Winter Wonderland

I'm looking out my front window sipping on very strong freshly brewed coffee, thinking about Africa.  It looks pretty outside, about as Canadian and home as I could ever want, but my thoughts are still overseas.  That was a very good tour.  I flew some eighty hours, but my time in Mombasa was far too short.  I ended up extending a few days due to some training requirements, but I wouldn't have complained had they asked me to stay longer.  The seaside resort was amazing and a welcome treat, lounging with a good book while the strong breezes off the Indian Ocean rustled through the palm trees, my bare feet digging into soft, warm sand, monkeys scampering about, and whenever your heart desired, slipping into one of the many pools for a dip.  Of course I flooded yet ANOTHER watch during one of those dips.  Supposedly waterproof to two hundred feet, the warranty will cover the repair but that's two in a year from different manufacturers!  I'm sticking with dive watches with screw down crowns from now on.  This nice new mechanical Tissot is waterproof to one thousand feet, so I'm thinking it can easily tackle snorkeling and dips in the pool, and I like bezels for marking times.  I want a watch where I don't have to worry about changing batteries while overseas and that I don't have to take off every time I get wet.  I'm hoping this one lasts.  Looks cool me thinks.

The weather in Eastern Canada has been cold, with blizzard after blizzard making driving an adventure, but I don't mind.  It's home.  I find shovelling snow somehow therapeutic, generating a good sweat as the cold fresh air fills your lungs, or brisk walks with snow crunching under one's feet.  Snowboarding with my kid tomorrow.  Now with her own car, I hardly see her, so I'm looking forward to the day.

 

 

I'm off to Sesto Calende, Italy for a week next weekend.  It's my yearly simulator recurrent training and check ride, and I get to go to the factory training centre for the Italian helo I'm now flying.  It's a  treat, even though it's Northern Italy in winter.  I really do miss Stavanger, Norway and the Super Puma sim.  That swinging Norwegian village was like a second home after eleven years of instructing in their simulators.  I know Stavanger better than I know Halifax, and have quite a few friends there.  Stavanger had the Sikorsky S61 sim as well, so I'm very familiar with the place.  But, it's off to Italy shortly, and I'll make the most of it.  I'll pack for Africa too just in case they need me back early.  Stranger things have happened, and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't complain.

 



Mombasa again!

The dates changed, changed and changed again, aircraft parts were packed, then unpacked, packed again.  Crews changing out fretted over tickets cancelled and rebooked, local staff wondered when their employments would finally be finished and sadly asked again and again, when, when, when, and we eventually settled into a steady state of flux. The logistics of mobilizing a base across international borders became daunting as the variables floated around likes leaves on an windy Autumn day.  But finally the date solidified, whatever hadn't yet been packed was stuffed into a bag or box, customs and immigration given notification yet once again, and they arrived at the airport, friendly but officious, the aircraft fuelled and prepped, and I handed them gobs of paperwork prepared far in advance, inspections were completed and questions answered, forms were signed, hands were shook, and then we were off, climbing to 8000 feet for the three hour flight up to Mombasa, Kenya, the radar shot clear far beyond the horizon.

Having moved many a base, and actually managed a previous base move from Tanzania to Kenya, I steeled myself for long days, short tempers, and bureaucratic nightmares, and was not disappointed.  But the accommodations.....a beautiful seaside resort with restaurants and bars tucked into the palms trees, waiting to be discovered, multiple pools connected by swimmable streams, koi blowing kisses from the lily pad thick ponds as we dined on fresh mango, papaya and passion fruit, fresh fish, fresh sausages, fresh coffee, and showers of hot, hot water with enough pressure to take the skin clean off you.  It was a far, far cry from our end of the road, last town on a dusty trail at the far end of Tanzania, hotel and home for the past year, oft discribed as soul sucking.

None of us would see the hotel in daylight for a few days.  Long hours setting up the operation, the customer stomping about making far too much noise, especially considering how slick everything was going, despite how well the crews handled all that was thrown at them with aplomb.  Security was still a concern.  We had heard about the grenade thrown under a tourist bus prior to our departure, but there was yet another grenade thrown into an expat bar not far from our resort the morning of our arrival.  A man was pulled from his vehicle and killed during riots in Mtwara in the early days of our contract, our staff in the vehicle behind, quick thinking and hard driving from the ex- US Army pilot getting them out with only a broken window and some new dents.  When confronted with a large group of angry men in riots last year, we told our local driver not to stop, and he blasted through.  Do not stop.  Now in Mombasa, security fresh in everyone's mind, we are again faced with a large group of angry, sweat soaked and shirtless men, waving frantically for our vehicle to stop.  I can hardly believe our local driver is going to stop, and it's me yelling "Go! Go! Go!"  As we creep past, our timid driver unsure, we see and I regret.  They are carrying a dead body, dripping wet, presumably drowned in the lake we are passing, and they are only trying to get him across the road.

We settle into a routine of opulent spender; red snapper, prawns and lobster in exotic Portegeuse and Morrocan sauces, in some of my favourite restaurants on the planet, walking the long beach in cool evening breezes, a gazillion white crabs frolicking in the surf, blue balled monkeys mock charge and scamper in the palms, then early morning breakfast buffets and long drives through slums and squalor, back to the airport and work.  I have yet to get a photo of white shirted dress pants ray ban wearing four bar Captains pushing the old rusted dilapidated tractor as the Engineer pops the clutch and the engine farts, misses, catches, burps black smoke and is soon hauling our shiny Italian AW139s out of the monkey infested hangar for another day's sortie, but rest assured, we are enjoying ourselves.

Out crawls 2013

2013 has finally dragged it's sorry ass out the door.  The year has actually been excellent, but this last week was anything but pleasant.  I've been paying brutally for bragging about how robust my guts are, about how I can eat anything local in numerous third world locales.  72 hours of keeping a loo at arms length and getting very little sleep at night, my days spent on SAR standby as the only available SAR Captain,  spending far too much time in the rudimentary airport loo, ventilation non-existent and roasting in the sun, temperatures often reaching into the high forties (Celsius for you Americans) in the cramped, dark space, shared with geckos, biting ants, mosquitos and horrid assaults to the nostrils, the heat unbearable and one is soon soaked in sweat, further contributing to headache inducing dehydration.   To add to my discomfort, my room's air conditioning failed and flooded my room, and we cope daily with the whims and whimsies of competing customers, forever changing the plan and complicating our logistics of mobilizing a base, all the while barking insults and behaving quite poorly.  It's been a long week with no flying nor days at the beach.  Out crawls 2013.

But that's quite enough whining.  A couple of our South African co-workers took over the BBQ duties of our local chef and more meat was flown in from Dar es Salaam.  We had a rather pleasant New Year's eve dinner, and my appetite had returned with a vengeance!  The temperatures are still hot but there's always a good breeze blowing now.  I sit in the shade at the airport and watch scores of swallows dive bomb the flying ants, black and white crows hop about feeding on some very exotic looking moths, geckoes and multi-coloured lizards scamper from nook to nook, and I sit back, relax, and bury my nose into a good book.