Packing

Handed the manager's phone and responsibilities over to my back to back late this afternoon, after a fine, fine morning of flying offshore.  It's quite a weight off one's shoulders and I am looking forward to some time at home.  I managed to reroute the entire trip, so I am now travelling with my preferred carrier, where all my yearly miles allow me a much higher baggage allowance, priority in all lines, upgrades, lounge access...just makes travelling that much less stressful.  My bag is still quite heavy with the carvings, but I think I'm within limits.  I'll find out tomorrow!

The U.S. embassy just pulled all their citizens out of the country of my next posting, and Canada has issued warnings and asked their citizens to leave.  I'll worry about that when my time off is finished, just going to enjoy some time home for now......

Home stretch....

Phone ringing endlessly, the constant "bing" of email notifications, problems to solve, people to answer, contractual fine points to maintain, payments to be made, paperwork and paperwork and paperwork to sort, struggling with personalities and lines drawn in the sand, and have no doubt, the people at this end of the game have strong, strong personalities, and to focus, focus everything, on the task at hand.....move people safely when required to do so.  Learning experience.  Personal development. Call it what you will, but my hitch is almost over.  I must say, most issues are solved with just a little guidance, some decision making, some head scratching, and some you just have to pass up the chain of command, and appreciate that mistakes are to be expected, and learnt from, pushed aside and ever onward.  I will admit....at times it is great fun. 

All it takes is seeing a steady stream of young men struggling with insanely over-laden 60 year old bicycles up steep grades with white NGO Land Cruisers whipping by at great speeds honking at them to make way, women with incredibly large bags of sugar or grain or water or impossibly heavy loads of firewood balanced on their heads while maintaining control over children running about, amongst the overladen bicycles and speeding Land Cruisers, all under that hot African midday sun, and as always, one appreciates what one has that much more.  Some specialists from the Western world came over to study the effects of these great loads balanced precariously on heads for hours at a time, over great distances, and they were suprised to find these women had no neck or back problems.  Their posture was absolutely perfect.  Their backs and necks were in far better shape than Westerners.  You see youngsters, probally as old as eight or nine, helping mom with the workload, and it is obvious that if your balance isn't perfect, if you are using muscles rather than poise, to handle these loads, it just isn't going to work.  It is impressive to see.  As I sit and sweat and type, having crawled out from under the mosquito net, air conditioner not keeping up but letting it churn the air regardless, wondering if a cold trickle of water shower is worth the effort, I know I'll leave it all behind for a few weeks.  Decompress.  Relax.  Surf.  Bike. Watch movies.  Eat chips.....

I am wondering how to get all the carvings I've bought home.  It will be heavy, and the baggage limit is quite small out of these remote areas.  This area is renowned for it's carvings, and there is no shortage, in various levels of workmanship, of monkeys and elephants and rhinos and or course, Masai warriors.  Known and trained from the youngest age to keep their livestock safe from leopards and lions, these nomadic warriors wander about East Africa with impunity, greatly respected, and feared, by the locals, and even the police give them a wide berth.  Many hire Masai to provide security, in their robes and carrying only a staff, no one is foolish enough to mess with them.  But I am impressed by these nightmare inspired carvings of bizarre creatures, that often times are difficut to understand just what is taking place.  Too bad the above figure is five feet tall, it'll never fit in my suitcase......

Tequila Stuntman

I've heard of this drink once before, but didn't believe it.  Heard it again today.  Haven't seen it myself.  I'm sure I'll never try it.  The story I heard today was more believeable as I know the character in question, but if you are either brave, or incredibly stupid, here is a "Tequila Stuntman"...

-thick line of salt on the back of your hand - snort
-down shot of tequila
-squirt lemon directly into your eye.........

I can't imagine being drunk enough.

I've seen my first bit of rain in Mtwara in five weeks (one week left!!!).  It was nice to see.  One couldn't possibly complain, the weather has been absolutely perfect; it's not too hot, very dry, sunny, with that ever present fresh breeze off the Indian Ocean.  A little rain is quite pleasant.   I'm finding life in general here quite pleasant.  There's the unbelievable reef, the happy people and warm smiles and pleasant greetings; "Mambo!" "Poa!", the curries and instant coffee, the tuk-tuks and heavily ladden bicycles, and I absolutely love all the hand-hewn wood furniture, the doors and desks and beds, all for sale by the side of the road, and you can sit and watch them make the furniture if you like.  The quality is not perfect, but there is a heavy solidity to everything, and it has a rustic appeal that I love. Everything here makes Western life seem so sterile in comparison.   But I am still very excited about getting home in a week.


The tide had turned just prior to our arrival at the beach today, and the current was just too strong to enjoy the swim without having a tinge of concern, and I ran into this nasty looking fellow who posed for a few shots before turning in my direction and scaring me off....

As I fought the current I could see the sky darken off towards the horizon so figured I'd best head in before I got wet (that's a joke), the other pilot and I didn't quite make it, but we warmed ourselves with some fine fresh Mtwara coffee at the Msimo Hotel.  It takes only forty minutes to get a waiter, and another forty five to heat the water, and however long you wish to stir in the instant powder.  I will admit though, it is actually quite good....

Local tunes

I did manage to get some flying in after all today, a short test flight but it was flying just the same.  Then there were emails and phone calls and meetings and even some angry people today, an unfortunate part of the managing gig, which always makes a day just that much longer, but still I managed to squeeze in a quick swim before supper.  I took a snorkel out to my new favourite spot on the reef, as you can see above.  It's quite away out and on the ocean side of the reef, on the outlet of a river, and the current is quite strong, so I've been trying to time my swims with an incoming tide to avoid being swept out to sea.  Years of surfing off Canada's East Coast in some serious storms swells has me quite accustomed to heading out in strong currents, but it's always wise to be cognizant of the risk.  There's quite a shelf there and it drops off into the blue abyss rather quickly.  It is a little spooky being so far out, with locals in large boats often passing well inside of you, but the reef is just spectacular out there, and I think it's well worth it.

I'll keep the writing short today, but there was a little entertainment at the hangar I'd like to share.  A rather senior government official was inbound and a local band was practicing for his arrival.  We heard the drums and headed over....

It's hard not to love East Africa.

Monkeys

No flying this weekend, so we had a nice BBQ last night, and today was an afternoon up at the Old Boma in Mikindani, near an old East African slave market.  The owners have done up the old building, filled it with dark hard wood furniture and carvings, put in a huge pool, and with the vegetation, it is a little slice of paradise.  And there are monkeys!

Just behind the Old Boma is a small park and these old buildings that I thought were arranged strangely, until a local pointed out that it is a famous old slave trading post, and the circle is where the slaves were presented for sale.  One couldn't help but shudder.

But after a little dose of the darker side of humanity, it's back to the curry and fresh brewed coffee and kids playing in the pool, and a good book in the shade.  It's a nice break from the day to day living and working in East Africa, something that just calms everyone and refreshes you for the coming week.  And those on call are still close enough to respond well within the alloted time. 

I'm not looking forward to the week.  I couldn't put myself on the flying schedule at all due to some base crewing and training requirements, and I have many fires to put out.  Only ten days left, then I'm homeward bound.

Some SAR

SAR.  Search and Rescue.  Actually got my first taste today.  Normally SAR is handled by the military, but it's becoming more and more common for civilian companies to provide SAR for their own exploration efforts, and it's opening some doors.  Ideally, the companies hire ex-military people from strong SAR backgrounds, bringing to the table years upon years of expertise and experience, but the demand is opening up the market to more and more ex-bush pilots like myself.  I'm still flying offshore oil exploration support, but there is an ever-increasing need to be able to fill a SAR role as well.

There is a complex set of checks and calls and procedures so everyone is on the same page, and to minimize the risk to all involved.  Having never hoisted before, and still not having much time on this new type, I was not behind the controls while we hoisted a SARtech down to the deck of a large support vessel not far from the rig we've been flying to.  My job as First Officer was to back the Commander up.

I did get to hoist drums in the open sea.  The drill was to hit a series of "gates", or airspeed and altitude targets, to come to a predetermined hover point at a certain height above the sea, then to retain that hover, with no reference to anything other than the waves, while the hoist operator, hanging out the rear door and looking down the hoist cable, trying to "hook" the drum we dropped off earlier, would call "forward one, left two, straight ahead, hold, back one, hold, maintain height, you're descending, good height, come left two.....etc".  Because the downwash of the helicopter was pushing the drum around, we had to chase it a good deal.  Newer version of the helicopter we were flying, the Italian AW139, have auto-hover capability, designed with SAR in mind, but we didn't have that kit.  I was suprised that it wasn't as difficult as I had thought.  Then again, the other pilot was hoisting a live guy to a deck that was bouncing around in rough seas, lots of obstructions, with gusty wind coming through the structure of the boat, but he handled it like someone who had done it extensively before.  Being Ex-U.S. Coast Guard, it was old hat to him.  But it was my first time out.

Life in Mtwara and shifting priorities.  Some people get a little irate at the different rates charged to mazungas (ex-pats) for most anything, but can you blame the locals?  There appears to be a completely different mindset to most everything here, brought about by living in a completely different environment than we are accustomed to.  There is a sense of community here that is very refreshing.  For a Tanzanian, when one comes into money, even a small amount, there is an unquestionable obligation to share with one’s family, or with those in need.  Sharing is an integral part of everyday life here.  The Western concept of ownership, or “I earned it, it’s mine”, is quite foreign to the locals here.  Mazungas are seen as being rich and whether we are or not, by the standard here in Mtwara, we most definitely are.  A 1000 shilling tuk-tuk ride becomes a 5000 shilling tuk-tuk ride for a mazunga, and you can often negotiate down to 2000 to 3000, but should we even try?  5000 shillings is a tad over $3 US.  Can you wonder why the drivers shake their heads in confusion when we refuse to pay more than the locals?   They find it hard to understand why we won't share our wealth.  I am trying to relate.  I want to make of the most of this experience of working far from home, far out of my comfort zone, broaden my horizons, views and outlook.  I’d prefer to look beyond my Western sensibilities and to do my best to see things through the local's eyes, beyond the tourist experience, and utilize this unbelievable opportunity I have to get a little understanding of life and priorities so very different than my own.  As long as I get to fly helicopters with some regularity!

And you can forego most of our western modern amenities with a little ingenuity, considering the climate of course.   Electrical power is not as reliable in Mtwara as someone from North America might be used to, so instead of having a water pump provide the pressure for all your water needs, a large tank is placed on the roof, and the tank is topped up when power is available.  With the tanks sitting in the sun, the showers are the optimum temperature, and the gravity fed pressure is acceptable on the third floor, and just keeps getting better the lower your room is.  Everything is just fine; you just have to shift your expectations slightly.    The lack of reliable internet though?  I find it very sad that it drives me as crazy as it does.

Fish

I have found an underwater camera!  I'm not sure what it is about human nature, but there is something intrinsically satisfying in sharing an experience.  I have travelled a fair bit, but doing it by yourself just doesn't do the experience justice.  I remember driving though the crowded streets and heavy traffic of early morning Bucharest, just trying to find my way out of the city, before heading up into Transylvania's mountains to visit Bran and Brasov, brutally cold, fresh after a heavy snowfall, narrow roads and big trucks and steep grades and hairpin turn after hairpin turn, and I would have given anything for a sympathetic soul to share the adventure.  Sharing just brings an unquantifiable aspect to everything one does.  Hence the camera.  Perhaps a poor substitute, but when the only other option is to forego the adventure, better to go anyway and take plenty of pictures.

The internet has been incredibly bad.  While at work I get occasional glimpses into the world wide web, and I then try desperately to catch up on work emails, and I often lose connectivity half way through and perhaps swear a little bit, but I try to realign my persectives and find something else to do.  It's somehow satisfying to have to get up and walk away from a computer.  Go for a walk, read a book, go for a swim.

The clownfish don't seem to be as happy to see me as I am to see them.  Very territorial.  But it always makes my day to pay them a visit, and buddy gets a chance to impress his mate by scaring off a threat hundreds of times his size.  I have some great video but the internet is just too slow.

Have you ever seen a mistake coming, from like a mile away, and walk into it anyway?  Either not caring about the consequence or wondering how'd you cope if it all went to hell.  I DO IT ALL THE TIME.  I took this job thinking that I wanted to see East Africa, but I knew I'd have my hands full.  The manager gig.  I didn't really see that coming, but like I said in my first post, if someone else is doing it, or has done it, how hard can it be?  Just get on with it.  I'm keeping my head above water, at present anyway, bring on the challenge and see how I cope.  Today I was wondering.  Seriously wondering.  But what is life without a little adventure?

I'm enjoying life in Mtwara, flying and swimming, and the people.  As crews rotate in and out you can watch how the dynamic shifts and changes.  It's fun to watch, and to see how one's self fits into the equation.  I wish there was a heck of alot more flying though.....

Tomorrow lunch at Livingstone's old place.   And volleyball at 5pm.

New flip flops

Woo hoo!  Three trips in two days, all is right with the world.  I'm still coming in too high.  I've been flying rather large helicopters for the last 6000 hours and I'm so used to having to worry about all that helicopter out behind me, I'm having a hard time coming into the rather low hover the AW139 requires.  It's got bags of power and it doesn't really matter, but it is poor form.  Old habits become ingrained, and it's a weird feeling being so comfortable on a helicopter that it becomes an extension of you, and then to be on something new and learning all over again. It's still just a helicopter though, and the differences are minor in the grand scheme of things.  Getting a little solid stick time has been a treat though, and I'm smiling tonight.

I'm still adjusting to Mtwara life though, but it's a good pace.  There were tiny ants in my coffee mug this morning but I poured the hot water over the instant coffee powder anyway, because any of those little guys that survived the hot water would certainly meet their demise in my digestive track anyway.  We then flew off into the great blue beyond and did our part to help the world in it's struggle to cope with it's energy needs, but we don't actually think such lofty thoughts, we are just happy to be flying.  Then back on terra firma, smiling like idiots, our flight dispatcher took me to the air traffic control tower for a meet and great, but she obviously knew the lady running the radio communications quite well, as the tower lady brought out a bag of hand made shoes for her, leather flip flops with embroidered flowers and butterflies.  Politely making conversation, I remarked that it was too bad she didn't have any men's flip flops, which brought a smile and a pair of men's flip flops from the depths of her bag.  I'm wearing them now. Returning phone calls and emails and paperwork, it was too late to snag that swim by the time we all returned to the hotel.  I then grabbed a shower in the trickle of gravity fed rain water from tank above my room.  I mistakenly grabbed the bug killer spray instead of the mosquito repellant before heading down to supper and dowsed myself quite well.  That required yet another shower.  Down I went to order supper and prepare for the minimum hour and a half wait, but you can go back and chat with the cook, the security guard with the ancient rifle, or any of the other ex-pats on site, waiting for their meals as well.  Most of them have figured out the trick of ordering supper then going up and having a shower and calling home and firing off some emails, have a nap, but I'm not a quick study.  And the internet.  You have no idea how much you count on the damn thing until you don't have it for a few days.  I think the hotel forgets to pay the bill.  I didn't have any internet until I was thirty, or a cel phone.  It's nice to call home with skype and not worry that it's costing anything, but I'm not sure sure that we haven't lost something in our need to stay connected all the time.

Tomorrow, I must, must, must get out for a swim.  I will work hard and focus on getting everything on my "to do" list done before lunch.  I don't like having a "to do" list.   Normally I can keep up and don't need such a cruch, but I'm getting behind, and I've learnt to become concerned about stress levels when I need a "to do" list to keep track.   But I have been flying, and I will get swimming, and I'm nearly half way through my hitch.  Home is beckoning.

Thar she blows!

I needed a little "me" time today.  Too much thinking and figuring and planning and striving to remember names and who is who and who needs what, and I haven't been airborne in days.  So when the other pilot on night standby asked if I wanted to walk to the beach for a swim, I was clad in swim trunks, slick with suntan lotion, feet in flip flops, snorkelling gear in hand, before he blinked twice.

The fish were in their regular hang outs, I'm getting a good feel for the reef now.  Some reading in the shade, fell asleep, woke up hungry, so we made our way up to the most gorgeous little restaurant with a grass roof, overlooking the ocean, and waited forty minutes for someone to take our order.  Coffee was another thirty minutes, this was hot water in a tea pot and a can of instant and a spoon.  Not a Starbucks for miles!  While enjoying the fine coffee, the view and the breeze and thinking just how lucky could someone be, off in the distance there was a "poof" and water shooting high into the air.  Now the first time I saw this, while flying inbound from offshore at fifeteen hundred feet, I thought I was seeing a humpback whale.  Flying two hundred miles out into the North Atlantic you'd often see whales, that tell tale plume of water shooting into the sky.  If there wasn't much white water on the ocean, waves breaking, you could see them for miles off.  If the whales were travelling, they'd blow every few minutes.  If they were feeding, they'd blow once and head deep for twenty minutes or more at a time.  I bought a guidebook to identify all the whales we were seeing.  "Look at that one!"  Out would come the guidebook and you'd quickly identify the humpback by the white flukes.  After seeing and identifying hundreds of humpbacks, I stopped carrying the guidebook.  They were all humpbacks.  Actually, there was this huge pod of blue whales that came through the area almost every fall, and they were really something to see, and you'd catch sight of the odd greenland shark or mako, and one killer whale, and I always figured, any day that you saw a whale, regardless of type, it was a good day.  But back to the beachside restaurant in Mtwara.  Humpbacks are known to travel between Zanzibar and the mainland, but what would a whale be doing in such shallow water, right in the reef?  My answer quickly came with the next "poof" of water, and a hand dug boat quickly scooted into the area to collect the stunned fish.  The locals were fishing with dynamite.

I am missing the flying.  I've always found I get a little irate if I'm not behind the controls for awhile.  The East Coast operation was perfect as I flew quite regularly.  This six weeks on, six weeks off touring drives me a little batty.  I love my time off, although I've never had anything close to resembling six weeks, but when I'm back in country, I want to fly.  There isn't much flying on this operation, and quite a few guys to share it with.  I've been on jobs in Canada's North, where I've flown a hundred and fifty hours in eighteen days, my personal record, before the regulatory boards were looking too closely at pilot fatigue and it's safety implications.  That's far too much, looking back, but I was less than twenty with energy levels far beyond anything I'd even dream about now.  Nine years of air ambulance flying with lots of standby, and you were lucky if you broke two hundred hours in a year, and I found that far too little.  The East Coast flying, which I did for eleven years, averaged around five hundred hours a year.  Perfect in my opinion, and the extremely poor weather just brought an element of challenge to the table that I sorely miss.  I'm hoping it's not much longer before I'm back there.

But, it's another perfect day in paradise.  The sun is shining brightly once again, that light breeze off the ocean, Tanzanian radio from some motorcyle's small speakers that I wish I understood, it sounds so happy and inspirational, and I'm making some good friends, there's volleyball later this evening, and hopefully we'll head up to Livingstone's old place up the road for some curry and a swim.

And I'll get some flying in soon enough.

Bring it on!

Like a breath of fresh air.  Back in Mtwara.  It seems like such an idyllic lifestyle compared to the hustle, bustle and mayhem, cold stares, and poverty of Dar es Salaam, a city simply outgrowing itself.  Life seems simpler here, and while there is extreme poverty as well, the affect is different.  The lack of crowds gives one a feeling of relief, and dirt and dust and car fumes gives way to lush green vegetation, gentle breezes from the sea, and the somehow reassuring site of huge baobab trees.  According to Arab legend, the devil went around Africa ripping the trees from the ground and sticking them back in upside down, giving the appearance of having their roots pointed skyward.  They remind me of Mustafa from the Lion King, and while I keep looking, I have yet to see a monkey.  Dar's bumper to bumper traffic is replaced with ladies walking idly by in brightly coloured kangas, hips swaying, blue plastic bins full of fish or nuts or laundry balanced firmly on their heads, tough sweaty men with bicycles from the 50's with long logs of firewood tied to the frame, huge bags of charcoal balanced picariously on top, struggling up hills or careening down the other side with little semblance of control, feet windmilling madly, school children running about in blue shorts and white shirts, and everyone laughing and smiling and waving at our stereotypical white landrover.  You cannot compare the homeless in Dar banging on your windows in heavy traffic to Mtwara's mud huts and grass roofs, the Tanzanian's brightly coloured crafts proudly on display by the lazy roadside, the shop owners laughing and talking in the shade of a nearby tree. Where else will you find beds being handmade on the side of the road?  I like this place.

But despite this idyllic life, I have decided to complicate my life further.  I have agreed to manage the operation here, so days of snorkelling have been replaced with days of meeting with oil execs and endless phone calls and responding to a steady stream of emails.  Why?  First and foremost, because there was a need.  But I appreciate that I'm restless and if you put a challenge in front of me, for how much I'd like to think I could walk away and take the easy route, I know I will jump on it.  It's a good opportunity in many ways.  I keep busy, I assure myself a placement in Mtwara for awhile, and the experience I gather will be invaluable, not just career-wise, but I find in the challenges, I learn about myself.  It will cut heavily into my visits to the clownfish though.

When I found out I was going to be touring on an operation in Turkey, I didn't know I'd be managing the operation until just before I left home.  I had managed an air ambulance base in North Western Ontario for years, so I wasn't overly concerned, but I still felt I was in over my head more than a few times.  Thankfully the crew members in country really stepped up and helped all they could, I couldn't ask for better people, so the job was tasking but pleasant.  Despite a few headaches, I quite enjoyed the challenge, and it didn't cut into my flying at all, something I won't let happen.  Managing in Africa is turning out to be an entirely new ballgame. The crew members are first rate once again, and I can lean on them heavily and they'll ask for more, but Africa is challenging.  The learning curve is steep.  But I hope to come out the other end with a wealth of experience, to take on to whatever comes next.