Finally!
With a contented sigh I sank down in my seat on the KLM flight which was to get me from Amsterdam and home - the final leg of my return journey after three weeks working offshore in the Molucca Sea off Indonesia's Sulawesi island. I was jetlagged as fuck, tired beyond belief and could definitely use a shower - but in a few minutes, I'd be sitting here, gin tonic in hand, knowing that in three hours or so, I'd be in my bathtub, soaking myself - then be off to an early night and, with any luck, a good night's sleep.
Some journeys are almost relaxing, but this had been anything but - from the moment my chase boat was delayed getting from the vessel I'd worked on to Bitung, the last 30 hours had been a race against the clock - first to get on the flight to Jakarta - which I had missed by mere minutes, and the only thing causing me not to miss my connection to Amsterdam had been a speedy rebooking onto the next flight, a wing and a prayer. To catch my onward flight, I'd had the dubious privilege of running like mad from the domestic to the international terminal at Soetta - with sixty kilos of luggage in tow, as checking the luggage through was not an option.
I'd been one of the last passengers to board, and the only thing (I believed!) keeping me from being told in a curt voice that the gate was closed was that I had quite literally millions of bonus miles with KLM. Whether my luggage showed up at my destination of Aalesund or not, I had no idea. Probably not. Not that I cared. I'd be home.
I absentmindedly listened to the familiar drone of the safety demo - hearing it more than a hundred times a year, I was quite confident I'd be able to recite it verbatim if asked to, but in an attempt to show at least a minimum of respect for the poor soul being given the ungrateful task of conducting it, I tried to at least feign attention.
Moments later, we taxied onto the runway and, a few minutes later, we were airborne, climbing out over the North Sea. I'd flown a thousand times and change, but still felt a childlike thrill every time we left the ground - it seemed almost to defy nature that such a heavy machine could leave the ground behind and gracefully take to the skies...
Glancing out the window, I caught a glimpse of a Dutch field, still able to make out the cows grazing - just. As the initial climb was complete and our climb angle grew smaller, I dug out a tattered paperback - Camus' 'The Stranger', which had been on my to read list for ages - and was lost to the world when the stewardess softly asked whether I would like a cup of coffee. I left Meursault for a moment, turning my attention to a snappy, thirty-something stewardess which had this particular Dutch look to her - tall, blonde, distinct features, the bluest eyes one could imagine. I tried to figure out just what features made her stand out as Dutch, but luckily I came to my senses before the silence became awkward and smiled wearily at her. -'Oh, some coffee would be great. Black, no sugar, no cream, no nothing, please. I'll have two if you let me, I've been on my feet for some thirty-odd hours by now.'
She turned on her sympatethic smile, deftly pouring two paper cups of what passes for coffee on an airline while making small talk. -'So, thirty-odd hours, huh? That's too long to have come from the Americas or Africa, so you're on your way from Asia, right?'
I nodded while gratefully accepting the cups. -'The Dutch East Indies. Sulawesi. My connecting flight into Jakarta was delayed, so I ran like mad through the airport in a vain hope to catch the flight which got me here - luckily that, too, was a little delayed, so I got on it juuu-uuust in time. Judging from the -deserved, I might add- looks I got from the other pax, they probably thought the plane had been holding for me.' She giggled. -'I believe the politically correct term nowadays is 'Indonesia'. Oh, and with your Flying Blue status, I assure you they WERE waiting for you. As long as they will not have to rebook the takeoff slot, they will wait for a Platinum member.'
-'Oh.' I blushed a little - fair enough, I appreciated the perks of being a frequent flier, but I felt somewhat ill at ease knowing that I'd kept hundreds of people waiting, if only for a few minutes. -'I hope you don't feel stalked or something,' she said -'But the bonus levels are noted on the passenger manifest, that's why.'
Just as she'd said that, the passenger in the seat in front of me decided now was a good a time as any to recklessly recline his seatback; he'd probably not pushed the release catch all the way in, and decided force would get the job done; it did, but it also ensured the cup I was not holding spilled into my lap, immediately stinging like hell.
Luckily my stewardess was a clear-headed woman of action, as it turned out. Hardly had the coffee soaked into my trousers before she had a large bottle of water out, turning it upside down over me and giving it a good squeeze, soaking me and my seat in cold water; the stinging pain immediately subsided, but of course - I'd gotten a new problem, though probably a more manageable and less painful one than burns in my crotch.
Immediate crisis averted, she exclaimed -'I'm most sorry, Sir, but I believe you're better off wet than burned, no? Does it hurt?'
I quickly replied she had nothing at all to apologise for, and that if anything, I ought to be grateful - while dead tired, I was still bright enough to realise that her quick thinking had probably kept me from getting burns in a place where it would hurt. Bad.
It turned out KLM had a plan for what to do in such circumstances - well, either that, or I had been treated to an exceptionally quick-witted specimen of the species Stewardessicus Dutchus. After asking me to stay put (Well, what else ought I do?), she got be a blanket from an overhead compartment and tucked it over me. -'Sadly there's no way we can get to your luggage before we're on the ground in Ålesund, and that'll be in another hour and a half, I'm afraid. I'll ask the first officer whether he's got a spare pair of trousers in his cupboard - he's just about your size, probably not quite as tall, but close enough. Give me a minute.'
And with that, she disappeared again, and I sat back - slightly confused, wet and cold - but, all things considered, quite satisfied. I could have been a lot worse off. Heck, it even appeared that none of my fellow passengers had even noticed anything had happened at all - except maybe wondering why the trolley round had been paused.
