I’m sitting in the business center at the hotel looking out over the pool and into the Indian Ocean sipping a vodka soda.  Today, I checked into my new home. 

This morning, we began our trip to the FBO and the plane.  Twenty minutes into the drive we received a call that our passengers would not be making the flight and we will be flying empty to Mumbai.  Translation, our passengers were hung-over and did not want to travel.    

I’m pretty wiped out myself and feel as though I’m in Night of the Living Dead.  I’ve barely had any sleep since arriving in London a few days ago and now. Let’s retrace this.

Friday – Houston to London 10hour flight.  Arrive in London Saturday morning 9:00am and as I’m having breakfast with the pilots they receive a call that the Father of jet owner wishes to fly out later that evening to Dubai instead of the following day.  The pilots and I walk all around London until 8 pm when we arrive at the jet and meet our passengers.  We fly 4 hours to Ankara, Turkey to refuel and promptly fly into Dubai.  Are you keeping up?  I already hadn’t slept since Thursday night.  When I’m in a new city sleep is as useless to me as a steak.  I have no interest in either.  We arrived in Dubai yesterday 7:30 am.  I was last in Dubai a few months ago and have toured much of it so I wasn’t suffering from kid in the candy store syndrome.  However, by 11:30 a.m. sleep and I still weren’t making friends.  One Ambien CR later and I was out like a rocket for a mere four hours.  By 6:00pm I met one of the pilots at Cin Cin for his favorite wine.  A few hours later the other pilots met us for a steak dinner (since I’m a vegetarian and all).  We parted ways at 9:00pm Dubai time which is about 2 or 3 in the afternoon Houston time.   It was midnight before I fell asleep and by 3:30 am I was wide awake.  My internal clock is so screwed up.  I still have yet to fall asleep since then and am trying to wait till dark.  I’m hurting big time.

My stomach is majorly upset – I’ve barely eaten anything and am trying to get calories from alcohol because I need something in my system and don’t know what else to do until my stomach toughens up.

Tuesday May 12, 2008

Last night I met up with the pilots in the executive lounge for drinks and to watch the sunset.  I had to stop writing when one of them came down.  As we’re talking and drinking CNN was on.  A Chinese woman who couldn’t have been older than myself ran up to the television as flashes of the earthquake hit, “My parent’s live there.” She excused herself and a half hour later reappeared unable to get through to anyone. 

Tragedy.

I have a feeling this trip is going to tax my liver or at least dump more red wine into my system.   Dave and I probably went through 3 bottles sitting by the pool last night and talking.  He’s going to make this trip livable and easier to get through. We’re both kind of in the same boat. He’s got things he wants to take care of and I need to start thinking of retirement.  IF I DO THIS FOR A FEW YEARS I COULD RETIRE BY 35 and be able to get a new sailboat for my parents. 

I’m staying in a super ritzy place – I have to buy a new camera and will update soon.  This morning I went for a nice walk along the Indian Ocean.  EVERYONE was staring at me!  Apparently I stick out.  I’m probably going to have to dye my hair so I blend more.   When I caught someone’s eye I’d smile because that’s American culture.  The women would blankly stare back at me with an empty gaze.  The men would smile back while obviously checking me out.

This company has been really great about putting us up in only five star hotels.  We’re headed to Calcutta today and flying some Bollywood actors that own a cricket team….oh and some Indian princess as well.

Gotta Jet!

http://www.marriott.com/hotels/hotel-photos/bomjw-jw-marriott-hotel-mumbai/

We’re flying to Calcutta tomorrow and I’m going to see if by chance i can talk the guys into going to some of the missions.  I’m thinking i’ll have a better chance talking them into crashing the plane though. 

Hi you,

**This is more of a diary for me, so years later I can look back and remember this experience

After just returning from dinner/drinks with the pilots I will work with for the next year, the nature of this blog is about to change drastically.  I’ve taken on a huge risk.  I’ve singed on with a family who is based in Bombay (Mumbai, India), we fly into dangerous and exotic places.  Bangkok, London, South Africa, France, Kuwait, Calcutta….etc…

Indian culture is different than American culture. . Both of the pilots I fly with are Americans. One is retired two times over and the other is but a mere nine years older than me; he and I hit it off from first meeting. I knew I’d get along with him when we were walking around London and said, “Why do they make all the police and traffic men dress like second rate Village Men?,”. He’s the type of guy I’d have as a friend had we not met through working together. 

I’ve learned, I may be kidnapped in certain countries because of the way I look (red hair and American accent), I know I may be kidnapped at any moment. I know there are people out there who are going to want to harm me simply because  WHO I’m working for.

Prior to dinner with all three pilots (India based plane – India requires you to have an Indian Pilot on board at all times) Dave told me “Captain” (Indian pilot) was explaining more of the Indian culture to me.  After a son or daughter gets married the family will remain living in the same house.  Our Indian “Captain” is married with two small kids.  Curious as I am I inquired how that works and no one wants to threaten murder..  He (Indian Captain) and I had somewhat of a communication breakdown.

J: “How does this work? Does everyone get along? I know from my  own personal experience living in close quarters with my family after ten days I wanted to take an ax to their heads.”

Captain; “No. No. You don’t understand we all live in the same house and under the same roof..

Captain and I went around several rounds in communication breakdown – he was not able to understand my explaining to him that families fight – I know it would be hard so I wanted to know how it worked … how he made it work.

Enter Dave (pilot I get along with from California (good looking surfer type guy)

“He doesn’t understand the question you’re asking. I know from reading the newspapers in Mumbai when families start to fight  a brother will kidnap, violently rape a wife and then burn her.  They use the excuse the wife disgraced the family.”

Captain: “Yes, now I get you.  The police not to long ago were tired of a family fighting so they burned Mother and Child. THE POLICE!.”

Gulp!

J: “Well, I will do my best not to disgrace the family.”

I am afraid of fire and heights!

I’ve only just begun this journey and can bail anytime I decide to do so.  I left Houston Friday for four months. 

*****The thing about traveling****I may be seeing the world on someone else’s dime and putting away money tax free. It’s really hard not seeing my friends.  I know – woe is me- the average person who doesn’t travel for a living won’t get it.  And I don’t expect them to understand such.  I’m going to truly circumference the globe a few times over, it’s really lonely.  

I’ve always loved deeper than I should and held on to people harder than they’ve held on to me. I read people and know I’m water in their earth; they take me for granted and say, “See you when you get back…have a safe flight.”  I’m going to have to end a few friendships due to their actions before I left.  I want to think there is an excuse but there is not. I know I expect a lot out of people however, it’s only because I know what I put out to be their friend. 

And then there are my Cathy’s who say, “What! Dinner tonight? I need my Tornado and will miss you terribly,” after I cried at dinner she said please call every day, she got it, her and Darren will miss me.  I’ll miss seeing her belly grow like poison ivy.    I’m not just a party or going out friend to her.  She’s a sister I chose along with Shelley, Linds, Shana and my Tiffy.

When I return, there is a chance some of these people I can flip a coin on will come back to my world for strictly social purpose.  And if not, well, fuck em’.

Currently i’m sitting at the IAH airport in Houston writing this from the president’s club and sipping on a glass of white wine.  I fly out in two hours to London Gatwick and arrive there Saturday 0745.  I arrived at the airport extra early in hopes to see my parents prior to leaving the country for four months.  Their plane is now delayed.  I board at 3:10 and they arrive at 2:50.  This now means I will not see my parents for a good eight months.  This would have worked out a lot better when I was a teenager and wanted nothing to do with them. 

I meet up with the pilots in London for breakfast and then Sunday we’ll fly in a Falcon 2000 to Dubai.  We’re spending the night in Dubai where i’ll meet up with my friend Romi who’se drivin in from Quatar.   Monday afternoon we will fly to Mumbai (Bombay). 

I have no idea where i’ll go from there.  Right now, I’m just sad to leave. Four months is a really long time to not see Casey have her baby, Cathy’s belly grow (I’m prob not going to be here for her babyshower either…but they are naming their son “Jet” so props to her), I won’t be here to witness the revolving door of one friends bedroom, or hear of E’s new conquests on a daily basis, i won’t be here to see my nieces grow or watch my older sister receive her P.H.D. from UPENN.   I’m going to miss talking to Lauren and taking her shopping (15 yr old i nanny for) and talking Jim, her son down from the ledge (Jk Jim).  I’m going to miss it all….and i’m going to miss that fucking cat of mine, jo.

The option to extend this contract is available…shall i wish to. I’ve committed to four mounths

I had the honor of flying with George Bush Senior early in the month of February.  He truly is like everyone’s favorite Grandpa.  I’ll get around to writing about this event one day soon and I’ll tell you how I shamelessly flirted with the secret service men and got a former president tipsy on bloody mary’s.  Regardless of my own personal politics it was an honor to fly with him and a memory i will always cherish.

It’s often been said a person finds their voice at times when you least expect it; what happens when the loud voice is stolen in a moment of need?  The silent waif of a child violently defends his sister as they walk home from school.  He uses force that surprises himself catching the attacker by surprise.  The great public speaker squeaks like a mouse when not in front of a pulpit.  The literary playwright and activist becomes mute when violently attacked.  Her usual strong boisterous voice is lost as she disassociates from her body feeling the torment and anguish with each heavy blow while unable to move.  It is not her, but her body…a vehicle, really, to cast off her thoughts and ideas.

 Why do moments of extremes cause some to become paralyzed while others are able to draw upon strength they didn’t know existed?  Does something change within the psyche enabling one to speak when they are normally mute?  What changes when the loud mouthed girl suddenly loses her voice and how does one go about finding it again?  These two conditions are completely different yet uniquely the same.

Realizing the answer to this question is probably one that will remain a mystery to myself and others for years to come…childhood long years that stretch an eternity.  Saturday night I was nearly brought to my knees and left speechless by three words, “Hi Jess, this is Em,” we sat on the phone allowing our cries to cancel each other out.  After all, hadn’t we grown up together side by side in multiple states? Indeed we did. And wait.  Another call came through, “Hi it’s Car.”

“You’re not allowed to make me cry, Emmy already did,” I said and then broke down again.

 There comes a time when you have to forgive and let go of the storm cloud swirling above your head. You have to swallow your pride, admit you were wrong and stuff it all back inside.  Because let’s face it, not having them in my life made my voice trip through my vocal chords creating the effect of a binge drinker who chain smokes and calls everyone Darlin.

Now that their back around I feel a sense of strength as though my voice has steadiness to it that’s been missing for quite some time.

I am blessed.

I’ve been traveling and working since the 13th of the month and now I am home for the next threee days,  Wednesday evening anyway then I fly back to Mobile, Alabama where the 604 Challenger is located and then work for the next few days flying between Boca Raton, Florida and Teterboro, New Jersey (private airport everyone flies into when going to NYC).  It is a lot of work..even though my work is fun, it’s still work damn it!  HERE’S the thing about traveling for a living and flying - you feel like you’re living your life in a bubble..suddenly the world outside stops.   It’s easy to forget the news, it’s easy to forget our country is trying to elect it’s first female president or it’s first black president…it’s easy for people to forget you when your gone and not around…it’s easy for your friends to stop calling because you’re never home.  I try to schedule dinners with friends when I’m home, I have to - that’s what I’m deduced to.  My true friends…the one’s who will be with me for the rest of my life respond immediately with their schedule as Celeste and Courtney did, “I’m free all week just let me know when you’re in town.”  Those are the friends that love me for who I am and the person I strive to be…the friends who will stay around, pass me my teeth and bring up random bad Walmart panties like, “Who needs Santa when you’ve got credit cards.” those are the friends I adore, I’ve truly wiped shit off their stiletto’s and unraveled their bra staps.  Traveling is wonderful - I’m really getting paid to see the world but without being able to connect with my loved one’s it means nothing. 

Yes, this is a sappy post and not very poetic (two in a row), i’m rather somber as my sister just lost her niece (her brother-in-law’s daughter) to a brain tumor…they only learned of this tumor in September…about the time I made a career change.  Mary Claire and my niece Karenna are the same age.   Carlin, my sister,  and I raised money for The Magic Foundation during the Philadelphia Marathon in November of 2006 **she was born with a rare condition - born w/o a pituitary gland**  Mary-Claire left the physical world Thursday.  I alone can’t imagine what this is doing to Christine and Mike, my sister’s brother and sister in law.  I know the pain I wanted to steal on a daily basis and take it as my own after watcing my sister understand and learn of a rare condition with her own child.  Sometimes the Lord has a twisted way of teaching us lessons…and sometimes…I just don’t understand the WHY.

 NOW LET’S GET BACK TO THE REGULARLY SCHEDULED READING

Saturday March 22nd- Mobile to Cabo - Laredo to Mobile

Fly empty to mobile FBO downtown and pick up 8 passengers, bag of red skittles (yes all other colors had been removed), jolly ranchers, assorted breakfast foods, 2 bottles of Riesling, grape soda, one In Style Magazine, (1) Oprah mag, (1) Ebony mag and 2 breakfast omeletsThe three hour flight was an easy one. My passengers included a man involved in the investment banking world, his beautiful and down to Earth wife, their two daughters (9 and 11), in laws and two Great Aunt’s.I’ve enjoyed flying with Matt and Zach (the pilots) tremendously; we are roughly around the same age.  Both of these pilots are married to great gals but as fun and humor has it we’ve grown to be comfortable with one another and say the most inappropriate things at the most inappropriate moments 

In the last five days I’ve played a few jokes on the pilots… like having birthday cake delivered to dinner, placing a booster seat in their chair when they leave the dinner table to use the rest room and faking them out by telling them Kelly Ripa just completely undressed in the back of the plane.  I’m all about an eye for an eye and knew I was I due for a good payback. 

“Accidentally” my garment bag was left outside close to the fusel loge and a small bit of jet fuel leaked on to it.  This truly was an accident; my bag wasn’t the only one to smell of jet fuel as we were concerned of coming back through customs and being tagged by the FAA.  However, it was also an accident when I was talking to Zach and Matt in the cock pit while opening a can of Sprite Zero and watched in slow motion as it exploded it all over the PIC (pilot in command), myself and the ceiling of the cockpit.  Luckily, it did not get on any of the controls or computer run instruments.  After we were sure to wipe the up all the Sprite I returned to the cock pit and unknowingly said a loaded statement,

J: “I’m cold now that I’m all wet,” the moment it left my mouth I saw the smile on both their faces.
M: “Can you say that again but say that you’re warm?”
Z: “Yeah, and do you know any accents.”

This is the type of relationship/friendship I have with most of the pilots I choose to fly with.  We tease and say many inappropriate things all in good fun.

It certainly makes going through customs a lot more fun.

“Mám did you bring anything you need to declare?”

“I wanted to but he wouldn’t come” 

F.Y.I. _ The guy I left in Arizona and met up with yet again in Dubai – is no longer in the picture.  I realized after a few days with him in Dubai that everything was forced…everything just felt off and that is nothing I want.  He lost his temper and I told him to get out and not turn around because I’ll be looking the other direction.

Written Friday March 21, 2008 

In the past week alone I’ve been in three different countries, high fived 12 kids under 10, been drunk off champagne and pina colada’s once in Cancun and once in St. John’s, heard of one marriage that will go the extra mile, heard stories of another one learning the ropes, talked Mr. Willing into coming to visit, spoke to a famous south jersey girl as though we had been life long friends and joked with her mother-in-law then called them cheap to the pilots, worked out so hard I wanted to puke, cried in bed over the loss of my sister’s niece, almost ran over a pack of wild turkey’s in Boston, spent to much money at the mall in mobile, Alabama,  touched down in 9 different states, had birthday cake delivered to a pilot while we were in st. John’s, rode a Hobe sailboat with a native islander (in st. John’s), received a massage that produced bruises on my back at a resort over looking the water, visited st. Lucia where my cab driver almost hit a few goat’s in the road, laughed at a pilot as he and I were watching Entourage on the jet he said, “Man what a life they have!” Then I pointed out  we were on a private jet with the other pilot flying with our feet up and resting comfortably….yeah, what a life since we just got paid to spend a night in Cancun and the next night in St. John’s at lavish resorts. But in the same token, they aren’t MY trips I get to schedule with MY friends – they are someone else’s….as my Mother said, “You get the honeymoon without the man.”
What I’m trying really hard to not do on this trip is feel lonely. I miss my friends and family - I’m home Sunday through Wednesday this week. I have friends I haven’t seen in over four months and others I’ve simply lost touch with - and then there’s friends like my Lindsey in Australia I speak with daily - even though we are continents away from one another she’s always right here with me. I haven’t even seen my boyfriend in a month and now he’s committed to visit for the brief time while I’m home **Cancel that since I wrote this I had to postpone his trip to meet me in Chicago on the 30^th.  I’m trying hard not to think of how I’m going to miss one of my best friends baby shower’s this Saturday or how I’m going to miss my God Father’s funeral service next Sunday by a few hours in Chicago since we have an early charter that morning, but I be there a few hours after and that alone would have meant a lot to him.  AND, I’m trying hard to figure out just how I break the news to Casey that I won’t be able to make her shower - I’m trying even harder not to think about my cat, Jo being tortured by neighbor.I write this all with a heavy heart and deep appreciation for all the things I truly am blessed with in this world, knowing I’ll sit across the table from my sister and parent’s next week and be able to go out with my cousin in Manhattan…cause I’ll be there for work and will make the pilots come with me….ya know since we’re flying a trip to Ireland next month.

In all seriousness though I will, for my own memoirs keep better tabs on my travels and upload photos and the zany things that occur - rest assured there is much craziness - like the time Matt (a pilot) and I were watching a movie while flying back from Colorado and Zach, the other pilot, turned all the lights off and walked into the cabin with an oxygen mask and a fire hood over his face while coming at me like a character from the Blue Lagoon - that’s the good stuff. Luckily, the pilots I choose to fly with are just as witty, wacky and a wee bit off as yours truly.

Okay - wheels up - gotta jet.

All my love,
Jess

I’ve often wondered why the world works in certain ways and why certain people are like balls in a pin ball machine popping up in the most unplanned places. Is it a connection between two people that drawls them together? How is it that within one week you run into someone at the grocery store, dry cleaners and across town at a smashing new restaurant? They aren’t stalking you, nor you them.  So what is it that brings people together over and over? Is it a natural willing of wanting to see the person again or perhaps, the universe’s way of willing fate when human judgment is not to be trusted.  I once ran into a girlfriend at a bar in another state.  Once while texting with my Favorite Ex-boyfriend we both realized he and I had layovers at the Vegas airport and were sitting a mere 50 feet away from one another at the bar.  On a recent trip to NYC my dear friend Kristina literally bumped into a friend who moved there last June in the middle of lounge. 

So, what is it that continually brings two people together?  Gamma Rays?

Thanks to Ambien and my new favorite airline, United Arab Emirates, I arrived on a direct flight from Houston to Dubai in roughly 16 hours.  After making my rounds with T- mobile and gaining full functionality of my phone I hopped in a cab and headed off to the hotel.  Everything in Dubai is bigger – the world is louder and the air is dustier. It’s the type of loud that erupts after an explosion leaving people running for shelter.

The hotel was grand and I do mean grand with windows touching the sky making me realize Texas skies are midgets to the ones in front of me. I was already starting to like the company that flew me out there strictly for their taste in proper amenities. After checking in and unloading my bags I went to ask the front desk about changing foreign currency.  While talking to the clerks a Saudi man dressed in a floor length thwab (sheet) began chatting with me and welcomed me to Dubai.  Now, quite frankly I’m not certain if he desired to trade me for camels (as happened to another flight attendant friend of mine while she was in Egypt) or if he wanted to take me home to Saudi so I could become his sex slave; regardless of his intentions I accepted his offer for a drink. My mother always told me I had more guts than brains but I figured not much harm could come to me in a hotel bar.  One drink into learning of his Saudi customs, “you must cover arms,” and “you American woman sure do… how do you say?” He then pointed to his chest, “You mean cleavage?”  This began a barrage of banter of learning cultural lingo.  He referred to male anatomy as an “elephant” and I asked him where I could find that man because that’s not an American man. He laughed and I sipped my vodka.

An hour later I had left my disparate Saudi friend and was sitting comfortably at “the best steak house in all of Dubai” according to the pamphlets I read with the Pilot in Command (PIC) and we were toasting to the start of a wonderful trip.  Two bottles of wine and a cup of coffee spiced with Bailey’s later I returned to my hotel room when the man I left last October in Arizona walked through the door.