The decision to leave Nepal was made in a hurry. My Visa was expiring and could not be further extended. The best thing to do is go back to America, and return after I took care of some business.
The flights out of the country were booked with Nepalis looking for work in other countries. It was difficult to find an empty seat, but on the last day of my Visa, Gulf Air agreed to take me out of Nepal. I got to the airport in Kathmandu 3 hours early, as required for international flight, and was told my flight was 4 hours late. I checked in and prepared to wait. Fortunately, I had a fresh book of Sudoku puzzles and could occupy the time. The airline provided a free meal for everyone on the flight, so we all lined up at the only restaurant at the airport, for a typical Nepali meal of steamed rice, lentil soup, and curried vegetables.
About 2 minutes before midnight, the aircraft arrived, and we soon were boarded, on our way to Bahrain. When we arrived there, I had missed my connection to London, so the airline put me in a hotel room so I could sleep for a few hours. Bahrain is strictly desert, although it is on the Arabian Sea. It's a resort and vacation area for the middle east, and must have at least 2000 hotels, building more every day. It reminded me of Las Vegas, without the casinos. The hotel I stayed at (Al Fahir) was posh elegant. There is obviously a lot of money in this town. My room was spacious and well-appointed. I slept for 5 hours, then went down to the hotel restaurant for lunch. Their buffet was delicious: fresh greek salad, humus and pita, olives and fruit, chicken and lamb, rice (steamed and fried), and decadent cakes for dessert. After living on Nepali food for 6 months, it was uplifting to have something different.
Leaving Bahrain, I went to London, and again missed my connection to America. Again, I was put into a hotel, and slept some more. Our flight arrived around 10:00 at night, and most of the airport workers had gone home for the day. When I returned around 7:00 the next morning, the airport workers were still not around, most of the ticket counters were closed. I began to worry about my checked luggage. The people who stamp your passport when you leave the country were not yet at work, so I did not get my passport stamped. I wonder if they realize I have left the country?
I arrived at Oklahoma City after 3 days of travel, but my luggage was nowhere to be found. We talked to the Baggage Service guy, who told me "Your bags are not lost. They just haven't arrived yet." He figured they were caught in the London Triangle. Four days later, a courier rang my doorbell, delivering my suitcases.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
House Lizards
Friendly lizards (geckos) come inside the house, looking for bugs. They amazingly cling to the ceiling and walls, moving rapidly and as easily as if along the floor. The doors and windows are not airtight, and the lizards find places to squeeze into a room. As the temperature rises, they become more active. They are considered good luck, so no one tries to get rid of them. If you try to catch one, they will lose their tail.
They must be territorial, because I have only seen 2 specific lizards in my room. Carl has noticed 3 in his, but his room is larger. I have named mine "Orville" and "Wilbur". They are about 5 inches long. They don't like the light, and when I have tried to take a flash photo of them, they scamper into hiding. Sometimes they make a clicking sound, but otherwise, they are silent.
One night I lay sleeping lightly, the rattling window air-conditioner was barely keeping up with the hot sticky air. The ceiling fan was on, and a light sheet defended me from the draft. Suddenly, I heard a faint noise and felt a plop on my hip. Freaking out, I shook the sheet, and in the moonlight I saw a lizard sailing through the air, arms and toes outstretched in terror. I heard him land on the floor, then silence. I pulled the sheet over my head and tried to go to sleep.
The next morning, there was no sign of lizard. By the afternoon, however, 2 lizards were chasing each other across the wall, undamaged. I guessed one of them had been on the ceiling and fell asleep when he lost his grip. They say it is bad luck to be hit by a lizard -- I wonder if this counts?
The last few days, I have spotted a couple of baby lizards, each about 2 inches long. As long as they eat the mosquitoes, they are welcome to stay.
They must be territorial, because I have only seen 2 specific lizards in my room. Carl has noticed 3 in his, but his room is larger. I have named mine "Orville" and "Wilbur". They are about 5 inches long. They don't like the light, and when I have tried to take a flash photo of them, they scamper into hiding. Sometimes they make a clicking sound, but otherwise, they are silent.
One night I lay sleeping lightly, the rattling window air-conditioner was barely keeping up with the hot sticky air. The ceiling fan was on, and a light sheet defended me from the draft. Suddenly, I heard a faint noise and felt a plop on my hip. Freaking out, I shook the sheet, and in the moonlight I saw a lizard sailing through the air, arms and toes outstretched in terror. I heard him land on the floor, then silence. I pulled the sheet over my head and tried to go to sleep.
The next morning, there was no sign of lizard. By the afternoon, however, 2 lizards were chasing each other across the wall, undamaged. I guessed one of them had been on the ceiling and fell asleep when he lost his grip. They say it is bad luck to be hit by a lizard -- I wonder if this counts?
The last few days, I have spotted a couple of baby lizards, each about 2 inches long. As long as they eat the mosquitoes, they are welcome to stay.
My Flight Physical
A lightning storm took out our internet, and we just got it back yesterday. Progress moves slowly in Nepal.
CAAN (Civil Aviation Authority of Nepal) informed me a couple of weeks ago that my medical certificate has expired. In the States, it is good for a year, but here, since I am over 40, it's only good for 6 months.
So off I went to Kathmandu to get a physical. There have never been pilots in any other part of the country, so there has been no need for flight doctors anywhere but Kathmandu. Shivendra says I should be able to easily complete the physical and be back the next day. Nothing ever goes as planned, so I pack an extra shirt and pair of underwear.
I arrived at my appointment to see the doctor at 4:00. The doctor, a nice older gentlemen, looked over the letter authorizing me to get the medical, asked me for my medical forms. "What medical forms?" I asked. Before starting the exam, I must provide the CAAN forms. The doctor does not keep a supply on hand.
An appointment is made for 10:00 the next morning, and someone is sent to the CAAN office to obtain the forms. Why didn't they give us the forms when they gave us the authorization letter? Why do you need authorization to get a physical exam?
Nepal is considered a Kingdom, although the king is under house arrest, has no power, and will soon be kicked out to live "a civilian life". Meanwhile, no one is in charge, be everyone wants to prove how powerful they are by creating obstacles. The more obstacles, the more power.
The next morning, the doctor took my pulse, blood pressure, height and weight. He measured my weight on an old bathroom scale that wasn't set to zero. I took off my shoes and stepped on. The scale stopped at 75kg. That's over 160 pounds. I do not weigh that much. Not even close. The doctor didn't seem to think it unusual, and wrote '75k' on the form. Whatever. At least he got my height correct.
He filled out one section of the form, then told me I was to take an eye exam. Another doctor. I passed the exam, with my glasses. "What is your correction?" he asked. I wasn't sure. He looked at my lenses and informed me that I can't have a correction greater than +5.00 to pass a flight medical. He was unable to read my lenses, so he referred me to another doctor to obtain my exact prescription.
So off I go to an eye doctor in another part of town. He is with another patient. I sit and wait. There is no waiting room - I am in the same room as the doctor and his patient. The eye chart is on the wall. I quickly memorize it. "How long have you been flying?" he asked. 30 years. He figures I can fly OK with whatever prescription I have and OK's my eyesight. He signs the vision section of the form.
Back to the hospital to see the Ear-Nose-Throat doctor. He is gone for the day, must come back tomorrow. While I am there, however, they take my blood.
That evening I walk around the Thamel section of Kathmandu and run into a couple of Americans. We meet for dinner at a really good Thai restaurant and have an interesting conversation.
The next day, I wait for a call confirming my appointment with the ENK doctor. Around noon I get a call - the appointment is at 4:00. At that time, I go back to the clinic and only have to wait about half-an-hour. The ENK exam took about 3 minutes. Another section of the form was signed off. Then it was decided I needed a chest X-ray. Would I like to wait for the results? Yes. Lungs and ribs looked normal. Oh, by the way, I need an EKG. I get that done, and I am finally complete.
The next day I return to Bharatpur, while the results and forms are submitted to CAAN. (Why do they need the medical data? There is no medical privacy in Nepal.)
A couple of days later, I was informed I didn't have enough tests. I must go back to Kathmandu. I am not sure if the Doctor was confused about what tests to prescribe, or if CAAN arbitrarily decided to change the rules (as they often do). The result is the same.
I am on the next flight to Kathmandu, as I have an appointment at 4:00 that afternoon. (What is it with 4:00 appointment times?)
At the clinic, the doctor has not arrived. I wait for an hour. He looks over my forms and results, and realizes I need the "over 40" tests. No eating or drinking past midnight. I need to return tomorrow with an empty stomach. 10:00.
I arrive the next morning. Starving. They take my blood again, this time testing for cholesterol. I would have to return later for the results. (My cholesterol was 'optimal').
I am informed I need a treadmill test and another ECG. They can't do that here, so we have to make an appointment at another hospital. You guessed it - 4:00. No eating at least 3 hours before.
I eat a light lunch, then wait around the Shivani Air office (mostly napping) until it's time to go.
I arrive at what is called "the best private hospital in Nepal". It's clean. And expensive. These tests cost more than 10,000 rupees. I am told to change into a gown. The women's changing room in down the hall. After changing, I walk back down the hall and sit in the crowded waiting area. In a hospital gown. After about half-an-hour, the cardiologist arrives and I am ushered into the treadmill room. There are three beds and 2 treadmills. A man is lying in one of the beds, and I am instructed to lie down in another. People enter the room, patients waiting their turn, nurses, orderlies. No privacy.
The doctor takes a sonogram of my heart - very interesting. "A normal young heart", he says. Young? I am 55, but maybe it looks good compared to Nepali hearts.
Next, I am hooked up to the treadmill. Walk for 9 minutes, at different speeds for 3 minutes each. Let them know if I feel any pain or discomfort. I complete the test. I am breathing hard. "I could not do this test for 9 minutes," the doctor says. He is about 35-40, nice looking, not overweight. Is he kidding? I can't tell. I passed.
I head back to the original clinic to pick up my blood test, then stop at CAAN to drop everything off. Everyone is in a meeting. I leave the stuff with the Shivani Air people, and catch the next flight home. They will let me know if I am qualified in a couple of days. I passed all the tests with flying colors, so I am not sure what CAAN can object to. I am still waiting.
CAAN (Civil Aviation Authority of Nepal) informed me a couple of weeks ago that my medical certificate has expired. In the States, it is good for a year, but here, since I am over 40, it's only good for 6 months.
So off I went to Kathmandu to get a physical. There have never been pilots in any other part of the country, so there has been no need for flight doctors anywhere but Kathmandu. Shivendra says I should be able to easily complete the physical and be back the next day. Nothing ever goes as planned, so I pack an extra shirt and pair of underwear.
I arrived at my appointment to see the doctor at 4:00. The doctor, a nice older gentlemen, looked over the letter authorizing me to get the medical, asked me for my medical forms. "What medical forms?" I asked. Before starting the exam, I must provide the CAAN forms. The doctor does not keep a supply on hand.
An appointment is made for 10:00 the next morning, and someone is sent to the CAAN office to obtain the forms. Why didn't they give us the forms when they gave us the authorization letter? Why do you need authorization to get a physical exam?
Nepal is considered a Kingdom, although the king is under house arrest, has no power, and will soon be kicked out to live "a civilian life". Meanwhile, no one is in charge, be everyone wants to prove how powerful they are by creating obstacles. The more obstacles, the more power.
The next morning, the doctor took my pulse, blood pressure, height and weight. He measured my weight on an old bathroom scale that wasn't set to zero. I took off my shoes and stepped on. The scale stopped at 75kg. That's over 160 pounds. I do not weigh that much. Not even close. The doctor didn't seem to think it unusual, and wrote '75k' on the form. Whatever. At least he got my height correct.
He filled out one section of the form, then told me I was to take an eye exam. Another doctor. I passed the exam, with my glasses. "What is your correction?" he asked. I wasn't sure. He looked at my lenses and informed me that I can't have a correction greater than +5.00 to pass a flight medical. He was unable to read my lenses, so he referred me to another doctor to obtain my exact prescription.
So off I go to an eye doctor in another part of town. He is with another patient. I sit and wait. There is no waiting room - I am in the same room as the doctor and his patient. The eye chart is on the wall. I quickly memorize it. "How long have you been flying?" he asked. 30 years. He figures I can fly OK with whatever prescription I have and OK's my eyesight. He signs the vision section of the form.
Back to the hospital to see the Ear-Nose-Throat doctor. He is gone for the day, must come back tomorrow. While I am there, however, they take my blood.
That evening I walk around the Thamel section of Kathmandu and run into a couple of Americans. We meet for dinner at a really good Thai restaurant and have an interesting conversation.
The next day, I wait for a call confirming my appointment with the ENK doctor. Around noon I get a call - the appointment is at 4:00. At that time, I go back to the clinic and only have to wait about half-an-hour. The ENK exam took about 3 minutes. Another section of the form was signed off. Then it was decided I needed a chest X-ray. Would I like to wait for the results? Yes. Lungs and ribs looked normal. Oh, by the way, I need an EKG. I get that done, and I am finally complete.
The next day I return to Bharatpur, while the results and forms are submitted to CAAN. (Why do they need the medical data? There is no medical privacy in Nepal.)
A couple of days later, I was informed I didn't have enough tests. I must go back to Kathmandu. I am not sure if the Doctor was confused about what tests to prescribe, or if CAAN arbitrarily decided to change the rules (as they often do). The result is the same.
I am on the next flight to Kathmandu, as I have an appointment at 4:00 that afternoon. (What is it with 4:00 appointment times?)
At the clinic, the doctor has not arrived. I wait for an hour. He looks over my forms and results, and realizes I need the "over 40" tests. No eating or drinking past midnight. I need to return tomorrow with an empty stomach. 10:00.
I arrive the next morning. Starving. They take my blood again, this time testing for cholesterol. I would have to return later for the results. (My cholesterol was 'optimal').
I am informed I need a treadmill test and another ECG. They can't do that here, so we have to make an appointment at another hospital. You guessed it - 4:00. No eating at least 3 hours before.
I eat a light lunch, then wait around the Shivani Air office (mostly napping) until it's time to go.
I arrive at what is called "the best private hospital in Nepal". It's clean. And expensive. These tests cost more than 10,000 rupees. I am told to change into a gown. The women's changing room in down the hall. After changing, I walk back down the hall and sit in the crowded waiting area. In a hospital gown. After about half-an-hour, the cardiologist arrives and I am ushered into the treadmill room. There are three beds and 2 treadmills. A man is lying in one of the beds, and I am instructed to lie down in another. People enter the room, patients waiting their turn, nurses, orderlies. No privacy.
The doctor takes a sonogram of my heart - very interesting. "A normal young heart", he says. Young? I am 55, but maybe it looks good compared to Nepali hearts.
Next, I am hooked up to the treadmill. Walk for 9 minutes, at different speeds for 3 minutes each. Let them know if I feel any pain or discomfort. I complete the test. I am breathing hard. "I could not do this test for 9 minutes," the doctor says. He is about 35-40, nice looking, not overweight. Is he kidding? I can't tell. I passed.
I head back to the original clinic to pick up my blood test, then stop at CAAN to drop everything off. Everyone is in a meeting. I leave the stuff with the Shivani Air people, and catch the next flight home. They will let me know if I am qualified in a couple of days. I passed all the tests with flying colors, so I am not sure what CAAN can object to. I am still waiting.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Election Day
For the first time, Nepal is having elections today. It has taken 10 years of civil war, violence, confusion, and corruption to get to this point. Most people don't understand what they are voting for. Some think it is for a president, but it is not. The elections are only to decide which of the nearly 60 political parties will be chosen to carve the new government. There are 7 main parties, and it is certain that they will be represented. It is almost as certain that the monarchy will be abolished and Nepal be transformed into a federation.
Many people have died up to this point, and more will probably die after the election. Candidates were kidnapped and killed, voters were intimidated, despite the efforts of international election watchers. Riots broke out in Kathmandu, and in the far west and far east of Nepal.
Here in centrally located Bharatpur, things are peaceful. There are no cars, buses, or trucks on the roads. Only pedestrians and bicycles. Most of the shops are closed. Only a few local corner markets are open - families who can't afford to take a day off. The larger schools in town are the polling places. Crowds or people are hanging outside the school gates, waiting to vote, waiting to see what happens, and watching to see what goes on. The people in Bharatpur are very interested in the outcome, but don't seem to be as worked up about it as other areas in Nepal.
Everyone at the school has gone to their homes. Most live in other areas of Nepal, and can only vote in their registered area of residence. There is no absentee voting. The highways are closed. The borders have been closed since noon on the 8th. We think the airplanes are at the border, but they can't cross until the border opens - probably in a couple of days.
No one knows what the elections will really bring - whether anything will change. Some parties promise food and shelter for everyone, but have done nothing in the past to give their words credibility. Everyone hopes this will end the decade-long slide backwards in time and bring Nepal into the present. Prosperity would be nice, but no one expects Nepal to stop being a third-world country.
Many people have died up to this point, and more will probably die after the election. Candidates were kidnapped and killed, voters were intimidated, despite the efforts of international election watchers. Riots broke out in Kathmandu, and in the far west and far east of Nepal.
Here in centrally located Bharatpur, things are peaceful. There are no cars, buses, or trucks on the roads. Only pedestrians and bicycles. Most of the shops are closed. Only a few local corner markets are open - families who can't afford to take a day off. The larger schools in town are the polling places. Crowds or people are hanging outside the school gates, waiting to vote, waiting to see what happens, and watching to see what goes on. The people in Bharatpur are very interested in the outcome, but don't seem to be as worked up about it as other areas in Nepal.
Everyone at the school has gone to their homes. Most live in other areas of Nepal, and can only vote in their registered area of residence. There is no absentee voting. The highways are closed. The borders have been closed since noon on the 8th. We think the airplanes are at the border, but they can't cross until the border opens - probably in a couple of days.
No one knows what the elections will really bring - whether anything will change. Some parties promise food and shelter for everyone, but have done nothing in the past to give their words credibility. Everyone hopes this will end the decade-long slide backwards in time and bring Nepal into the present. Prosperity would be nice, but no one expects Nepal to stop being a third-world country.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Sanjog
Things change slowly but happen fast around here. Yesterday Shivendra arrived from Kathmandu and got me updated on what is happening. The aircraft should be at the border by the 8th, and Shivendra will personally make sure they go through. CAAN is coming to Bharatpur to give the written test sometime after the Nepali New Year (April 13th). The students are skeptical.
About a month ago I decided to buy a bicycle. We have a truck that will come and pick me up at the house, but it is also used to pick up everyone else. I can't come and go when I need. We have a motorcycle, but it is heavy for me, and in this traffic, I feel I am putting my life in my hands when I ride it. A bicycle goes at a sane pace, can maneuver around obstacles, and is good exercise.
"Who is the best negotiator," I asked. Whenever I buy something here, everyone asks how much I paid. No matter what I say, they tell me I paid too much and that a local could get it much cheaper. So I decided to ask one of the students to help me.
Sanjog seemed to be the best candidate. "He negotiates everything," someone said. "I hate to go shopping with him," said another, "because he argues every price."
Normally keeping to himself, I had not seen that side of him, but I trusted what the other students said. So Sanjog and I took the truck and driver (Prakesh) around to every bicycle shop in town.
"These bikes are too cheap," Sanjog would tell me. "They want too much money. They won't negotiate," he would say at another shop.
We came to one shop with several bikes out front and Sanjog went inside to talk to the owner. After five minutes of intense discussion, he came out and pointed at a pink bicycle. "Do you like that one?"
I cringed. Pink is definitely not my color. I pointed to a large forest green one. "No," said Sanjog. "That is a man's bike. You would not like that one." OK, I thought. I pointed to a black bicycle decorated with orange flames.
Sanjog went back into the shop and talked to the owner some more. Another five minutes later he came out and said, "Let's go." We walked away, not looking back. I asked what happened. "Wait," was all he said.
We walked to another bike shop, and he talked to the owner there. After about 15 minutes he came out and signaled for me to follow him. We walked back to the first bike shop. The owner was ready to deal.
Within minutes, pedals were put onto the black bike. A bell was added (required in Nepal), and the seat was lowered. "No," I said. "Leave the seat high." "No," said Sanjog, "you must ride with the seat down."
Nepalis ride their bike sitting up straight, with the seat low enough that they can touch the ground while sitting. I am used to the American style, where seat height can give you leverage for pedaling, and you lean the bike over when you stop.
Sanjog said to me, "3800 rupees." "Is that good?" I asked. "Yes. Down from 4500."
I gave Sanjog the money, and he handed it to the owner. Prakesh loaded the bike in the back of the truck, and we drove home.
It's good to have wheels.
About a month ago I decided to buy a bicycle. We have a truck that will come and pick me up at the house, but it is also used to pick up everyone else. I can't come and go when I need. We have a motorcycle, but it is heavy for me, and in this traffic, I feel I am putting my life in my hands when I ride it. A bicycle goes at a sane pace, can maneuver around obstacles, and is good exercise.
"Who is the best negotiator," I asked. Whenever I buy something here, everyone asks how much I paid. No matter what I say, they tell me I paid too much and that a local could get it much cheaper. So I decided to ask one of the students to help me.
Sanjog seemed to be the best candidate. "He negotiates everything," someone said. "I hate to go shopping with him," said another, "because he argues every price."
Normally keeping to himself, I had not seen that side of him, but I trusted what the other students said. So Sanjog and I took the truck and driver (Prakesh) around to every bicycle shop in town.
"These bikes are too cheap," Sanjog would tell me. "They want too much money. They won't negotiate," he would say at another shop.
We came to one shop with several bikes out front and Sanjog went inside to talk to the owner. After five minutes of intense discussion, he came out and pointed at a pink bicycle. "Do you like that one?"
I cringed. Pink is definitely not my color. I pointed to a large forest green one. "No," said Sanjog. "That is a man's bike. You would not like that one." OK, I thought. I pointed to a black bicycle decorated with orange flames.
Sanjog went back into the shop and talked to the owner some more. Another five minutes later he came out and said, "Let's go." We walked away, not looking back. I asked what happened. "Wait," was all he said.
We walked to another bike shop, and he talked to the owner there. After about 15 minutes he came out and signaled for me to follow him. We walked back to the first bike shop. The owner was ready to deal.
Within minutes, pedals were put onto the black bike. A bell was added (required in Nepal), and the seat was lowered. "No," I said. "Leave the seat high." "No," said Sanjog, "you must ride with the seat down."
Nepalis ride their bike sitting up straight, with the seat low enough that they can touch the ground while sitting. I am used to the American style, where seat height can give you leverage for pedaling, and you lean the bike over when you stop.
Sanjog said to me, "3800 rupees." "Is that good?" I asked. "Yes. Down from 4500."
I gave Sanjog the money, and he handed it to the owner. Prakesh loaded the bike in the back of the truck, and we drove home.
It's good to have wheels.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Calling the Boss
Calling our boss in Kathmandu is a challenge. We can't make long distance calls from the hangar or our house. Sometimes Cathy can call Kathmandu on her cell phone. The reception is so poor, that she requests Shivendra to call us back. If she can't get through, we call the School and have them call Kathmandu and tell them to call us. It takes about 10-15 minutes to finally get connected.
We try to contact Kathmandu at least once a day to get updated on various events. The students have not taken their written exam yet. Maybe tomorrow. Yes, we like the new cook, so Shivendra will inform him of his salary. (Imagine starting a job not knowing what you will be paid!) Where are the aircraft? What new things have CAAN come up with for us to perform?
We discovered that the CAAN person in charge will be out of office at the end of next month. He has been giving everyone a hard time, including the airlines. He has been a big roadblock for our progress and on getting the aircraft fixed. He has also decided all our aircraft need ADFs. I am not sure when they will fit.
We try to contact Kathmandu at least once a day to get updated on various events. The students have not taken their written exam yet. Maybe tomorrow. Yes, we like the new cook, so Shivendra will inform him of his salary. (Imagine starting a job not knowing what you will be paid!) Where are the aircraft? What new things have CAAN come up with for us to perform?
We discovered that the CAAN person in charge will be out of office at the end of next month. He has been giving everyone a hard time, including the airlines. He has been a big roadblock for our progress and on getting the aircraft fixed. He has also decided all our aircraft need ADFs. I am not sure when they will fit.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
How to Run a Flight School
Our aircraft is still grounded and untouched. We are not allowed to fix anything, or even look at the airplane until the insurance company releases it. This could take months. The home office is in Singapore. We have a run-out engine which we sent to India to be overhauled. By the time the engine comes back, we should have a new prop and nose gear. Soon after that, the airplane will be ready to go.
We have 2 other aircraft coming in. They were in Singapore on the 10th, and are expected to be in Calcutta by the 18th. They will be here by the 21st, and soon after that, we will be flying again.
The students are in Kathmandu taking their written exam. We hope. They were scheduled to take it last Monday, but when they showed up, CAAN (Civil Aviation Authority of Nepal) did not have the questions prepared yet. CAAN had told our boss two weeks previous that the questions were ready to go. I guess not. Now they have said that they are ready, and the students are scheduled to take it this afternoon. We are keeping our fingers crossed.
The CAAN people are appointed by the Minister of Tourism, Culture, and Civil Aviation, not for their expertise, but for their contacts and influence. Therefore, most of them have no idea of what to do. They don't seem to want to become educated on the subject of aviation or flight schools, and make arbitrary rules.
We had a very experienced instructor scheduled to come over. Every instructor must be approved by CAAN before they are allowed to teach in Nepal. Yesterday, they made a new rule that prohibits an instructor aged 65 or older. Our new instructor just turned 65, and is highly disappointed he can't come. He turned down a high=paying job offer for the chance to come here, and now they won't let him come.
All of Nepal is subject to scheduled power outages. This includes the airport. When the tower expects a flight in, and there is no electricity, they turn on the battery back-up to run the radios. Fortunately, they only have 3 or 4 flights a day. The Tower Chief has permission to get the electricity permanently hooked up, but is waiting for CAAN to give him the Rs 400,000 to give to the Power Ministry. They are all government agencies, but nothing runs efficiently here. The Tower Chief was told it will happen soon. In Nepal, that means in a month or so.
Sunday is a regular work day here. Saturday is the only day off each week. There are plenty of holidays, however, and Nepal has recently recognized 18 more holidays each year. I am not sure how many days off per year there are, but it's a lot - at least 4 or 5 days per month. Some holidays are better than others, depending on how it affects our job. We have learned to be flexible. Time to spare, go by air.
The weather has turned warm. Around the low 70s at night, and in the mid-90s during the day. The humidity is around 50%. We still have a lot of haze, unusual for this time of year. Only one real rain storm so far. A month ago, I was shivering, and now I am sweating. Is is better to be hot or cold? I think I like hot better.
We have 2 other aircraft coming in. They were in Singapore on the 10th, and are expected to be in Calcutta by the 18th. They will be here by the 21st, and soon after that, we will be flying again.
The students are in Kathmandu taking their written exam. We hope. They were scheduled to take it last Monday, but when they showed up, CAAN (Civil Aviation Authority of Nepal) did not have the questions prepared yet. CAAN had told our boss two weeks previous that the questions were ready to go. I guess not. Now they have said that they are ready, and the students are scheduled to take it this afternoon. We are keeping our fingers crossed.
The CAAN people are appointed by the Minister of Tourism, Culture, and Civil Aviation, not for their expertise, but for their contacts and influence. Therefore, most of them have no idea of what to do. They don't seem to want to become educated on the subject of aviation or flight schools, and make arbitrary rules.
We had a very experienced instructor scheduled to come over. Every instructor must be approved by CAAN before they are allowed to teach in Nepal. Yesterday, they made a new rule that prohibits an instructor aged 65 or older. Our new instructor just turned 65, and is highly disappointed he can't come. He turned down a high=paying job offer for the chance to come here, and now they won't let him come.
All of Nepal is subject to scheduled power outages. This includes the airport. When the tower expects a flight in, and there is no electricity, they turn on the battery back-up to run the radios. Fortunately, they only have 3 or 4 flights a day. The Tower Chief has permission to get the electricity permanently hooked up, but is waiting for CAAN to give him the Rs 400,000 to give to the Power Ministry. They are all government agencies, but nothing runs efficiently here. The Tower Chief was told it will happen soon. In Nepal, that means in a month or so.
Sunday is a regular work day here. Saturday is the only day off each week. There are plenty of holidays, however, and Nepal has recently recognized 18 more holidays each year. I am not sure how many days off per year there are, but it's a lot - at least 4 or 5 days per month. Some holidays are better than others, depending on how it affects our job. We have learned to be flexible. Time to spare, go by air.
The weather has turned warm. Around the low 70s at night, and in the mid-90s during the day. The humidity is around 50%. We still have a lot of haze, unusual for this time of year. Only one real rain storm so far. A month ago, I was shivering, and now I am sweating. Is is better to be hot or cold? I think I like hot better.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
A Rain Storm
Romi crashed the airplane on landing. It will take a month to fix. In a couple of weeks we should have our new airplanes, but until then, we are grounded. We have been giving the students ground school, getting them ready for their written exam next week.
The visibility has been too poor to fly, even if we did have an airplane. The locals keep telling me that when it rains, the air becomes clear and you can see forever.
It rained the other day. The first real rain since I arrived last November. Thunder, lightening, torrential downpour - it was very spectacular. The winds gusted over 50 mph, and the rain lasted about an hour.
It left behind clean trees, plants, roads, shallow puddles, and air. I had not realized how dusty everything had become - even the air. Now the air was clean, and the colors of the earth were brilliant.
The visibililty was still bad, so we still are not able to fly.
The paper reported that several people were struck by lightning; one died and the rest seriously injured. If you are on the road, there is no where to go for shelter.
A UN helicopter went down in the storm, killing everyone on board. The official cause has not been released, but I can guess that they got caught in the wind and slammed against a mountain. The chopper burst into flames. Photos of the wreckage show blackened bits and pieces on a pile of ashed. The crew was Russian, and there were 3 Nepalis aboard. They have not told us who else was there.
A couple of fallen branches took out the power that night. I expected to be without electricity for days. We were up and running by noon the next day. What Nepal lacks in technology, they make up for in manpower. There is no labor shortage here.
The visibility has been too poor to fly, even if we did have an airplane. The locals keep telling me that when it rains, the air becomes clear and you can see forever.
It rained the other day. The first real rain since I arrived last November. Thunder, lightening, torrential downpour - it was very spectacular. The winds gusted over 50 mph, and the rain lasted about an hour.
It left behind clean trees, plants, roads, shallow puddles, and air. I had not realized how dusty everything had become - even the air. Now the air was clean, and the colors of the earth were brilliant.
The visibililty was still bad, so we still are not able to fly.
The paper reported that several people were struck by lightning; one died and the rest seriously injured. If you are on the road, there is no where to go for shelter.
A UN helicopter went down in the storm, killing everyone on board. The official cause has not been released, but I can guess that they got caught in the wind and slammed against a mountain. The chopper burst into flames. Photos of the wreckage show blackened bits and pieces on a pile of ashed. The crew was Russian, and there were 3 Nepalis aboard. They have not told us who else was there.
A couple of fallen branches took out the power that night. I expected to be without electricity for days. We were up and running by noon the next day. What Nepal lacks in technology, they make up for in manpower. There is no labor shortage here.
A Nepali Wedding
My friends Doris and Roger came to visit from California. They were headed for India for a month of sight-seeing, and decided to spend some time in Nepal, since they knew someone there. I met them at the airport in Kathmandu and they were introduced to Nepal traffic. After a fifteen-minute ride through narrow streets, we arrived at our hotel.
We spent three fun days in Kathmandu. We flew next to Mt Everest, climbed the steps to the Monkey Temple, explored Durbur Square, and did a little shopping. We hired a taxi to take us to a couple of local villages, living in traditional Newari style.
We flew down to Bharatpur, and after one night there, we headed for the jungle. We rode elephants and hiked through the jungle (with guides) trying to spot the local wildlife. We saw 2 hippos (they were HUGE), a few crocodiles (from a distance), monkeys, birds, and other assorted animals. Lots of fun, but exhausting.
The last day in Bharatpur, the neighbors across the street started dancing and singing aruond 7:00 in the morning. I went out to see what was going on and saw the house gaily decorated. A troupe of traditional Nepali musicians were playing traditional Nepali music, and four past-middle-aged women were dancing traditional Nepali dances. I started taking photos, and the family invited me inside.
A young man came up to me and told me this was a wedding. His brother was getting married. He asked if we would like to come along.
Of course, I said "Yes."
I called up Doris and Roger at their hotel. "How would you like to go to a wedding?" I asked.
Doris thought for a moment, then asked, "Do we have time for breakfast?"
I told her to eat and then come right over. Meanwhile, friends and relatives from all over town began arriving. A Tuk-Tuk appeared, and like a clown circus act, out poured 10 people - adults and children - and three adult goats. The goats would be sacrificed in honor of the bride and groom.
Doris and Roger arrived in a pedi-cab, and soon after, the whole party started walking down the street led by the musicians. The women were still dancing. I kept looking for the bride, but saw no likely suspects. The groom was wearing a new suit, new shiny black shoes, and a necklace made from pine needles and feathers.
At the end of the street, everyone stopped. Two huge buses drove up, and the people got into them. The groom and his father and sister and assorted other relatives piled into a car built for 4. Some people rode motocycles and had a passenger on the back. The musicians sat on top of one of the buses, and continued playing, even after we started driving down the street.
The wedding party wheeled down the main market area, crossed the big bridge, and headed out of town.
"Where are we going?" Doris asked. I had no idea.
We stopped at a toll booth, and a bunch of the bus passengers climbed onto the roof of the bus. Roger decided to join them. Why not.
About 30 minutes later, the buses, motocycles, and groom's car finally stopped. In the middle of the country on a busy highway. Everyone got off the bus, and we followed the crowd. We could see a decorated house up ahead, and several men waiting in the front. This was the bride's house.
We paraded to the house, musicians playing and women dancing. When we got there, everyone began talking at once. It was hard to figure out what was going on. Nepali weddings are not like western weddings. There is no priest or rabbi at the front of the audience, no silent crowd witnessing the ceremony. It's more of a free-for-all; everyone talking at once, each one telling someone else what to do. One older man was reading ancient sanskit text, while another was anoiting the groom with milk and flower petals. The bride appeared. She circled the groom 3 times, pouring water from a brass jug onto the ground. Rings were exchanged and vows were spoken. Then she was whisked away and the ceremony continued without her.
There was so much going on, it was difficult to see everything.
I noticed some of the women going around to the back of the house, so I motioned to Doris and we followed them. We had no idea where Roger was.
We went down some steps and found ourselves in the back field. A tent had been set up and food had been cooking in giant woks. Doris and I were placed in front of the food line. It was pretty good, although a little spicy. The bride and groom were there also, but not eating. The groom was smiling. The bride was not. She would not look at the groom or at anyone else. Doris and I went to them to give our blessings, then left to look for Roger.
We found him on the road walking around. We didn't know how long the party would last, so we flagged a bus going back to town. Roger rode on top again. Two old men gave up their seats for Doris and me. I took their pictures.
Back in the market area, the bus got stopped by traffic. After about 15 minutes, we decided to get off and walk the rest of the way - about a mile. Everyone else decided to get off at this point and walk also.
Around 6:00 that evening I was walking around outside my house when the wedding party arrived. The groom recognized me and gave me a wave. The musicians were still playing and the women were still dancing. Around 10:00 that night they stopped.
We spent three fun days in Kathmandu. We flew next to Mt Everest, climbed the steps to the Monkey Temple, explored Durbur Square, and did a little shopping. We hired a taxi to take us to a couple of local villages, living in traditional Newari style.
We flew down to Bharatpur, and after one night there, we headed for the jungle. We rode elephants and hiked through the jungle (with guides) trying to spot the local wildlife. We saw 2 hippos (they were HUGE), a few crocodiles (from a distance), monkeys, birds, and other assorted animals. Lots of fun, but exhausting.
The last day in Bharatpur, the neighbors across the street started dancing and singing aruond 7:00 in the morning. I went out to see what was going on and saw the house gaily decorated. A troupe of traditional Nepali musicians were playing traditional Nepali music, and four past-middle-aged women were dancing traditional Nepali dances. I started taking photos, and the family invited me inside.
A young man came up to me and told me this was a wedding. His brother was getting married. He asked if we would like to come along.
Of course, I said "Yes."
I called up Doris and Roger at their hotel. "How would you like to go to a wedding?" I asked.
Doris thought for a moment, then asked, "Do we have time for breakfast?"
I told her to eat and then come right over. Meanwhile, friends and relatives from all over town began arriving. A Tuk-Tuk appeared, and like a clown circus act, out poured 10 people - adults and children - and three adult goats. The goats would be sacrificed in honor of the bride and groom.
Doris and Roger arrived in a pedi-cab, and soon after, the whole party started walking down the street led by the musicians. The women were still dancing. I kept looking for the bride, but saw no likely suspects. The groom was wearing a new suit, new shiny black shoes, and a necklace made from pine needles and feathers.
At the end of the street, everyone stopped. Two huge buses drove up, and the people got into them. The groom and his father and sister and assorted other relatives piled into a car built for 4. Some people rode motocycles and had a passenger on the back. The musicians sat on top of one of the buses, and continued playing, even after we started driving down the street.
The wedding party wheeled down the main market area, crossed the big bridge, and headed out of town.
"Where are we going?" Doris asked. I had no idea.
We stopped at a toll booth, and a bunch of the bus passengers climbed onto the roof of the bus. Roger decided to join them. Why not.
About 30 minutes later, the buses, motocycles, and groom's car finally stopped. In the middle of the country on a busy highway. Everyone got off the bus, and we followed the crowd. We could see a decorated house up ahead, and several men waiting in the front. This was the bride's house.
We paraded to the house, musicians playing and women dancing. When we got there, everyone began talking at once. It was hard to figure out what was going on. Nepali weddings are not like western weddings. There is no priest or rabbi at the front of the audience, no silent crowd witnessing the ceremony. It's more of a free-for-all; everyone talking at once, each one telling someone else what to do. One older man was reading ancient sanskit text, while another was anoiting the groom with milk and flower petals. The bride appeared. She circled the groom 3 times, pouring water from a brass jug onto the ground. Rings were exchanged and vows were spoken. Then she was whisked away and the ceremony continued without her.
There was so much going on, it was difficult to see everything.
I noticed some of the women going around to the back of the house, so I motioned to Doris and we followed them. We had no idea where Roger was.
We went down some steps and found ourselves in the back field. A tent had been set up and food had been cooking in giant woks. Doris and I were placed in front of the food line. It was pretty good, although a little spicy. The bride and groom were there also, but not eating. The groom was smiling. The bride was not. She would not look at the groom or at anyone else. Doris and I went to them to give our blessings, then left to look for Roger.
We found him on the road walking around. We didn't know how long the party would last, so we flagged a bus going back to town. Roger rode on top again. Two old men gave up their seats for Doris and me. I took their pictures.
Back in the market area, the bus got stopped by traffic. After about 15 minutes, we decided to get off and walk the rest of the way - about a mile. Everyone else decided to get off at this point and walk also.
Around 6:00 that evening I was walking around outside my house when the wedding party arrived. The groom recognized me and gave me a wave. The musicians were still playing and the women were still dancing. Around 10:00 that night they stopped.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Romi, Part 2
The Chief Instructor met with Paul and me to discuss Romi. Paul had spent the most time with Romi, and worked hard and long to get her to solo.
"I see some improvement, but it's marginal," he said.
"She will never solo," I said.
"This is a career school for career pilots, and we need to maintain a minimum standard," the Chief Instructor said. "If you have the aptitude, you should solo in less than 20 hours."
Romi's father came into town, and he and Romi met with the Chief Instructor behind closed doors. When they came out, they had come to an agreement. Romi would fly 10 more hours. If she did not solo, she would be out. Romi asked me to be her instructor.
"You said I have a knack for flying," Romi said. I don't remember saying that, or anything close to it.
I scheduled her to fly with me every day for the next week.
The first day we took off and Romi performed one of her signature take-offs: heading for the weeds. I saved the day and we climbed up, heading for the practice area. I had talked to Paul about her training, and he told me the tactics he had tried. He tried soft. He tried tough. He tried encouraging. He tried scary. He tried a half-dozen other approaches, but nothing seem to move Romi.
I watched her fly. She had no sense of the airplane. I covered the airspeed indicator, artificial horizon, tachometer, and altimeter. We practiced engine settings by how loud the engine was. We practiced airspeed by the sound of the wind and adjusting for pitch. We practiced rudder control by aiming at Mt. Everest and steering using only rudders. There were so many areas she was lacking, I decided to concentrate on one area at a time. First, we would work on the rudders.
We headed back to the airport and flew a couple of low passes over the runway. There was a 10-knot crosswind, so she got a good feel for the rudders. We tried a few landings, and she started to get the idea.
The next few days, the visibility was too low to go out into the practice area, so we stayed in the pattern and did touch and goes. Here they call it "Circuits and landings."
"Stay on the centerline," I told her as we took off. She jammed in too much right rudder and I cringed, thinking about the side loads we were creating. She reacted by jamming in the left rudder, and we careened the other way.
"Forget the centerline," I said. "Just keep the airplane straight." My standards were lowering.
For the next 4 days, we did nothing but touch and goes. I kept the instruments covered. She kept improving. The last day, I got into the airplane and decided to say nothing. I wanted to see what she would do.
Her take-off was actually good. On downwind, she asked, "Add flaps now, ma'am?"
I said nothing.
She thought for a moment and added the flaps. She stopped asking me what to do.
Her landing wasn't great, but for the first time I didn't feel my life was in danger.
That day she did 10 landings and take-offs unassisted. She was ready to solo, but the direct crosswind was around 12 knots - too much for a solo student.
That night I mentioned to the Chief Instructor that Romi was ready to solo. I also informed the Dispatcher, because he had to prepare the paperwork. The news spread like wildfire. The Chief Ground Instructor found out. The Kathmandu office found out. Romi and the other students found out. Romi's father found out. The tower controllers found out.
The next morning, I met Romi at the airport. It was hazy and winds were light. We got in the airplane together so I could make sure she hadn't forgotten how to fly overnight.
She did three passable take-offs and landings. Not great, but not dangerous.
I got out of the airplane and she went up to the tower to file her solo flight plan. After she climbed the four flights of stairs, she found the controllers had all locked themselves in the tower and wouldn't open the door. She persisted, and they finally let her in, accepting her flight plan.
The entire hangar crew were seated on the ramp ready for the show. Paul and the Chief Instructor came to watch. Her fellow students came out to give her support.
I gave her the usual pre-solo advice and told her to make 3 landings to a full stop, and to taxi back to the end of the runway for each take-off.
She started up the airplane like a pro and taxied out.
Her take-offs were all great. Her first landing was OK. Her second landing was perfect (even on the centerline). Her third landing was wobbly. At each landing, her normally timid voice became stronger and louder over the radio as she acknowledged the tower.
I realized I had been holding my breath. My heart rate was going back to normal. Others were chatting in that happy, nervous way they do when averting disaster.
She called me from the airplane.
"Please, ma'am, can I do one more?" She didn't want to end on a marginal landing. I said OK.
Recalling my prediction, I swore I would never pre-judge anyone again.
Her approach this time was a little fast, and she landed hard, bouncing 10 feet into the air. At the peak, she added full power and climbed out.
"Good job, Romi," said Paul over the radio. He was proud of her.
"Thank you, sir," we heard her say, no hesitation in her voice.
She came around for one last landing, which went perfect.
It was Valentine's Day, 2008. The day Romi became the first woman to solo an airplane in Nepal.
"I see some improvement, but it's marginal," he said.
"She will never solo," I said.
"This is a career school for career pilots, and we need to maintain a minimum standard," the Chief Instructor said. "If you have the aptitude, you should solo in less than 20 hours."
Romi's father came into town, and he and Romi met with the Chief Instructor behind closed doors. When they came out, they had come to an agreement. Romi would fly 10 more hours. If she did not solo, she would be out. Romi asked me to be her instructor.
"You said I have a knack for flying," Romi said. I don't remember saying that, or anything close to it.
I scheduled her to fly with me every day for the next week.
The first day we took off and Romi performed one of her signature take-offs: heading for the weeds. I saved the day and we climbed up, heading for the practice area. I had talked to Paul about her training, and he told me the tactics he had tried. He tried soft. He tried tough. He tried encouraging. He tried scary. He tried a half-dozen other approaches, but nothing seem to move Romi.
I watched her fly. She had no sense of the airplane. I covered the airspeed indicator, artificial horizon, tachometer, and altimeter. We practiced engine settings by how loud the engine was. We practiced airspeed by the sound of the wind and adjusting for pitch. We practiced rudder control by aiming at Mt. Everest and steering using only rudders. There were so many areas she was lacking, I decided to concentrate on one area at a time. First, we would work on the rudders.
We headed back to the airport and flew a couple of low passes over the runway. There was a 10-knot crosswind, so she got a good feel for the rudders. We tried a few landings, and she started to get the idea.
The next few days, the visibility was too low to go out into the practice area, so we stayed in the pattern and did touch and goes. Here they call it "Circuits and landings."
"Stay on the centerline," I told her as we took off. She jammed in too much right rudder and I cringed, thinking about the side loads we were creating. She reacted by jamming in the left rudder, and we careened the other way.
"Forget the centerline," I said. "Just keep the airplane straight." My standards were lowering.
For the next 4 days, we did nothing but touch and goes. I kept the instruments covered. She kept improving. The last day, I got into the airplane and decided to say nothing. I wanted to see what she would do.
Her take-off was actually good. On downwind, she asked, "Add flaps now, ma'am?"
I said nothing.
She thought for a moment and added the flaps. She stopped asking me what to do.
Her landing wasn't great, but for the first time I didn't feel my life was in danger.
That day she did 10 landings and take-offs unassisted. She was ready to solo, but the direct crosswind was around 12 knots - too much for a solo student.
That night I mentioned to the Chief Instructor that Romi was ready to solo. I also informed the Dispatcher, because he had to prepare the paperwork. The news spread like wildfire. The Chief Ground Instructor found out. The Kathmandu office found out. Romi and the other students found out. Romi's father found out. The tower controllers found out.
The next morning, I met Romi at the airport. It was hazy and winds were light. We got in the airplane together so I could make sure she hadn't forgotten how to fly overnight.
She did three passable take-offs and landings. Not great, but not dangerous.
I got out of the airplane and she went up to the tower to file her solo flight plan. After she climbed the four flights of stairs, she found the controllers had all locked themselves in the tower and wouldn't open the door. She persisted, and they finally let her in, accepting her flight plan.
The entire hangar crew were seated on the ramp ready for the show. Paul and the Chief Instructor came to watch. Her fellow students came out to give her support.
I gave her the usual pre-solo advice and told her to make 3 landings to a full stop, and to taxi back to the end of the runway for each take-off.
She started up the airplane like a pro and taxied out.
Her take-offs were all great. Her first landing was OK. Her second landing was perfect (even on the centerline). Her third landing was wobbly. At each landing, her normally timid voice became stronger and louder over the radio as she acknowledged the tower.
I realized I had been holding my breath. My heart rate was going back to normal. Others were chatting in that happy, nervous way they do when averting disaster.
She called me from the airplane.
"Please, ma'am, can I do one more?" She didn't want to end on a marginal landing. I said OK.
Recalling my prediction, I swore I would never pre-judge anyone again.
Her approach this time was a little fast, and she landed hard, bouncing 10 feet into the air. At the peak, she added full power and climbed out.
"Good job, Romi," said Paul over the radio. He was proud of her.
"Thank you, sir," we heard her say, no hesitation in her voice.
She came around for one last landing, which went perfect.
It was Valentine's Day, 2008. The day Romi became the first woman to solo an airplane in Nepal.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Romi
Petite, beautiful, and intelligent 23-year old Romi is the female student at our flight school. She was taking a long time to solo. Her instructor was continuing to see improvement with each flight, but after 30 hours, he did not feel she could safely go by herself.
“What’s going on with her?” I asked.
“She doesn’t seem to have any sense of self-preservation,” he said.
We decided I would fly with her to see if I could help.
“Let’s go out to the practice area,” I suggested to Romi, “and then we’ll come back and do touch-and-goes.”
We lined up at the end of the runway for take-off. The tower gave us clearance. Romi added power and began rolling. At the correct airspeed, she yanked back the stick and the airplane leaped into the air nose-high. It was too high for that close to the ground, so I grabbed the stick and lowered the nose, gained airspeed, then climbed out. At about 500 feet above the ground, I gave the airplane back to her.
“That was terrible,” I said. I thought maybe I made her nervous. She said nothing.
In the practice area, she performed all maneuvers well, holding altitude and airspeed. Her stalls and slow-flight were good. I was encouraged.
Back in the pattern, she prepared for landing. The approach was a little fast, but not outrageous. I waited to see what she would do. The runway got closer. Still too fast. Just above the runway I could tell she was not going to flare, so I grabbed the controls and averted disaster.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“OK. Let’s try it again.”
She added power and headed for the left side of the runway.
“Right rudder! Right rudder!” I said. She did not respond and the airplane continued to the edge of the runway. I pushed the right rudder and straightened the airplane as we took off again.
This was going nowhere.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I think I’m afraid of the ground,” she said.
That’s a problem, I thought.
We tried another landing, but it was horrible. She should be much better than this at 30 hours. We called it a day.
“What’s wrong with me?” she asked when we were back at the hangar. If I knew, I would fix it. I asked her about her family and why she wanted to fly.
Her father was an important person in Kathmandu. Her sister had gone to Arizona for flight training, and had gotten her license, so there was a little sisterly competition there. Romi had completed all her ground school classes with top grades, and had aced her written tests, so she was smart. She was raised as a city girl, and never drove a car or rode a bicycle. She had not operated any machinery of any kind in her life before flying.
I took her off the schedule and told her to learn to ride a bicycle. If she could master the coordination it takes to stay upright and on the road, it might help her with her flying. Her classmates helped her learn to ride, by holding the bike for her while she got on, and giving her a push to get her started. Bicycles are prevalent here, and there are many people willing to let her borrow one at any time.
I talked with her some more, and agreed to fly with her if there was time at the end of the day. This actually happens a lot, and the students are alert for extra opportunities to fly. Romi, however, never showed up for those times.
The Chief Instructor talked to her about her goals and options, and it looks like Romi is going to look into another career.
“What’s going on with her?” I asked.
“She doesn’t seem to have any sense of self-preservation,” he said.
We decided I would fly with her to see if I could help.
“Let’s go out to the practice area,” I suggested to Romi, “and then we’ll come back and do touch-and-goes.”
We lined up at the end of the runway for take-off. The tower gave us clearance. Romi added power and began rolling. At the correct airspeed, she yanked back the stick and the airplane leaped into the air nose-high. It was too high for that close to the ground, so I grabbed the stick and lowered the nose, gained airspeed, then climbed out. At about 500 feet above the ground, I gave the airplane back to her.
“That was terrible,” I said. I thought maybe I made her nervous. She said nothing.
In the practice area, she performed all maneuvers well, holding altitude and airspeed. Her stalls and slow-flight were good. I was encouraged.
Back in the pattern, she prepared for landing. The approach was a little fast, but not outrageous. I waited to see what she would do. The runway got closer. Still too fast. Just above the runway I could tell she was not going to flare, so I grabbed the controls and averted disaster.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“OK. Let’s try it again.”
She added power and headed for the left side of the runway.
“Right rudder! Right rudder!” I said. She did not respond and the airplane continued to the edge of the runway. I pushed the right rudder and straightened the airplane as we took off again.
This was going nowhere.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I think I’m afraid of the ground,” she said.
That’s a problem, I thought.
We tried another landing, but it was horrible. She should be much better than this at 30 hours. We called it a day.
“What’s wrong with me?” she asked when we were back at the hangar. If I knew, I would fix it. I asked her about her family and why she wanted to fly.
Her father was an important person in Kathmandu. Her sister had gone to Arizona for flight training, and had gotten her license, so there was a little sisterly competition there. Romi had completed all her ground school classes with top grades, and had aced her written tests, so she was smart. She was raised as a city girl, and never drove a car or rode a bicycle. She had not operated any machinery of any kind in her life before flying.
I took her off the schedule and told her to learn to ride a bicycle. If she could master the coordination it takes to stay upright and on the road, it might help her with her flying. Her classmates helped her learn to ride, by holding the bike for her while she got on, and giving her a push to get her started. Bicycles are prevalent here, and there are many people willing to let her borrow one at any time.
I talked with her some more, and agreed to fly with her if there was time at the end of the day. This actually happens a lot, and the students are alert for extra opportunities to fly. Romi, however, never showed up for those times.
The Chief Instructor talked to her about her goals and options, and it looks like Romi is going to look into another career.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Ram Babu
A striking young man walked into my office. Tall, dark, wide-shoulders, narrow hips – he looked the perfect pilot.
“I am Rambo,” he said softly. He blushed shyly.
I looked at the cover of his logbook and read the name he had written. “Ram Bah Boo,” I said in my American accent.
“Yes, Rammaboo,” he pronounced. “I say ‘Rambo’ because most westerners can’t hear my name. He smiled, showing his perfect white teeth. I was enchanted.
Ram Babu made history when he became the first person to solo an aircraft in Nepal. By the time I arrived, he was ready to start the cross-country phase of his flying. We flew to the airport in Bhairawa, then back to Bharatpur with great success.
One day at the end of teaching, I was ready to go home. My driver was helping to fuel the airplane, so I would have to wait a few minutes. Ram Babu noticed the motorcycle at the back of the hangar that our boss lets us use.
“Take the bike,” he urged.
I thought back to the last time I had ridden a bike, and realized it was about 30 years ago.
“It’s OK,” he said, “You should take the bike.”
How hard can it be, I thought.
“Do you know how to ride,” I asked. He nodded.
I talked him into taking the bike to the student housing area, which was about half-way home, and I would ride on the back. At the student housing, I practiced on the bike in the courtyard.
“Which is the clutch?” I asked.
“This is the clutch and this is the brake,” he said.
I did a couple of donuts, then declared myself ready to go. I headed off for the main road and was on my way. I tried shifting gears, but was unsuccessful. I drove home in first gear.
That’s not as terrible as it might sound. Traffic here is slow, and no one thinks it odd if you are not speeding.
I made it home without incident, feeling good about my minor accomplishment. I need more practice, I realized, and promised myself to try this again.
Ten minutes later, Ram Babu appeared at my door.
“I was worried, ma’am,” he said. “I saw you go off in the wrong direction.” I had taken the long way home, but it was the only route I knew. He had borrowed another motorcycle and had followed my trail, fearing he would find me in a ditch or crashed on the road.
“No, I’m fine,” I said casually. “You taught me well. Now you can sign my logbook – dual instruction on a motorcycle.”
“I am Rambo,” he said softly. He blushed shyly.
I looked at the cover of his logbook and read the name he had written. “Ram Bah Boo,” I said in my American accent.
“Yes, Rammaboo,” he pronounced. “I say ‘Rambo’ because most westerners can’t hear my name. He smiled, showing his perfect white teeth. I was enchanted.
Ram Babu made history when he became the first person to solo an aircraft in Nepal. By the time I arrived, he was ready to start the cross-country phase of his flying. We flew to the airport in Bhairawa, then back to Bharatpur with great success.
One day at the end of teaching, I was ready to go home. My driver was helping to fuel the airplane, so I would have to wait a few minutes. Ram Babu noticed the motorcycle at the back of the hangar that our boss lets us use.
“Take the bike,” he urged.
I thought back to the last time I had ridden a bike, and realized it was about 30 years ago.
“It’s OK,” he said, “You should take the bike.”
How hard can it be, I thought.
“Do you know how to ride,” I asked. He nodded.
I talked him into taking the bike to the student housing area, which was about half-way home, and I would ride on the back. At the student housing, I practiced on the bike in the courtyard.
“Which is the clutch?” I asked.
“This is the clutch and this is the brake,” he said.
I did a couple of donuts, then declared myself ready to go. I headed off for the main road and was on my way. I tried shifting gears, but was unsuccessful. I drove home in first gear.
That’s not as terrible as it might sound. Traffic here is slow, and no one thinks it odd if you are not speeding.
I made it home without incident, feeling good about my minor accomplishment. I need more practice, I realized, and promised myself to try this again.
Ten minutes later, Ram Babu appeared at my door.
“I was worried, ma’am,” he said. “I saw you go off in the wrong direction.” I had taken the long way home, but it was the only route I knew. He had borrowed another motorcycle and had followed my trail, fearing he would find me in a ditch or crashed on the road.
“No, I’m fine,” I said casually. “You taught me well. Now you can sign my logbook – dual instruction on a motorcycle.”
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Flying
Our flight school currently has 8 students. This is the first school in Nepal, which has created some unique problems. The government does not know what to do with a flight school as far as regulations go, so they require our school to follow the same regulations the airlines use. We have a Director of Maintenance, a Scheduling Manager, a Ground Crew Chief and several ground crew, a Chief Trainer, a Chief Flight Instructor, and many other staff members. And one airplane.
Our students (affectionately known as ‘the first batch’) are young, intelligent, and eager to fly.
The weather has been hazy or foggy for the past 2 months. Our airport does not have an instrument approach nor does it have runway lighting. This means we can’t go out when the weather is bad and we can’t land at night. If the tower guys can see the hills off one end of the runway, and the trees off the other, the airport is open. Of course, if you are an airline, the airport is always open. To us, the flight school, the airport is often closed.
The haze has not been good for ground reference maneuvers, but is great for instrument practice. So we created our own instrument approach, using the GPS, complete with procedure turn. The students love this. We go up when the tower allows, practice holding patterns, and come in using our instrument approach. They feel like they are really flying.
Most of them are ready for their Private Pilot check ride, except for their long cross-country. We are waiting for the weather to break before we let them do that. We are told that will be soon. We can only hope. Meanwhile, they are getting instrument training, and will soon get their Commercial training. When our twin-engine Seneca arrives, they will get multi-engine training. For their final flight before their final check-ride, they will take the Seneca into Kathmandu.
Our students (affectionately known as ‘the first batch’) are young, intelligent, and eager to fly.
The weather has been hazy or foggy for the past 2 months. Our airport does not have an instrument approach nor does it have runway lighting. This means we can’t go out when the weather is bad and we can’t land at night. If the tower guys can see the hills off one end of the runway, and the trees off the other, the airport is open. Of course, if you are an airline, the airport is always open. To us, the flight school, the airport is often closed.
The haze has not been good for ground reference maneuvers, but is great for instrument practice. So we created our own instrument approach, using the GPS, complete with procedure turn. The students love this. We go up when the tower allows, practice holding patterns, and come in using our instrument approach. They feel like they are really flying.
Most of them are ready for their Private Pilot check ride, except for their long cross-country. We are waiting for the weather to break before we let them do that. We are told that will be soon. We can only hope. Meanwhile, they are getting instrument training, and will soon get their Commercial training. When our twin-engine Seneca arrives, they will get multi-engine training. For their final flight before their final check-ride, they will take the Seneca into Kathmandu.
Monday, February 4, 2008
It’s Good to be 84
Shaven invited us to his house for dinner the other day. “I’m having a few friends over,” he said.
We arrived around 5:30 to find the street in front of his house lined with dozens of people waiting to get in. The front of his house was open, and there was a tent erected, full of small brass cups, an ornate religious paintings, and purple flower petals covering everything. Scarlet red silk cloth decorated with gold thread further decorated the scene.
It was his father’s 84th birthday. It is their custom that when a person turns 84, every blessing he gives comes true. People started lining up at dawn to give the old man gifts and to receive a blessing.
The old man was seated against one wall of the tent, surrounded by several women dressed in matching scarlet red and gold silk. Each guest would kneel before the man, presenting his gift and a couple pieces of fruit. One of the women would take the gift (usually a scarf, shawl, or pillow) and place it in a large duffle bag. Another woman would take the fruit and place it in a large bowl. The guest would take some Tikah (red vermillion paste) from a bowl on the floor, and place in on the old man’s forehead. One of the other women would take a piece of fruit from the bowl (often the same fruit the guest had brought), wrap it in an empty envelope and hand it to the old man. He in turn would give it to the guest, then place the Tikah on the guest’s forehead while giving his blessing. This went on all day, with no break. The old man looked as if he could do this for a few more days.
Shaven then took us around to the back of the house. About fifty plastic patio chairs were lined up, and people were eating. We went to the buffet line and had a terrific Nepali meal. I don’t know what we ate, but it was all very good: some spicy, some sweet, some vegetables I don’t recognize, some kind of rice. I ate a little of everything. The caterers had been at it since about 11:00 and were going strong, expecting to be there for a few more hours. They served the meal on metal plates – no paper plates here. The only thing to drink was filtered water.
We were introduced to some of Shaven’s friends and relatives, including his brother who used to be in the Nepali Congress.
We arrived around 5:30 to find the street in front of his house lined with dozens of people waiting to get in. The front of his house was open, and there was a tent erected, full of small brass cups, an ornate religious paintings, and purple flower petals covering everything. Scarlet red silk cloth decorated with gold thread further decorated the scene.
It was his father’s 84th birthday. It is their custom that when a person turns 84, every blessing he gives comes true. People started lining up at dawn to give the old man gifts and to receive a blessing.
The old man was seated against one wall of the tent, surrounded by several women dressed in matching scarlet red and gold silk. Each guest would kneel before the man, presenting his gift and a couple pieces of fruit. One of the women would take the gift (usually a scarf, shawl, or pillow) and place it in a large duffle bag. Another woman would take the fruit and place it in a large bowl. The guest would take some Tikah (red vermillion paste) from a bowl on the floor, and place in on the old man’s forehead. One of the other women would take a piece of fruit from the bowl (often the same fruit the guest had brought), wrap it in an empty envelope and hand it to the old man. He in turn would give it to the guest, then place the Tikah on the guest’s forehead while giving his blessing. This went on all day, with no break. The old man looked as if he could do this for a few more days.
Shaven then took us around to the back of the house. About fifty plastic patio chairs were lined up, and people were eating. We went to the buffet line and had a terrific Nepali meal. I don’t know what we ate, but it was all very good: some spicy, some sweet, some vegetables I don’t recognize, some kind of rice. I ate a little of everything. The caterers had been at it since about 11:00 and were going strong, expecting to be there for a few more hours. They served the meal on metal plates – no paper plates here. The only thing to drink was filtered water.
We were introduced to some of Shaven’s friends and relatives, including his brother who used to be in the Nepali Congress.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Nepal Law Enforcement
The Police force in Nepal is very small and highly specialized. The Traffic Police direct traffic during rush hour. Traffic laws are loosely followed and are difficult to enforce, because there are not a lot of Traffic Police. People drive on the left side of the road and there are no speed limits except in Kathmandu. It’s tough to speed, though, because there are bicycles, pedestrians, and buffalo in the way. Passing into oncoming traffic is common – just blow your horn and go. The Traffic Police issue a few tickets and write accident reports. There is no car insurance. If someone is injured, all the locals swarm the area and stop traffic until someone pays for the victim’s medical expenses. If someone is killed, no matter whose fault it is, a high payment is demanded. All traffic stops until the victims are satisfied. A recent accident blocked a major highway. The police came and cleared the road. The locals were so angry, they stormed the police station and burned the furniture.
If a robbery, burglary, or other crime occurs, the victims must go to the Police Station and complete a report. Except in high-profile cases, investigations are rare and crimes are seldom solved.
The Tourist Police only exist in tourist areas like Kathmandu and Pokhara. If a tourist encounters a problem, such as a theft, they go to the Tourist Police. Tourist property is never recovered, mostly because the police are so understaffed.
For major security, the Nepal Army is used, and bases are scattered in strategic locations. There are several small army bases in Bharatpur, including one at the airport. The base consist of a main house used for sleeping, and a couple of out-shacks used for laundry and cooking. The army guards the entrance to the airport and provides airport security, including passenger security checks and clearing the runway of livestock. About 20 soldiers are stationed there, all young men. The 3 women soldiers live in a small house on the other end of the airport.
At dawn (around 7:00) the soldiers exercise (I can hear their cadence from my bedroom about a mile away), then march down the main road to the market area. About half of them are armed with old WWII rifles. A few others carry a 5 foot bamboo pole as their weapon. Still others might carry a large knife (similar to a Bowie knife), or no weapon at all. Their uniforms are blue and grey camouflage, which looks out of place in this green semi-tropical area, but is very distinctive.
Their main job is to counter-act political activists, usually members of the Maoist party. The Maoists are the most vocal and violent and aggressive of the many political parties in Nepal. The complex political situation in Nepal stems from such a small poor country composed of many diverse and needy groups of people. Recently, the government defined 56 different peoples in Nepal, yet there were protests from those not included in the list. It would take years of study to understand the politics here.
Consumer laws do not exist. They have been drafted, but never put into law. So fraud is common. When enough people are defrauded, riots break out, as that is the only way to solve the situation.
A recent job fair in Kathmandu promised job interviews and positions to attendees. The job seekers were surprised to find they had to pay a fee to enter, and got upset on finding no job offers, only schools offering training. They started tearing up the furniture and booths. The police were called, but could do nothing. The army arrived, armed with bullet-proof shields and tear gas. The last 16 protesters remaining were then arrested by the police and held overnight in jail. They were not fined or further punished. The job organizers were also not held accountable. They must have gotten pressure from somewhere, however, as a few days later they refunded the entry fee from behind a protective barricade.
The banks in Nepal are also notorious for fraud. If you put Rs 10,000 in your account, the next day there might only be Rs 5,000. Upon confronting the bank you would be told that someone must have used your ATM card to withdraw funds. No further investigation or no recovery of money. People have started taking their money out of these banks, so these banks are failing. The banks doing international business do not seem to have this problem. Some clean-up of the corruption is taking place, but slowly. This problem has been going on for decades and is a way of life.
If a robbery, burglary, or other crime occurs, the victims must go to the Police Station and complete a report. Except in high-profile cases, investigations are rare and crimes are seldom solved.
The Tourist Police only exist in tourist areas like Kathmandu and Pokhara. If a tourist encounters a problem, such as a theft, they go to the Tourist Police. Tourist property is never recovered, mostly because the police are so understaffed.
For major security, the Nepal Army is used, and bases are scattered in strategic locations. There are several small army bases in Bharatpur, including one at the airport. The base consist of a main house used for sleeping, and a couple of out-shacks used for laundry and cooking. The army guards the entrance to the airport and provides airport security, including passenger security checks and clearing the runway of livestock. About 20 soldiers are stationed there, all young men. The 3 women soldiers live in a small house on the other end of the airport.
At dawn (around 7:00) the soldiers exercise (I can hear their cadence from my bedroom about a mile away), then march down the main road to the market area. About half of them are armed with old WWII rifles. A few others carry a 5 foot bamboo pole as their weapon. Still others might carry a large knife (similar to a Bowie knife), or no weapon at all. Their uniforms are blue and grey camouflage, which looks out of place in this green semi-tropical area, but is very distinctive.
Their main job is to counter-act political activists, usually members of the Maoist party. The Maoists are the most vocal and violent and aggressive of the many political parties in Nepal. The complex political situation in Nepal stems from such a small poor country composed of many diverse and needy groups of people. Recently, the government defined 56 different peoples in Nepal, yet there were protests from those not included in the list. It would take years of study to understand the politics here.
Consumer laws do not exist. They have been drafted, but never put into law. So fraud is common. When enough people are defrauded, riots break out, as that is the only way to solve the situation.
A recent job fair in Kathmandu promised job interviews and positions to attendees. The job seekers were surprised to find they had to pay a fee to enter, and got upset on finding no job offers, only schools offering training. They started tearing up the furniture and booths. The police were called, but could do nothing. The army arrived, armed with bullet-proof shields and tear gas. The last 16 protesters remaining were then arrested by the police and held overnight in jail. They were not fined or further punished. The job organizers were also not held accountable. They must have gotten pressure from somewhere, however, as a few days later they refunded the entry fee from behind a protective barricade.
The banks in Nepal are also notorious for fraud. If you put Rs 10,000 in your account, the next day there might only be Rs 5,000. Upon confronting the bank you would be told that someone must have used your ATM card to withdraw funds. No further investigation or no recovery of money. People have started taking their money out of these banks, so these banks are failing. The banks doing international business do not seem to have this problem. Some clean-up of the corruption is taking place, but slowly. This problem has been going on for decades and is a way of life.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
The Importance of the Sun
Heaters and furnaces are rare in Nepal. Central Heating does not exist. Fireplaces do not exist. If entertaining outdoors, a fire will be started in a firepit. In areas of high elevation, the people simply dress warm and sleep in frigid rooms. When the sun comes up, everyone goes out to their balconies and rooftops to get warm. From my bedroom, I can hear people in the neighborhood talking: mothers and their babies, young men brushing their teeth as they get ready for work, and merchants walking the streets shouting their wares. The sun is the only source of heat.
To get warm after a chilly day, I take a hot shower. The room fills with moist air, that soon becomes frigid. At night I have heavy blankets and quilts, and can keep quite warm. During the day I am active and can dress warmly. After work, however, when I am sitting around watching TV or reading is when I am most cold. Life here is very simple.
Nepal is suffering from an energy shortage, so they cut off the electricity for about 6 hours a day - usually 3 hours in the morning and 3 hours in the evening. The only thing we use electricity for is TV, lights, and the internet. Since the main time I have to get on the internet is in the evening, this makes things difficult. We have a generator at the house, so we always have lights, but the cable TV does not work then.
It has been very foggy lately. We haven't been able to fly very much. Somedays we manage to squeeze in one flight, but mostly we just watch the weather. The students tell me the weather should break next week, and the flying will be very good. They are anxious to continue their training and get their licenses.
To get warm after a chilly day, I take a hot shower. The room fills with moist air, that soon becomes frigid. At night I have heavy blankets and quilts, and can keep quite warm. During the day I am active and can dress warmly. After work, however, when I am sitting around watching TV or reading is when I am most cold. Life here is very simple.
Nepal is suffering from an energy shortage, so they cut off the electricity for about 6 hours a day - usually 3 hours in the morning and 3 hours in the evening. The only thing we use electricity for is TV, lights, and the internet. Since the main time I have to get on the internet is in the evening, this makes things difficult. We have a generator at the house, so we always have lights, but the cable TV does not work then.
It has been very foggy lately. We haven't been able to fly very much. Somedays we manage to squeeze in one flight, but mostly we just watch the weather. The students tell me the weather should break next week, and the flying will be very good. They are anxious to continue their training and get their licenses.
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