaijan before.  Besides kicking around France with my wife, abit of Cuba, and simulator sessons in Norway (I was to get very intimate with Norway over the years), this was an exciting bit of travelling!  I was flying very old S61 helicopters.  Sikorsky took their venerable Sea King helicopter, cleaned it up abit, stretched it out a fair chunk, and sicked their sales guys on the offshore oil exploration market.  S61 means a Sikorsky that was certified in 1961.  This was 2001. 

I can't say I was overly enamoured with Baku.  I wasn't flying much at all, and the guys were well ensconed into their own activities, so I was stuck with exploring on my own.  Most of the crew changed out a few weeks in and the worse job I'd been on immediately turned into one of the best!  Next thing I knew I was flying more, drinking local beer in the back of a huge black Mercedes heading out to resorts on the Caspian Sea, and keeping relatively busy.  We were at a local ex-pat bar playing pool, with CNN on in the background, when that first plane flew into the twin towers.  We sat and watched and wondered what changes would be coming about.  The base manager called and told us to get back to our apartments and lay low (we didn't), and an evacuation plan was put together to get us to the American embassy if things went South, but life went on as normal in Baku, and we flew the helicopters the next day.  I had to extend my tour as most air travel was put on hold, and when I finally did fly through London Heathrow homebound, I couldn't believe how quiet it was.   The resulting increases in security have made international travel quite unpleasant, and it isn't getting any better.

Kilamanjaro beer has a big stage set up just up from the hotel, and African music is blasting into my room as if the speakers were two feet from my head.  Last time they went until after midnight.  Lots of swahilli between the songs, interspersed with the word "Kilamanjaro" every few seconds.  No Kilamanjaro for me, I'm on night standby.