Monday, 31 January 2011
Post 4: Weather interrupted
2:00 am. Freezing fog forecast for France later today. So my plan to visit the Toulouse-Lautrec museum at Albi before it closes this evening followed by a nice glass of Gaillac is stymied. Weather's fine in southern Spain. Where's European harmonisation? We give them our subsidies. They should give us their weather. I blame Ted Heath. And the fact that I don't have an instrument rating. Or a Cessna Citation. The Egyptian army has said it won't shoot protestors. Hillary Clinton wants an " orderly transition" for which read "next dictator please". Game over for Moubarak. Which is good but not soon enough for us (or 87m Egyptians) so we will probably route to the Sudan via Libya next week. Now there's irony for you. The safest route south from the Med is through Gaddafi's Libya. You couldn't make it up, could you?
Saturday, 29 January 2011
Post 3: Democracy interrupted
I've been thinking of tweeting 80m Egyptians - or a representive sample relying on the trickledown effect-and asking them to put their little grumbles on hold for two weeks. As a favour to an old Alexandrian. Me. At least until we get our little squadron through El-Arish, Sharm and Luxor on our way to the Sudan and South Africa. But a) the internet has been emasculated by the regime ( that's encouraging actually; I mean the fact that Mubarak's goon squad includes internet anorachs who can do that) and b) I'm not sure a joy ride by a bunch of overfed Brits and other Europeans will figure high on the protestors' priorities right now.
So we're on our lonesome. Do we ignore all the official advice and head south and, if so, which way? Egypt, Libya possibly Saudi Arabia? I don't think W will take kindly to wearing a scarf. Yes, some of the guys are bringing their better halves. All I can reveal is that serious discussions are taking place in a constructive atmosphere in the group divided, roughly, between the Stiff-Upper-Lip wing and the Do-we -really-need this flight wimps. I am torn. I am reminded nostalgically of the time, when as an FT Foreign Correspondent I flew into Tehran on the chartered Air France Jumbo,carrying that bundle of laughs the Ayatollah Khomemeini on his return from exile in France. The Shah had been driven into exile. The emperor had plenty of money. But no clothes. And look what we got in his place! Some you lose. And some you lose. Mind you, that French skipper knew a thing or two about flying. He corkscrewed the Jumbo onto the ground to avoid possible missile fire.
I'm packing my stuff in the smallest bag you've ever seen and flying G-VAAC to Toulouse on Tuesday, ready to jump whichever way Sam the Man dictates. We could reach Khartoum, as intended, through Libya and Chad. Many barrels of Avgas. Many camels.
Today we had satisfying session at Cranfield with Mark Barnard the Chief engineer at Bonus about what we need to watch for. It boiled down to: " Lads...keep topping up the oil, don't let the engine overheat, don't panic and here's my number. But I never answer my mobile so don't bother calling. And if anything goes wrong remember rule ONE: fly the plane. Oh, and here's a roll of gaffer tape in case the wing tips buckles or falls apart in the Equatoirial heat. Good luck and send us a postcard " Thanks Mark.
Getting Prior Permission to land at en route airports has been diverting. The French, cool as concombres, have been blisteringly efficient. The Italians have been charming and, well, Italian. And the Greeks, oh those Greeks, seem so thrilled that we are going to drip in for Kelftiko and Tarama they're offering to charge us nothing."Just come...it will be a pleasure...!" said the lovely Vassilis at Rhodes Airport Authority. O Vassilis einai Leventis.
Monday I will find out what the underwriters feel about taking G-VAAC into Egypt. I'll try and catch him after he's had a good City lunch. I shall report back.
So we're on our lonesome. Do we ignore all the official advice and head south and, if so, which way? Egypt, Libya possibly Saudi Arabia? I don't think W will take kindly to wearing a scarf. Yes, some of the guys are bringing their better halves. All I can reveal is that serious discussions are taking place in a constructive atmosphere in the group divided, roughly, between the Stiff-Upper-Lip wing and the Do-we -really-need this flight wimps. I am torn. I am reminded nostalgically of the time, when as an FT Foreign Correspondent I flew into Tehran on the chartered Air France Jumbo,carrying that bundle of laughs the Ayatollah Khomemeini on his return from exile in France. The Shah had been driven into exile. The emperor had plenty of money. But no clothes. And look what we got in his place! Some you lose. And some you lose. Mind you, that French skipper knew a thing or two about flying. He corkscrewed the Jumbo onto the ground to avoid possible missile fire.
I'm packing my stuff in the smallest bag you've ever seen and flying G-VAAC to Toulouse on Tuesday, ready to jump whichever way Sam the Man dictates. We could reach Khartoum, as intended, through Libya and Chad. Many barrels of Avgas. Many camels.
Today we had satisfying session at Cranfield with Mark Barnard the Chief engineer at Bonus about what we need to watch for. It boiled down to: " Lads...keep topping up the oil, don't let the engine overheat, don't panic and here's my number. But I never answer my mobile so don't bother calling. And if anything goes wrong remember rule ONE: fly the plane. Oh, and here's a roll of gaffer tape in case the wing tips buckles or falls apart in the Equatoirial heat. Good luck and send us a postcard " Thanks Mark.
Getting Prior Permission to land at en route airports has been diverting. The French, cool as concombres, have been blisteringly efficient. The Italians have been charming and, well, Italian. And the Greeks, oh those Greeks, seem so thrilled that we are going to drip in for Kelftiko and Tarama they're offering to charge us nothing."Just come...it will be a pleasure...!" said the lovely Vassilis at Rhodes Airport Authority. O Vassilis einai Leventis.
Monday I will find out what the underwriters feel about taking G-VAAC into Egypt. I'll try and catch him after he's had a good City lunch. I shall report back.
Thursday, 20 January 2011
Post 2: Ten days to go
Just over a week to go. Africa beckons. I'm re-reading Alan Moorehead's White Nile. And the CAA lealet about ditching in cold water. I can hear the Egyptian Air Traffic controller " Golf Alpha Chaarlee, bus yuur massage...." I'm dying to thank him in Arabic as we cross into Sinai, skimming Israeli airspace, a childish temptation which I hope I'll resist. But I doubt I will. Resist. Sadly we shall not be landing at Alexandria where I was born and where Cleopatra subdued Julius Ceasar not just with her hips but with her guile. I love Egypt. But I'm biased. Slight concerns over stability in the Middle East: Tunisia has suddenly erupted and swept away the old crook who ran it for 25 years and his hairdresser wife who apparently packed $40m in gold bars in her Louis Vuittons before fleeing to that other model of liberty: Saudi Arabia.. Not, I wager, in a single-engine Cherokee. The talk now is of Tunisia being to the Arab world what Poland was to the Communist block in 1989. Arab dominoes falling as we cut through the Arab skies. I doubt it. Not for a while anyway. Then there's the referendum in the Sudan where we head after Egypt. The Christian south wants to secede from the Muslim north. The north gave us Darfur. Who gives up a third of their country willingly? We shall see.
More mundane preoccupations: should we wear moon ( survival) suits when flying over longish stretches of Mediterranean? The RAF has a rule: if the water is under 15 degrees Celsius in the water moon suits are in order. It's the initial shock of hitting cold water that does for you , like Mike Tyson punching you in the chest with a bag of ice. A nice man at South East Marine supplies, who supply the emergency services, says: " Don't swim. Curl up in a ball and try and float, protecting your core bits until help arrives." Mind you Alpha Charlie is a robust little plane. She'd never let us down. And she knows I hate cold water. Do we take Kitkats and chocolate or survival rations? That's a no-brainer. Nuttella.
We did a shakedown flight last week up to 10,000 ft over Norfolk in preparation for vaulting over the mountain wall which separates the Sudan from Ethiopia. On the way back the Traffic alert went on the blink. We could see the little black squares on our display signifying other aircraft but an irritating, clipped American voice kept saying "Altitude, Data Invalid". Fat lot of use if you don't know where the enemy is. Up, down, left or right.
We have to get her to Toulouse by February 4th at the latest if we're to make the rendezvous in Cyprus on February 12th. Sam Rutherford, our leader, leaves no prisoners. Steve joins me on the 4th at Toulouse. Adrian, top gun Air Traffic Controller at Cranfield, has agreed to fly with me to south-west France a few days before. He can fly in cloud ( and almost certainly walk on water) so we'll be fine. I am getting a bit windy. But that's good says my wife. It will delay Alzheimers. She ( my plane not my wife) is getting her final check next week and Steve and I will be shown how to change a spark plug. I have bought a, chic little, blue urine bottle to keep in the plane. WikiHow's first rule for GA pilots who need to go is " Don't pee all over yourself." Who writes this stuff? We meet CC Pocock, maverick bush pilot, in South Africa. Have a look at www.bush-air.com They don't make them like that anymore.
More mundane preoccupations: should we wear moon ( survival) suits when flying over longish stretches of Mediterranean? The RAF has a rule: if the water is under 15 degrees Celsius in the water moon suits are in order. It's the initial shock of hitting cold water that does for you , like Mike Tyson punching you in the chest with a bag of ice. A nice man at South East Marine supplies, who supply the emergency services, says: " Don't swim. Curl up in a ball and try and float, protecting your core bits until help arrives." Mind you Alpha Charlie is a robust little plane. She'd never let us down. And she knows I hate cold water. Do we take Kitkats and chocolate or survival rations? That's a no-brainer. Nuttella.
We did a shakedown flight last week up to 10,000 ft over Norfolk in preparation for vaulting over the mountain wall which separates the Sudan from Ethiopia. On the way back the Traffic alert went on the blink. We could see the little black squares on our display signifying other aircraft but an irritating, clipped American voice kept saying "Altitude, Data Invalid". Fat lot of use if you don't know where the enemy is. Up, down, left or right.
We have to get her to Toulouse by February 4th at the latest if we're to make the rendezvous in Cyprus on February 12th. Sam Rutherford, our leader, leaves no prisoners. Steve joins me on the 4th at Toulouse. Adrian, top gun Air Traffic Controller at Cranfield, has agreed to fly with me to south-west France a few days before. He can fly in cloud ( and almost certainly walk on water) so we'll be fine. I am getting a bit windy. But that's good says my wife. It will delay Alzheimers. She ( my plane not my wife) is getting her final check next week and Steve and I will be shown how to change a spark plug. I have bought a, chic little, blue urine bottle to keep in the plane. WikiHow's first rule for GA pilots who need to go is " Don't pee all over yourself." Who writes this stuff? We meet CC Pocock, maverick bush pilot, in South Africa. Have a look at www.bush-air.com They don't make them like that anymore.
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