My family has come to shop. I'm not much for shopping. I search out bars. Not just any bar will suffice. Bars with history and atmosphere, with brass and dark wood and chandeliers and uniformed staff and jazz and stone mosaic floors, and a selection of fine single malts. Preferably someplace Mordecai Richler or Leonard Cohen had a drink or two. I did buy something; a Tilley Safari vest. Its pretty darn cool. I think I can pull it off.
A Super Puma has crashed in the North Sea and the pilot's forums are abuzz with inane observations and bruised egos. Four passengers were killed, but most survived and the crews aren't talking. Recent Puma crashes due to a gearbox fault has the offshore oil workers, our passengers, in an uproar and calling for all Pumas to be grounded. It was just announced that it was not mechanical, no fault of the Puma specifically, but supposedly pilot error. I'm sure changes to procedures are forthcoming.
I worry. Not about flying or Super Pumas, but why I'm so anxious to get back to Africa. For various reasons, I want to get back. I should want to be home, but I get bored, and I truly miss the flying. And I'm finding more and more, I love Africa.
Montreal hasn't been all bars and a good book, I was able to meet a good old friend, a helicopter engineer I worked with over twenty five years ago, who has been kicking around deepest darkest Africa for better than two decades, most recently Uganda. It was good to catch up and compare notes. We have more in common than I thought.
One week to go and I'm headed back over, with my new safari vest.....
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