Lost In Translation

The month of September is my reserve month, which is about as fun as a root canal.  Usually you end up getting a trip when you want to be home and when you want to fly you sit around.  Last year I got called out on my birthday, the 3rd, when I had plans.  This year, for the first time in many years, I was on reserve over Labor Day and did not go anywhere, which I found surprising.  Well come the 10th of the month when I went back on call, there was no one with less hours than me (0.00) so I was first to go for a trip when I called the tape the night before.  Of course I had plans all day on Saturday, and sure enough the phone rang at 7:00am for an 8:40 sign in to Narita, Japan.  

The trip itself was fine.  My friend Alane was on the trip with me and we decided we would go into town for some brew and noodles.  After a stop at the hardware store, we hit the Jet Lag Club for some beers and then made our way to the Noodle Shop for dinner.  We had what Alane described as a "Lost in Translation" moment, when it was time to pay the bill at the restaurant and we realized we each only had ¥2000 each.  This left us short ¥236.  We started to panic (they don't take credit cards) and I told Alane to pull her hair back because we were about to go on dish patrol.  She had dollars so we were trying to find a way to make it work.  Her cool head prevailed and she grabbed the last group of English speakers (pilots) before they left the restaurant to try to buy some of their yen, but they were actually quite generous and just gave us the ¥236 we needed (which is only a little over $3.00) but still, it's pretty rare for a pilot to give you anything.

I was of course waiting for the random aftershocks, but we only felt two very minor ones, and for all we know if could have been a truck going by.

I did have a chance on the way over to talk with a young man named Jon, a recent high school graduate from Colorado Springs.  He had grown up in Japan as a child and was putting off his first semester of college to go over and work as a missionary supporting the rebuilding effort after the horrible earthquake last March.  He's going to blog about the experience so he was kind enough to share his blog with me, titled, Redemption.

In Bruges

It's taken me a while to getting around to blogging about my impromptu trip to Belgium.  Perhaps because of the horrible food poisoning I got and the ensuing terrible terrible evening spent in my hotel bathroom..... but more on that later.

Rewind back to August and my last trip blog.  I had been on a 4 day, turned 5 day trip to London and gone to see the White Cliffs of Dover with my friend Amanda.  I ended up missing my next trip due to a schedule conflict and then dropped the trip after that because I did not like the people that were scheduled to work it with me, so I was sufficiently low on time.  Around 7:15pm on a Tuesday evening in late August, I was sitting at home and looked on the computer to see that a last minute position had opened up on Rio de Janiero trip.  Now there is now way that someone could get to the airport in 30 minutes to cover the 7:45pm departure, so they got someone off the 9:10 London departure and thus created an opening on that crew.  I called Scheduling and said that I could make it on short call make up if they waived the sign in and next thing I knew I was slashing my face with a razor trying to chop off 3 days of whiskers and hopping in the shower getting ready to go to work.

I was with most of the people I flew with the week before on the London trip.  This trip was also a 4 day trip with a 2 day layover.  After visiting Dover the week before and seeing the ferries heading to Calais, I got the idea that it would be fun to take a day trip to the continent if I ever got the 2 day layover again.  I guess that planted the seed, because I started off the trip by joking that I wanted to go to Belgium for the day and by the time we landed at Heathrow I had made up my mind that it was something I was going to do.

I decided on Belgium because I had never been there before.  I was going to go to Brussels, when the First Officer suggested that I look into Bruges.  It was the same price for a ticket so I thought, why not?  I was excited because I was going to get to ride the Eurostar under the English Channel, via the Chunnel.  I am embarrassed to say how much this last minute train ticket cost me, but justified it as an early birthday present to myself and once in a lifetime opportunity.

I had to be at London St. Pancras station for a 7:23am departure.  I was pretty excited so I did not sleep much the night before.  I settled into my assigned seat and fought the urge to sleep because I wanted to be awake for the Chunnel experience.  It was actually a non-event.  No announcements were made.  One minute we were traveling along above ground, and then our ears popped and it got dark.  It took about 20 minutes to travel the 31 miles under the English Channel and at the lowest point we were at 250 feet below the earth, which would explain the ear popping.  I sat next to a nice man from York who lived outside London.  He was heading to Amsterdam to pick up his 8 year old daughter who was away at summer camp and decided she did not like it and wanted to come home early.

After a short stop in Calais, France, we made our way up to Brussels, arriving into the station about an hour and a half after leaving London.  A quick transfer to the next Bruges departure and I was on my way, arriving into Bruges about 45 minutes later.

Bruges is located in northwest Belgium and is the capital city in the province of West Flanders, which is in the Flemish region of the country.  It's often referred to as the "Venice of the North" because of the complex canal system that runs thru the city.  It got it's city charter back in the early 1100's and experienced it's golden era during Medieval times.

Today it's big draw is tourism, with folks coming from all over to see the architecture and eat the food, which is exactly what I intended to do!  After leaving the train station, I made my way towards the city center with all the other tourists.  I had no idea what I was doing beyond the suggestions I got off tripadvisor.com, so I just followed everyone else.

The first major landmark I saw walking into the city was St. Salvator's Cathedral.  It's unique for having survived with no major damage for so many years, thru wars, regime changes, religious reform, etc.

Upon arrival into the center of town, I decided to take one of the 30 minute boat rides via the canals.  It was the best way to see the city and offered views from a vantage point one doesn't get on land.

This is where I caught the boat.  The building across the dock was actually a medieval pharmacy and hospital.

This must be what happens to the tourists after too much beer!

The most famous church is the Church of the Holy Blood.  It is purported to contain some of the blood of Christ, brought back to Europe after the Crusades.

We passed a group of men who were enjoying their beer.  They cheered and saluted us as we made our way past them on the canal.

The tower in the distance is the Belfry, located in the city center.  This bell tower was built in 1240.

After the boat tour was over, I made my way towards St. Salvator's church.  I wanted to get a look at their organ, which was built in 1717.  After taking three pictures inside, I was informed photography was not permitted so I wasn't able to get a picture of the organ, but it was still impressive.  

One thing I noticed was lots of artists, like this gentleman, who had set up canvases along the canals and were painting the landscape.

From the church I made my way to the Markt, "Main Market" near the Belfry.  I was getting hungry and I wanted to enjoy some of the local cuisine.  This would prove to be my downfall later.

I found a little outdoor cafe with a snooty waiter who obviously hated his job and had a little table outside overlooking the Belfry.  It was the restaurant under the green and red awning on the right of the photograph below.

I started my lunch with a local beer and they also served a glass of sweet red wine with lunch.

Next up were the muscles au gratin, which were wonderful, but in hindsight, probably the culprit of the food poisoning.

The main course was Flemish stew, with potatoes.  

After lunch, I made a quick trip to the post office to mail some postcards and then continued my walk around the city.  It was rather warm, but thankfully it was overcast.  

This quiet little part of town is called the Béguinage.  The Béguines were a religious movement made up of single women.  War and famine had reduced the male population, so many women had no means of finding a husband or support, and this group was formed out of that need.  The small houses all surround a courtyard with tall trees.  The Béguinage of Bruges is one of the best preserved examples of this Roman Catholic order.

My next stop was the De Halve Maan Brewery.  It's the last surviving working brewery in Bruges.  Most Belgian beer is brewed in other parts of the country.  I wasn't permitted to take photographs as they don't want their "trade secrets" divulged (whatever), but it was an interesting tour and I got to sample three different types of local brew.

I finished the day with a waffle covered in chocolate.  It was wonderful.  Also keep in mind that every store I went in to was selling chocolates and so you always got a sample as you entered.

I was on a 6:40pm train out of Brussels and I wanted to make sure I had ample time to get back since there were no other trains to London that night.  I left Bruges around 5pm and arrived into Brussels at 6, before catching my train back to London.  On the train ride back I blew the remaining Euro's I had on a pizza and gin and tonics.  I was so tired I slept all the way back to London.  Arrival into St. Pancras showed the Olympic Rings in honor of next summer's games.

I was in bed by about 10pm and totally exhausted.  It was a long day, but totally worth it.  

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ALERT

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Stop reading here if you wish to remember this trip as all good with no bad parts.  If you are brave, you can keep reading.

Before going to bed, I noticed I had a little heartburn and my tummy was a bit crampy, but I thought it was understandable given the food I ate.  I took some antacid and went to bed.

Around midnight, I shot up in bed and realized immediately that I was going to throw up.  I got sort of panicked, trying to figure out where this was going to happen.  I ran into the bathroom and was preparing to do the deed, when I realized I was going to have some problems from both the North and South ends of my body.  Long story short, I ended up planting myself on the toilet and throwing up into the bathtub.  The walls are real thin at the hotel and I guess I woke up the person next door to me with my unpleasant sounds, and so she knocked on my door to see if I was ok.  I guess I sounded pretty bad.  She offered to get me help, but I told her I was ok and probably just had food poisoning.  I got cleaned up and went back to the bed, only to repeat the incident that just occurred 3 more times.

The next morning I went to Boots for some medicine before our pick up.  The crew said my skin was ashen and my lips were green.  I felt terrible, but at least I had stopped throwing up.

I felt quite improved when I woke up from my break though, but it still took a few days for my stomach to get back to normal.  Looking back, perhaps mixing all those different food types wasn't the best idea, but if I had to bet, I would say it was the muscles that caused my discomfort. 

We Remember... 9/11 A Decade Later

As I sit here in my hotel room in Narita, Japan, September 11, 2011 has officially ended here, although it's just 4:45pm on the 11th back home.  Looking back on that morning, the situation still seems so surreal to me. For my generation, I always guessed up until 9/11, that the defining national tragedy would be either the Space Shuttle Challenger explosion or the Oklahoma City Federal Building bombing.  Those two events were something the entire country was caught up in and grieving around.

That all changed on that  Tuesday morning for me, for all of us.  Of course I remember the first person to call me, my college friend Jenny.  To this date, we always make sure we talk to each other on the 11th every year.  I remember initially being so unable to comprehend was was going on.  It just didn't seem possible.  The phone kept ringing with calls from people who knew me wanting to know where I was.  I remember I was originally supposed to fly a turn around that evening to San Diego and before learning that the airspace was closed, I was struggling to come to terms with the fact that I might have to get on an airplane.

I remember the heartbreak I felt when I was able to learn who the working crew members were.  Flight 11 was staffed with Boston flight attendants, and I had just transferred from that domicile to Dallas, so those people were still fresh on my mind.  Seeing the names of friends and co-workers and knowing they were dead....  it's still hard to think about some times.  My mind plays back to that day a lot and I try to imagine what it was like for them on board the airplanes.  I don't think I will ever be able to fathom the hell and fear they experienced during that last period of their lives.

One of my most vivid memories was walking my dogs that evening with my mother.  Living so close to the airport in Dallas, a plane would fly overhead every 60 seconds.  That night, there wasn't a single plane in the sky.  No distant airplane lights lining up for approach.  There were no cars on the road.  There was no movement.  It was just so eerily quiet.

So in closing, I dedicate today, like I have done every September 11th for the past 10 years, to the reflection and remembrance of my friend and co-worker Sara and all of the people who lost their lives that fateful morning.  It is our duty to remember and keep their spirits flying.