"Of course, it’s not the pilots’ fault that the airline is losing money," argues Steve.
"I see it from the employer's point of view. If a company is making good profits, the staff benefits. But when things aren’t going well, it’s always the same: the moment a company has to follow an austerity plan, the staff screams, ‘we want more money and job protection.’ How stupid can you be? The man who signs your paycheck is running out of money and, instead of helping him, you harm him. Even a third-grader can figure out where this leads. If your company is suffering losses, you should voluntarily waive a portion of your salary until the company is back on its feet again. Otherwise, it goes bankrupt and the complete staff ends up on the street. So the unions are guilty of the same crime they accuse their management of: their own greed.
No sooner does the company file for bankruptcy, than everyone’s afraid and realizes: ‘Oh, the evil manager didn’t want to get rich at our expense; no, he was trying to save the company.’ Suddenly the staff is voluntarily offering to take pay cuts and simultaneously calling for the government to help. That makes me sick!”
"I forgot you were self-employed."
"Right, I have always been self-employed. No one ever powdered my ass with vacation time, parental leave, Christmas bonuses or paid time off. If I go broke, there will be no government bailout."
"Poor boy..." quips Steve.
"...says the fine mister pilot who works 20 hours per month and goes home with an annual salary of 100,000 dollars!" I retort.
"What, are you kidding me? How is someone expected to survive on so little money?!"
"Always fun to argue with, you - you stick so nicely to the facts!"
"If this is so important to you, we can discuss this subject another time. But now we need to figure out how to get you out of Singapore. I phoned around, but thanks to your new hero Alan Joyce, thousands of Qantas passengers are invading Singapore Airlines planes, and there’s no chance to find any available stand-by seats."
"Can you book me first class?"
"Already checked. It‘s fully booked."
"Is there a connection Singapore operates that Qantas doesn’t? If so, this plane shouldn’t be affected by the chaos."
"All airlines have more or less the same routes, so..."
Silence.
"That reminds me of something; I'll call you right back," says Steve and hangs up without further explanation.
Of course, I just wanted to fire Steve up a little. Unions actually do have some positive sides. In all honesty, there are hardly any strikes nowadays. This is an achievement of the unions, because they’re constantly negotiating with the employer, and, as a result, they avoid delicate situations like this one. Sometimes they even do exactly what I just suggested. Not too long ago, the staff of a large chain of DIY stores in Germany voluntarily waived their Christmas money because the company was in the red. Without the union, this never would have happened.
Three minutes later my phone rings. It’s Steve.
"Good idea about the connection that only Singapore Airlines serves. You’re flying to New York tomorrow morning!"
"Singapore to New York - the plane will have to refuel, no? Halfway is Hawaii..."
"No, you’re flying over the North Pole. There’s a direct flight. Eighteen hours. From New York, I'll get you to Hawaii easily since Qantas in not very big in the US, so there will be hardly any stranded passengers. Plus, Andrews is certainly not expecting you to enter the States from the east. I’m sure he’s focusing on the Asian borders."
"Oh great, after a day on the train, I’m about to spend the night at the airport, just to land some 5,000 miles from Hawaii after an 18-hour flight tomorrow. This is just great."
"Wimp - I fly full time! Make yourself comfortable in the lounge and enjoy the flight. At least you don’t have to fly by yourself. Watch a few movies, and all is well."
"You’re right. I might even be lucky and they’ll have the Lord of the Rings trilogy available. I can watch that, followed by the complete Harry Potter series!"
"You see - this will be great!"
After the phone call, I stroll through the airport, buy two books and settle myself in the lounge.
There’s only a handful of people in the VIP area. So there’s no line-up at the buffet, and a comfortable leather sofa for the night is quickly found. Along with my exquisite white wine, I drink a Singha beer, which should help to keep me horizontally relaxed tonight. The day ahead will be spent within the narrow confines of an airplane with the acoustic accompaniment of the monotonous engine noise. A dream come true!
In the morning, an excellent breakfast awaits me. Afterwards, I take a long, hot shower. With a good cup of coffee, I wait for the flight to New York.
Half an hour before the regular boarding, the pilot introduces himself to me and guides me to the plane. What service! We go through the gate together without being checked. Like Steve said: I get no boarding pass and will not appear on any list.
Neither Steve Schneider nor Tom Greenall has left China, popped up on an immigration computer in Hong Kong or appeared on a passenger list from Singapore. Good luck tracking me, Mr. Andrews!
I don’t mean to pat myself on the back, but Steve Schneider has vanished from Shanghai and Tom Greenall won’t appear until tomorrow on an immigration computer in New York - I’d like to see anyone else pull this off!
The pilot accompanies me to my seat; he’s a friend of Steve.
"Business class?" I stare at him questioningly.
"Sure," he says, pointing to the rear.
My eyes follow his gesture, and at first I don’t believe what I see: throughout the plane, there are only business class seats.
"A hundred seats on the Airbus A340-500. Business class was always booked on this flight, since hardly anyone wanted to sit for 18 hours in economy class. So, we remodeled the aircraft and made a pure business flyer out of it. You're lucky, usually we’re always booked, but today there are still a couple seats available."
The plane takes off at 10:55 a.m. I hardly notice, too wrapped up in the delight of the luxurious seat that can be converted into a bed. Also, I’m already holding the second welcome champagne and trying to familiarize myself with the entertainment system. "Lord of the Rings" is indeed offered in its entirety; "Harry Potter," I can’t say for sure, since I don’t know how many movies they actually made out of it.
Apart from the two fantasy sagas, the program offers three episodes of "Transformers" and "Spiderman," five films each from "Rocky," "X-Men," "Terminator" and "Pirates of the Caribbean," six "Star Wars" and four "Die Hards."
They made a total of 46 films out of these ten stories. Makes me wonder if scriptwriters in Hollywood are used up, so they had to fall back on TV series authors some time ago. Perhaps it’s all part of an experiment where they exchanged movie writers with series authors. The series "24," for example, is basically a 16-hour, extremely exciting feature film, just cut into 40-minute slices.
Ha, that works perfectly: an 18-hour flight and 16 hours in a season of "24," means I have two hours left for a nap and visits to the toilet. Wonderful, because by no later than the middle of the second "Star Wars" movie, I’d lose it with that Chewbacca-thing showing up again and again, just grunting around stupidly. It’s really impossible to watch more than one of those movies at a time.
However, I can watch Jack Bauer for 16 hours hunting down terrorists in “24” with growing enthusiasm.
Unfortunately, I don’t make it through the entire season. The seat is too convenient not to fall asleep in.
After landing at Newark International Airport at 5:50 p.m., I officially immigrate into the USA and make my way through security to get to the domestic flights terminal.
I don’t reach the 6:31 p.m. flight to San Francisco in time, thanks to an overzealous official at immigrations. The next flight leaves at 8:25 p.m. - time enough to slyly access an exclusive airport lounge with Steve's ID again.
Following a spur-of-the-m
oment idea, I grab Steve's and my credit card and put them in an envelope, which I address to Alex in Hamburg. I’m not in the mood to write an explanation on paper, so I flip on the netbook and send an email to Alex. After that, I set forth to the buffet. On the US domestic flights, you usually don’t get anything to eat at all.
When leaving the lounge, I ask the service lady at the desk where the airport’s post office is located. Smiling, she takes the envelope and assures to send it off for me. I don’t have pay. I could get used to the VIP life!
Shortly thereafter, I get rudely brought back to earth. In the 9:25 p.m. machine to San Francisco, there’s enough space, so I can fly. My seat is in the back of economy. My God, how narrow everything is in here… how can anyone possibly fly like this?
A bit more than six and a half hours later, we touch down in San Francisco. When landing, a song comes to mind, and I have to grin. My connection is perfect for Udo Jürgens fans, granted the order isn’t exactly perfect: "I've never been to New York, I've never been to Hawaii, never went through San Francisco in ripped jeans..." - you can do it all within 15 hours.
It’s now midnight and the next non-stop flight to Maui isn’t until around 6 p.m. I could fly to Honolulu earlier, but I’ve never actually been to San Francisco, at least not outside the airport. So I enjoy the benefits of a lounge one last time, go to bed and look forward to a half-day in “San Fran,” as the Americans call it.
As I wait for a cab in a light drizzle and wind-chill factor close to freezing the next morning, I regret not having previously checked the weather report. But I have no desire to go back into the terminal and to fly to Maui via Honolulu. Plans are made to carry out, no matter what the circumstances. At Kiel University there’s a quotation by the fellow it’s named after, Christian Albrecht: "If you are not willing to do something radical, you should just leave it be.”
Following this motto, I get a radical taxi and head into the city. I start at Pier 39, where a pack of radical sea lions have occupied a jetty in the marina for years. It looks as if the radical sun might soon win the battle against the clouds, so I sit down in a café at the pier and order a radical breakfast. All right, all right, I’ll stop the one-“radical”-in-each-sentence game...
Breakfast consists of slimy eggs, barely cooked bacon, wishy-washy toast, all of which kind of looks like it has been eaten once before. A good layer of ketchup not only improves the visual appearance, but also makes the whole thing reasonably edible.
The most important meal of the day is accompanied by the noise and smell of the sea lions and, on top of that, the sun draws the short straw and it keeps raining. Fantastic!
Besides me, there‘s just one other guest that’s strayed into here. Connected by our common fate, he appeals to me:
"The weather is almost better than yesterday, huh?!"
"Hard to tell; I was in New York yesterday."
"Do you live in San Fran?"
"No, I'm just passing through. I’m traveling on to Hawaii tonight."
"Oh, just a quick trip from the airport into the city to enjoy this delicious breakfast?"
"Guess so. What should a tourist see in just a couple of hours in San Fran?"
"You need to understand San Fran to learn to love it - you have to stay longer. The city’s not defined by its sights, but by its atmosphere. Anyway, you have to see the Golden Gate Bridge and ride on a cable car once. Then fly to Hawaii and come back again in peace. And bring warm clothes next time."
"I think it was Mark Twain who said, ‘The coldest winter of my life was a summer in San Francisco’?”
"I don’t know your friend Mark, but the quote could have come from anyone who lives here!"
We chat for a while. Afterwards I head to arguably the most famous bridge in the world. Unfortunately, it prefers to disappear halfway in the fog. The damn bridge doesn’t even consider that a passing traveler might want to enjoy a beautiful panoramic view.
Meanwhile, I’m wet and cold. My day trip seems to have fallen under an unlucky star anyway. So I spare myself the cable cars and take a taxi to the airport. You always need a reason to come back. Maybe next time the sun will shine and then I’ll use the cable car. The guy in the cafe is definitely right: for my next visit to San Fran, I should bring more time. On the other hand, the city is so close to Hawaii, I’ll probably never stay longer than a few hours.
At the airport, I buy the classic tourist hooded sweatshirt with the bold letters "UCSF" printed on it. Not to give the impression that I studied at the University of California, San Francisco; no, simply because I’m fucking cold!
After a hot shower, I sit in the lounge with a cold beer, wrapped up in my new sweater, which, by the way, is very cozy!
I search the Internet, but it doesn’t help. After an hour, I give up. I just can’t find any good advice. It really looks like I’m on my own for the upcoming "Half-Way-to-Hawaii" game.
The plane takes off on time and only about half the seats are occupied. Although I got rudely seated in economy class again, I have a row of my own and I can get comfy in the horizontal.
When I fill out my guess for the "Half-Way-to-Hawaii" game, I'm a little excited. On previous flights, I used to calculate with the exact details the pilot gave us. Today, I divide the flight time by two, add a little to factor in the tailwind we have, estimate by rule of thumb in what time zone we’ll cover half the distance and write down the result.
Three hours later, I victoriously hold the long-awaited champagne bottle in my hand. I finally won the stupid game! Steve will be thrilled!
Taking the escalator down at the Kahului / Maui airport, I read the banner "Maui - voted best Island in the world!" again. I have to think hard of how long it has been since the last time I read it, when I was looking forward to a few relaxing weeks of holiday. Feels like it’s been several months, but in reality it’s just a bit over two weeks. Steve sits, as agreed, in the car in the parking lot in row D.
"Well, did you really buy a bottle of bubbly just to claim that you finally won the stupid game?" he welcomes me, as I get into the car.
"Huh?!"
"In Denmark, you once claimed that you could easily catch lobsters on the pier. I think the exact wording was even "you can pick lobsters." In the evening, you actually came home with a lobster and ate it alone in front of our envious eyes. We were very impressed, until it turned out you bought the lobster from a returning fisherman."
"Right, but I only mentioned the fisherman after you spent an hour snorkeling in cold water the next day – ha ha ha."
"A liar will not be believed, even when he speaks the truth..."
I pop the cork and hand the bottle to Steve.
"To us, my friend!"
Steve takes a big gulp, swallows, scrunches up his face and says: "Congratulations."
"What for?" I ask.
"You won the Half-Way-to-Hawaii game."
"I know, but what makes you believe me now?"
"The champagne tastes so bad, it could only be a giveaway!"
Chapter 12
Even though the quality of the champagne leaves a lot to be desired, we down the bottle in the car. In order to make it up to our taste buds, we then down a few cold beers that Steve had the wise forethought to bring along in a cooler on the back seat.
We’ll be staying in Kula at the place of a former windsurfing world champion. Meanwhile she’s out renting rooms on Maui and guiding tourists over the island. Steve’s been moving every few days and only just got this place today.
Over a good glass of wine, Steve and I exchange the recent days’ events. The fact that we’re still alive calls for a Cuba Libre. With the increasing alcohol level, our recollections get more and more embellished, but a good conversation isn’t just about the substantive exchange of facts, but also about entertainment.
The next morning, we enjoy a hearty breakfast on the veranda, which has a breathtaking view. We’re located almost three thousand feet high on Haleakala. Opposite us, the green cliffs o
f the West Maui Mountains extend 6,000 feet into the sky. At their feet to the north is Kahului, Maui's largest city, where the airport and the port that supply the island are located.
The flat plane connecting Haleakala and the West Maui Mountains is about six miles wide at its narrowest point and is only slightly above sea level. From our breakfast table, we see the Pacific Ocean on both sides of the island. On the left side are Kahoolawe and Lanai - just fantastic! The perfect ambiance to let the cat out of the bag. After a sip of coffee, I look Steve right in the eye and say: "I know where Andrews lives."
"Say what?" Steve's eyes turn big and his expression is not necessarily the smartest.
"It occurred to me on the plane here. I know where he lives!"
Half way to Hawaii Page 18
