I love my job.

Where else could I find such lessons in patience? Surely exposure to post-midnight departures, delays, line-ups, pushy security, crying babies, forced wake-up calls to eat airplane food, congested seating arrangements, silent elbow wars for armrest superiority, information break-down with ESL foreign nationals, more line-ups, more delays, more security, more airplane food, and still more to come would allow me to embrace one of life’s core values?

Perhaps it has and that, with the practical application of a core value, it pays one back in the end.

Through out the course of this 24hour + travel day I seemed to be thanked a lot “for my patience”. I know that’s stock lingo for the airline staff and everyone who’s ever put their ass in an airplane seat has heard it, but I liked to think that I was doing a fine job at practicing that patience. Helping confused looking or troubled people on a 3:00a.m. flight to Asia from Vancouver can be a regular occurrence. General politeness and no real concern for getting anywhere in a hurry allows one the opportunity to help out where one can.

I didn’t save anyone’s day or anything like that, but I may have been rewarded for 24 hours of patient traveling with a little bonus for the last few hours; which is why I have decided to write this post in the lavish surroundings of a Royal Brunei 767 Business Class row to myself.

Good Travel Karma can be very comfortable and it can come at a time when it’s most appreciated; it’s worth stockpiling!

Happy Travels.

The most common response I had from people when I told them I was going to Brunei for an offshore tour was either the honest reply: “Where’s that?” or they played Geographer Enthusiast and replied: “It’s going to be really hot in the Middle East, isn’t it?”

The assumption that Brunei is in the Middle East is a common and very understandable one (I fell for it too).  The name “Brunei” has an Islamic implication, and the full name, “Negara Brunei Darussalam” has an even more effective sound to assume a small, predominately Islamic nation that was carved out of the Ottoman Empire.  However, this oil rich nation does not play in the sand in order to retrieve its resource; it goes swimming, and they’ve got a lot of it here.

I’ve been flying offshore for a month in Brunei, and it’s a very pleasant place.  The people are nice, the roads and highways are great (they’re got a very British feel), the weather is fantastic, there is plenty of opportunity for getting outside and hiking, racket sports, field sports, and golf.  The population of the main city district, in which we are living, is only about 50,000.  This results in light traffic and a clean downtown core.  The rules are fairly restrictive: no booze is sold and drug traffickers get the death penalty.  I have the Movie Channel and HBO in my room and I’ve yet to see a movie make-out scene or hear a curse word.  It general, it’s pretty sleepy times.

Stay tuned for my cynical accounts of the details of life in Islamic Asia.

Selamat tinggal,
Rob

It started out in Philly with a flight that I never ever imagined I’d find myself doing: taking a S76 helicopter from Pennsylvania to the Sikorsky factory in Connecticut via NY, NY! We’re talking Statue of Liberty fly-by, ground zero, central park……you know, the usual sites. Ironically, my dad happened to be in New Jersey at the time, and he was there on the other side of the Hudson watching me bomb over the Big Apple in a brand new Sikorsky. Weird. The next bonus was the tour of the Sikorsky facility to see Igor Sikorsky’s office as he’d left it, and the Black Hawk assembly line. Sorry, no photos of the military assembly line……I’d rather avoid Guantanamo right now.

The next afternoon was the departure for the business end of the trip: delivery of our new aircraft to Vancouver. The requirement to avoid snow had us first heading south. After some careful stepping around Washington DC, Camp David, and the other very sensitive, “we’ll-take-action-if-you-penetrate-this-area” no-fly zones, we found ourselves in Greensville, South Carolina, with a balmy 15°C on the temp gauge. Nice place, from the 12 hours I spent there.

The next day was straight west…we’re talking 270 degrees from start to finish, and almost 1000nms, thanks to some favourable winds. The topography changed from Eastern Seaboad-Apalachien-Foothills to the great Midwest plateau range, just short of the southern Rocky Foothills, in Amarillo, Texas. There we enjoyed the big things the lone star state so proudly offers: a long drive down a wide highway in a big car looking at big billboards, a big parking lot outside a big hotel, a big Texas steak, and a “Texas-sized” beer (aka – a jug). Good thing I brought my big stomach.

No sooner had the novelty of “you must love us ’cause we’re big” had worn off then it was time to meander on westward. I use the term ‘meander’ loosely here, as the next day’s topography and weather conditions provided some of the best, and challenging, flying of the trip. As we left Amarillo the upper plains developed into deeper river gorges, higher hills, and wider valleys. Our trip suddenly seemed to loose pace at this point, as the next several states were much larger, mountainous, and desolate than we’d seen on the previous days. However, our spirits were far from lack-luster, in part due to the excitement of the destination; Las Vegas, Nevada via the Grand Canyon. The distances worked out quite well to get the most productivity out of a day’s flying, while still taking a route in a brand new multi-engined helicopter that most professional pilots (or anyone else) can only dream of. Northwestward it was, and we screamed over miles and miles of desert and canyons, which served to only whet our appetites for the grand finale. As we drew closer to our fuel stop, the variable that rears it’s head so often began to come into play; the weather. We continued on our course for a short while but we were traveling westward into an eastern moving weather system. The decision to divert was easy: the temperature was 2 degrees Celsius and dropping and the weather ahead had shrouded the hills in precipitation. We broke south on an unplanned-for diversion, attempting to get around the system that lay on the ‘B’ line to Grand Canyon National Airport. We were forced farther and farther off our intended track, and the need for fuel descended upon us so the diversionary destination was decided upon. Because of this diversion, I can now say I’ve been to Shiloh, Arizona……I’ve beaten you all. The gas stop was more akin to a pit stop as the weather was still moving in and squeezing us southward. So it was back to thumb-on-the-map navigation, assisted of course by GPS, to find a way down out of the hills. It was obvious to us that the self-guided Grand Canyon tour was no longer an option, but Vegas was still in range and on the intended route to Vancouver. As we clipped the northern edge of Phoenix’s Air Traffic Control space, we were finally able to follow a spectacular river valley northward into the hills and safely in behind the cold front that had produced our weather. We followed the terrain back up into the hills and were confidant that the path was clear to Las Vegas. While we were nearing the International Airport we were able to sneak in a quick diversion to circle overhead the Hoover Dam, an extremely popular helicopter tour site, and the evidence was in the air all around us. It was probably something like Vietnam.

Las Vegas…….well, nothing new to report here, except for a strange occurrence that happens to fit the theme of the story nicely. After blowing a token 40 bucks on a random black jack table in the sea of black jack tables, we sought out a dinner option. The Hard Rock Cafe in Vegas? Now that sounded to me like a true blue cultural experience. After a 2 ½ minute wait, my beef dip, fries, and side [platter] of salad was looking up at me. After the meal we rolled ourselves outside to go pay homage to some of the more famous Vegas landmarks: Bellagio, Mandalay, Mirage, etc. It was there in the Bellagio, the finest and most glamorous of Vegas can offer, that I began to understand that the feeling I had been developing in my stomach was an actual sickness as opposed to just over-eating on shitty food. All the classic symptoms were there: paleness, sweating, disinterest in everything and everyone around me. Then it hit me, right there in the middle of a loud and obnoxious room designed not to let you out………THE URGE. Garbage can?! No. Under a craps table!? It might have to be! Oh god, it’s coming. During my desperate scramble I spot a uniformed man. “Where’s the can?!” I simply follow the direction of his pointed finger rather than actually listen to his instructions. As I bolt through the slot machines and tables at a fast sprint I quickly realize that I could easily be taken down by security for this, and that would be messy. I finally found the can and burst into an empty stall with ½ a second to spare, and saved myself the embarrassment of clearing an entire section of the Bellagio slots, and subsequently helped earn Peter Winn just a few more bucks.

By the time it came to leave Vegas I was certainly ready to push on. We had perhaps one more full day ahead of us, and then a quick morning hop over the border into Vancouver. It turned out that the one last full day was a little more full than we wanted. As we were plodding on Northwestward we encountered more weather. It was of the winter coastal variety, but further inland and lower than forecast. Some creative enroute flight planning allowed us a diversion without losing too much ground on the original plan. We found ourselves in a fertile valley of Northern California for our fuel stop. After the stop we attempted a straight push westward to the coast over the southern finger of the Coast Mountains. As is typical of a pacific winter’s day, the clouds had packed in on the mountains from the west, cutting off any possibility of us moving North or West. We hedged our bets that we could make the coast if we first traveled fifty or sixty miles straight south. We lost our own gamble; it was more like one hundred. Regardless, after some careful stepping, we finally found our way down to the pacific where the winds were fierce and the weather was low. We turned north and rode some serious tailwinds up the desolate coast of Northern California. As our groundspeed crept up over 180kts the coastline seemed to rush by at 500 feet above the ground and two miles of visibility. Exciting and scenic flying to be sure, but after about an hour it was time to call it a day. Some previous in-flight trip planning showed us that we were destined to stop in Arcata, California, just south of the Oregon border. Although still far from home, geographically speaking, it still felt great to be back on the wet coast breathing in the fresh sea air.

The next day was the push for Vancouver. It was uneventful, but can you only imagine the scenery? Flying northward up the Oregon and Washington coasts at 500 feet with waves pounding the rugged shoreline below, following mountain valleys inland to Olympia, Washington, then north through the Puget sound, past the gulf islands and into Vancouver, Canada, with it’s snow-capped mountain backdrop as an appropriate grand finale to a visual spectacle: America by helicopter…..if only I could overcome those meals.

Tall….Cold….Dark……Great Band……Open Front Bar……..Heat……Bangkok……Awesome.

That’s about all of what I took in during that first bevvie in a while.  It was a long day trying to get out of Bangladesh.  Trying to pay a simple VISA fee was like pulling teeth.  The only thing that pushed it through in one morning was the $40 I used to grease that little passport officier’s palm with…..”why you little……!”

Well, it’s Feb 5th, and after an almost 9 week tour, it seems a little surreal to be called for boarding to Vancouver.  Guess that’s something I’ll be getting used to in the new venture of international offshore.

See you in Vancouver.

Well, it’s been a suspenseful couple of weeks here as my departure date from Chittagong has had several changes. This, I’ve learned, is to sometimes be expected……this is, after all, the helicopter industry. However, when you’re closing in on a date and it mysteriously gets “bumped” by a week or so, moral takes a hit.

Today, another change to the schedule: my departure date has been moved up. I’m now looking at leaving Chittagong on the 2nd…..now that’s a change I can live with! I’ll be arriving in Vancouver at 10:00am on the 3rd. Can someone pick me up at the airport?? Please bring the following:

- A REAL Cappuccino! I’ve actually been starting to enjoy south-asian insta-mix coffee…….Mario of Jitters, I need your help!

- The DOG (ironically named Capo…not after the beverage)

- Skiis, boots, poles, goggles……I need to head North and get some SERIOUS FRESH AIR……it might help the black snot problem I have.

Don’t forget to stay tuned for updates.  It’s the helicopter industry.

The State of Emergency declared in Bangladesh last week has been lifted.  No more military blockades, country-wide strikes, or riots.  I also haven’t seen anyone standing up in the back of a truck with a megaphone, in the middle of a roundabout, holding up traffic, in order to address the fickle crowds from the 1959 four ton soap box.

The elections are postponed - probably for the better part of the year.  A new ‘caretaker’ government resides and the populace is optimistic about the conditions of the new election.  The challenge in a situation like this is to keep the ‘black money’ from disrupting the honest process.  This, it appears, is going to be a difficult task.  Talking with locals, I’ve learned that corruption is an unfortunate cornerstone of the economy and politics here.  It will be difficult for a country so new and so poor to survive in this way.   Good luck to Bangladesh…….and good luck to  me in getting a different assignment next time.  The Philippines, perhaps?!

I’ve officially been on the road for 6 weeks now.  Due to an extension requirement, I’m here for another 2.  After that, it’s Vancouver bound in early Feb for my time off, at which point I’m going to take up ski-bumism…..a worthy pursuit during such a snowy Vancouver winter.  Hey guys….save some freshies for me.

This is for those of you who may come here looking for an update, and NOT an attempt to be an “unofficial” correspondent from Chittagong.

Chittagong has not been obviously affected by the state of emergency declared in Bangladesh. All the action has been in the capitol, Dhaka, where police have been clashing with protesters recently. There was a country-wide curfew in place from 11:00pm to 05:00am. We received a call on the evening of the 11th by one of our local co-workers warning us to “not go outside the hotel from 11:00 to 5:00.” Geez, I guess that was the abrupt end to my plan of wandering the streets of Chittagong at 1:00am in search of an open pub. This emergency curfew has been lifted; however, movements are still being restricted throughout the country. We, the foreigners in a far off place, have been assured by our local agent and as well by an ex-military major that we have nothing to worry about.

A brief background, if you haven’t been able to catch the BBC for the past few days: the interim government that is temporarily in charge (a.k.a. the ‘caretaker’ government) is supposed to be a neutral government put in place to allow time for a fair election to take place. However, the opposition parties have declared the interim government is bias towards the incumbent government. From all I’ve heard and read, this is true. Blockades have been set up recently and country-wide strikes, or hartals, have been organised and are scheduled for next week in protest to the upcoming vote. Protests in Dhaka have turned violent and many people have been killed or injured lately in clashes with police. In light of this the leader of the caretaker government, as well as 90% of his administration, stepped down late last night. In an equally as big an announcement the new leader of this interim government has announced that the vote, originally scheduled for Jan 22, is going to be delayed (source: The Daily Star - Bangladesh). This is considered to be a success for the opposition parties, and may mean an end to the planned hartals and blockades.

It is certainly an interesting time to be a bystander in a young country when the population makes a stand for democracy.

For CHC News, this is Robby Cole - Chittagong

Simple admin just isn’t so simple in the third world. Running out to retrieve office supplies can quickly turn on you and become a cultural clash of ill communication, awkwardness, and adventure.

Last Friday I was sent out with the driver and the local helper to load up on stationary. As we all know, Friday is the holy day in a Muslim country, so finding an open shop becomes more difficult than one might think. So, we’re bumping our way down this narrow market street and we find a place with its door open, but the lights are off. The helper jumps out and invites himself into the shop and asks permission to do business. After some yammering in Bangla, the shopkeeper agrees. Before I know it I’m in this dark, durge little stationary store making aggressive demands and negotiating for the items on my list while the shopkeeper offers me one of everything, and often different variants of the same thing. The pile of stationary grows quickly as all the little helpers - his seven sons, I suspect - climb up and down the ladders grabbing everything I point at (and other items in the vicinity in the hope of a sale). Next, the wad of cash comes out to pay the man for this pile of stationary, and activity comes to a grinding halt as 8 pairs of beady eyes watch keenly as I peel off a few thousand takas from the stack. The payment goes down and I have a new best friend. He gives me a wide, jagged-tooth smile and firm double handshake for the business.

I love how the simplest transactions make the vendors so thrilled here. Basic commerce is at it’s finest in a place like this. I step out onto the street (down the sketchy step and over the gutter) and look up and down the street. It’s all shops; small, dark, rundown little shops. Dozens and dozens on this narrow street in a city with hundreds and hundreds of streets just like this one. Everyone is just trying to get by on their tiny piece of a tiny pie, but their focus and energy on this basic form of commerce is amazing. This is what they do in this world, and they find happiness in being here. The air stinks, but somehow, it’s kind of refreshing.

It’s been 5 days here in Chittagong and what an experience it’s been. There are 150 million people in Bangladesh. That equates approximately to 5 times the population of Canada. This country is about the size of Iowa. Five times the population of Canada…….in Iowa. Humanity is everywhere.

I’m back to commuting to and from work. We have a van and in the evening, to cover the 15km from the airport to the hotel, it’s taken as long as 2.5 hours. Pure congestion. There’s a hierarchy on the roads too, and being a mid-sized van, I’m glad we’re in the middle. You see, it starts off with the trucks…..and these babies are TRUCKS. They’re big-ass Bedfords from the 1960’s, and they all have cool customized paint jobs and they burn a lot of dirty diesel. Next are the buses. They’re in the same weight class as the Bedfords only because they’re packed full of people all the time. Then there is our class….cars and vans. It doesn’t sound like much, but we’re actually in a good place on the road because next you have the “baby taxis”. Those little bastards are like house flies. They buzz in and out of everywhere but you can’t hit ’em. Next are the rickshaws. These guys are basically the bottom of the barrel on the road but they still take pride in pimpin out their rides. I can’t mention the road hierarchy without giving special mention to the masses that dodge in and out of the traffic, and they seem comfortable with the fact that they are moving targets. They range in age from 5 to 75. And to top it off everyone has a horn, and I’m convinced they yak at each other using these horns in some kind of messed up morris code arrangement.

I’m exhausted by the time I get home, and I’m just chillin’ in the back watching the world go by…….. and a busy world it is.

Many things have to be learnt through experience, and it seems that this is especially true for international travel. Take, for example, my first Thai meal:…..”hmmmm, this spicy sauce looks really good. I think I’ll LOAD it on.” The next 20 minutes of trying to eat that little piece of BBQ’d meat was an exercise in self abuse. I was JUST holding it together at the table and pretending everything was normal while the inferno raged in my mouth and tears streamed down my face. It didn’t just end when the meal was over either. Anyone who has eaten too much spicy food knows well what the next day can bring……….I had to relive the entire ordeal all over again, this time on the other end. Note to self: pass on the sauces with the green and red floaties.

It’s pretty much been like that for the past three weeks. When one flies a helicopter through third world countries, one encounters many new things. I’ve started to forget the names of the hotels I’ve stayed in, and I had spent six different currencies in two weeks. Count ‘em: CA dollar, US dollar, HK dollar, Bhat, Kyat, and Taka!

Once the aircraft left Bangkok we flew direct to Yangon and spent a few nights in the Golden City. CHC has a base there with other aircraft so we took advantage of the situation and got way ahead of the maintenance game. Between you and me, Myanmar is an amazing place. Yes, it’s a military dictatorship that exercises authoritarianism (the last person to win a democratic election is a women who’s been on house arrest for about a decade), but if one is looking for travel off the beaten track, it is there. It is a beautiful land, they are beautiful people, and you’ve got to love the common person’s Buddhist way of life. It is what Thailand was 35 years ago. Don’t tell anyone. Oh, and horn honking is illegal and everyone drives slowly to conserve their ration of fuel……and they call that “developing”?

Next stop: Chittagong. Oh boy.