Read Online Calico Pennants by David A. Ross - Free Book Online
Authors: David A. Ross
Tags: Fiction - General
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such as Qala-en Hahl, Umm Shinayshin, Abu Seid, Idd el Bashir, Fazi, Marabia Abu Fas...
From Massawa they continued down the Red Sea coast to the ancient port of Assab in Italian-controlled Eritrea. Here the temperature approached one hundred degrees, and they flew at low altitude over groups of nomad shepherds who pointed skyward with great excitement at the Electra. Amelia conjectured that it was possible many of these Tigre people had never before seen an airplane.
Expressly forbidden to land on Arab soil, the pilot flew around the Arabian Peninsula, then northwest of the Indus River delta, all the way to Karachi. There she talked with G.P. by telephone.
“I wish you were here,” she told him. “So many things you would enjoy... Perhaps someday we can fly together to some of the remote places of the world—just for fun!”
At Calcutta the air field was sodden. With even more monsoon rain in the forecast, they decided to refuel and take off immediately for Burma. The plane clung to the sticky soil of the runway for what seemed like ages before the wheels finally lifted. They cleared the fringe of trees at the aerodrome’s edge with only inches to spare.
Now en route for eighteen days, they turned inland from the Gulf of Martaban and flew twenty-five miles over saturated rice paddies to the city of Rangoon. After a formal State reception they were taken by proud and friendly Burmese officials to visit the Shwe Dagon Pagoda, the core of Burmese religious life. They learned about Alaungpaya, founder of the final royal dynasty in Burma, and about the history of Rangoon, whose name, they were told, translated roughly to mean, ‘the end of strife.’
By now the rigors of travel coupled with the enforced manners of cultural exchange had begun to take its toll. Patience between pilot and navigator had been well tested, but even as feelings between them began to turn ambivalent, such experiences were not lightly shared.
In Bangkok, they rode elephants and toured the exotic canal-lined streets with characteristic houses perched upon stilts. They walked through the street markets and visited the extraordinary walled Grand Palace to see the Wat Po and the Wat Emerald Buddha.
Hemmed in by volcanic peaks covered with vegetation, Bandung, on the Island of Java, was refreshing with its cool, wet, upland climate. Here their take-off was delayed by bad weather, though neither Amelia nor Fred was particularly upset. They were tired and needed rest. Furthermore, three of the Electra’s long distance instruments had been malfunctioning. The fuel analyzer, the flow meter, and generator meter would be crucial for the upcoming over-water flights. So the equipment was repaired while they waited for a break in the monsoon.
They finally took off from Bandung on the twenty-seventh of June. Stopping in nearby Jakarta, they indulged themselves in a dinner of rijsttafel, a traditional Indonesian feast consisting of rice with no less than twenty-one courses of fish, chicken, meats, eggs, relishes, curries, nuts, fruits, vegetables, and sauces. Unfortunately, a hit-and-run bout with dysentery followed. Already fatigued, the illness further compromised Amelia’s faltering endurance.
En route to Port Darwin, Australia, the pilot again noticed the unmistakable smell of gasoline—a rupture whose source had so far not been identified even during several all-out overhauls. Confined and virtually immobile for long periods of time in the cockpit, the pervasive vapors made her feel ill as she flew. Mechanics in Port Darwin meticulously inspected the plane point by point, but ultimately found no breach in the fuel system.
The relentless pace of travel dictated by State clearances was proving to be exhausting. In less than a month they’d circumnavigated two thirds of the globe, stopping infrequently for rest. At each layover numerous details demanded attention. Customs inspections and forms, fumigation of the Electra, inoculation certificates,
From Massawa they continued down the Red Sea coast to the ancient port of Assab in Italian-controlled Eritrea. Here the temperature approached one hundred degrees, and they flew at low altitude over groups of nomad shepherds who pointed skyward with great excitement at the Electra. Amelia conjectured that it was possible many of these Tigre people had never before seen an airplane.
Expressly forbidden to land on Arab soil, the pilot flew around the Arabian Peninsula, then northwest of the Indus River delta, all the way to Karachi. There she talked with G.P. by telephone.
“I wish you were here,” she told him. “So many things you would enjoy... Perhaps someday we can fly together to some of the remote places of the world—just for fun!”
At Calcutta the air field was sodden. With even more monsoon rain in the forecast, they decided to refuel and take off immediately for Burma. The plane clung to the sticky soil of the runway for what seemed like ages before the wheels finally lifted. They cleared the fringe of trees at the aerodrome’s edge with only inches to spare.
Now en route for eighteen days, they turned inland from the Gulf of Martaban and flew twenty-five miles over saturated rice paddies to the city of Rangoon. After a formal State reception they were taken by proud and friendly Burmese officials to visit the Shwe Dagon Pagoda, the core of Burmese religious life. They learned about Alaungpaya, founder of the final royal dynasty in Burma, and about the history of Rangoon, whose name, they were told, translated roughly to mean, ‘the end of strife.’
By now the rigors of travel coupled with the enforced manners of cultural exchange had begun to take its toll. Patience between pilot and navigator had been well tested, but even as feelings between them began to turn ambivalent, such experiences were not lightly shared.
In Bangkok, they rode elephants and toured the exotic canal-lined streets with characteristic houses perched upon stilts. They walked through the street markets and visited the extraordinary walled Grand Palace to see the Wat Po and the Wat Emerald Buddha.
Hemmed in by volcanic peaks covered with vegetation, Bandung, on the Island of Java, was refreshing with its cool, wet, upland climate. Here their take-off was delayed by bad weather, though neither Amelia nor Fred was particularly upset. They were tired and needed rest. Furthermore, three of the Electra’s long distance instruments had been malfunctioning. The fuel analyzer, the flow meter, and generator meter would be crucial for the upcoming over-water flights. So the equipment was repaired while they waited for a break in the monsoon.
They finally took off from Bandung on the twenty-seventh of June. Stopping in nearby Jakarta, they indulged themselves in a dinner of rijsttafel, a traditional Indonesian feast consisting of rice with no less than twenty-one courses of fish, chicken, meats, eggs, relishes, curries, nuts, fruits, vegetables, and sauces. Unfortunately, a hit-and-run bout with dysentery followed. Already fatigued, the illness further compromised Amelia’s faltering endurance.
En route to Port Darwin, Australia, the pilot again noticed the unmistakable smell of gasoline—a rupture whose source had so far not been identified even during several all-out overhauls. Confined and virtually immobile for long periods of time in the cockpit, the pervasive vapors made her feel ill as she flew. Mechanics in Port Darwin meticulously inspected the plane point by point, but ultimately found no breach in the fuel system.
The relentless pace of travel dictated by State clearances was proving to be exhausting. In less than a month they’d circumnavigated two thirds of the globe, stopping infrequently for rest. At each layover numerous details demanded attention. Customs inspections and forms, fumigation of the Electra, inoculation certificates,
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