The flight Attendant Down The Street

I AM WAITING in the gatehouse for my airplane to arrive. It is Christmas Eve and I am working, as usual. I am eating Christmas cookies a flight attendant on my crew has baked. My favorite Christmas carols are playing on my playlist, Mariah Carey singing O Holy Night soaring

AM GREETING passengers at the boarding door. It is Christmastime. “Happy holidays,” I say with political correctness. One man looks at me and sneers, “Bah humbug!”

“Bah humbug,” I repeat, amused. “Bah humbug? But it’s Christmas! Have you finished your Christmas shopping?” I ask.

I AM READING the predeparture paperwork for my last flight of the day. Listed are the number of passengers, boarding and departure times, name of the agent working the flight, phone number to call if we need help or supplies. Special assistance passengers are listed with names and seat numbers.

I AM INTRODUCING myself to the captain of my flight. We are standing in the doorway of the cockpit before the passengers board. He is tall, lanky, confident. He is extraordinarily handsome, not just attractive but uncommonly so, and I can’t help but notice. He tells me his name is

I AM SHOPPING in a big pet supermarket, looking at treats and toys, colorful collars, large bags of food, everything a pet owner could possibly need or want. I don’t think my dogs are spoiled or indulged as I draw the line at dressing them up in fussy little outfits,

I AM STANDING on a quiet side street in Hiroshima, Japan. A small granite monument indicates what happened right here, 1800 feet above my head. On this very spot, on Monday, August 6, 1945 at 8:15 in the morning, the atomic bomb exploded precisely where I stand, devastating the city

I AM PREPARING the cabin for takeoff. Inside the lavatories are cages filled with small, brightly colored parrots. We have received special dispensation from the Federal Aviation Administration in the States to stow these birdcages in the aircraft lavs for takeoff and landing.

I AM WATCHING Day of the Dead festivities in Oaxaca, Mexico. The holiday is in full swing, welcoming the souls of the dead back to the land of the living for one night a year, to celebrate, to commemorate, to honor and remember those who are gone from our sight.

I AM LEARNING about Dia de los Muertos, a lively holiday celebrated over 5 days when the dead are thought to return to visit the living. Here in Oaxaca, Mexico, the city is resplendent with traditional decorations. Special foods are prepared and eaten. Ofrendas, offerings placed on altars, are seen

I AM ADMIRING a henna tattoo I have gotten in Goa, a vibrant, colorful seaside town on the west coast of India. I love my tattoo. It is temporary, inked on my skin with brownish red henna, a semi-permanent vegetable dye. It will last 2 weeks if I take care

I AM FEELING like an intruder. I came to see a beautiful 400-year-old church in Moldova, somehow built with neither nails nor mortar. The church is stunning, the peaceful grounds neatly groomed. Flowers bloom everywhere. White doves flit around the roof.

I AM PHOTOGRAPHING inhabitants of a dog shelter high on a hill overlooking Dubrovnik, Croatia. The setting is stupendous. I don’t understand why this land hasn’t been appropriated for luxury condos or a beautiful hotel.

I AM DRIVING to the Cape Cross seal colony on the Skeleton Coast in Namibia. This desolate, windswept stretch of sand and driftwood is aptly named. Remains of shipwrecks litter the beach, or sway in the rough surf, too treacherous for a salvage operation, left to slowly rust and rot,

I AM HEADING to the airport in Oaxaca, Mexico with my taxi driver Oscar, a big burly man who smells of cigarettes and speaks very little English. It is 3 o’clock in the morning.

FLYING:

1. If you don’t know what PreCheck is, you shouldn’t be in the line.
2. If you don’t know how to flush it, you’re not allowed to use it.
3. If you’re not going to drink it, don’t order it.
4. Never order red drinks on

I AM MEDITATING in Chiang Mai, Thailand. I arrived a few minutes late. The traffic was terrible and the tuk-tuk driver let me off at the wrong corner of temple Wat Suan Dok. I quickly take a seat in a plastic chair in the meditation room. I am the subject

I AM LOOKING at the skeleton of a 3’6” tall woman on display in a glass case in the Mutter Museum in Philadelphia. Mary Ashberry is her name, dead in childbirth, the year 1856, long before the antibiotics that could have saved her were discovered. Her baby’s cracked, broken skull

I AM LISTENING to a story a pilot is telling me. I had heard it before from flight attendants, but I didn’t quite believe it. I assumed the tale had been embellished with typical flight attendant flair for drama, part exaggeration, part urban legend. The captain assures me it is

I AM SITTING in the gatehouse area, waiting for my airplane to arrive. It will be here ‘any minute’, it is ‘on the ground’. These are the stock answers I always get when I ask gate agents about the arrival of the inbound aircraft. I think these are vague, rote

I AM LISTENING to Taka explain all sorts of interesting things on this tour he is leading deep into the backstreets of Osaka. His tour will show the hidden, the shady, the shoddy, the seamy side of Osaka that tourists never see, the covert side of this big, bustling city

I AM DRIVING through the beautiful Bavarian countryside of Germany, passing charming villages that look like illustrations from a children’s storybook. I stop for coffee and pastries in a little bakery, walk around the village square, peek inside the whitewashed church of St. Michael, decorated with pastel pink burning hearts.

I AM TAXIING out of Jacksonville, Florida this morning. All crew members and passengers are seated, seat belts fastened, the morning sun streaming through the windows, the start of just another day on just another airplane. Today I am the flight attendant in charge and I am sitting on my

I AM SITTING in the front seat of my guide Sayeed’s big white SUV in Doha, Qatar, waiting for the camel races at the Al Shahaniyah racetrack to begin. Qataris treat their camels like racehorses, competing against other camels shipped in from all over the world. A racing camel can

I AM HANGING a coach passenger’s garment bag in the first class coat closet. It is summer and we do not have any coats to hang in the closet, just a couple of suit jackets belonging to a few first class passengers, businessmen flying between meetings, appointments, conferences. I AM

I AM STARING at elephants foraging near my Land Rover in Damaraland, Namibia. Such huge, amazing creatures, walking precisely, deliberately, in search of the next bush, or bough, or tree, with a trunk as dexterous as my hand.

I AM RIDING on the employee parking lot bus at the Tampa airport, my workday finally over. The bus is packed with other employees ending their shifts. It has been a very long day for me, a turnaround, four flights in and out of various airports, Tampa-Atlanta-Milwaukee-Tampa, with several long

I AM DRIVING across the border from Croatia into Montenegro with Djordie, my guide, and Josef, the driver of this small, slightly ramshackle car.

A PILOT IS TELLING me about his job interview at Flying Tigers. A huge freight airline, we also have a tiny passenger branch, a charter for the US military. We take troops to air force bases all over the world.

I AM WATCHING a performance of the National Bunraku Theatre in Osaka, Japan. Everyone in the theatre is Japanese but me. The English translation of the storyline is softly channeling through the headset on my ears. I am enthralled.

I AM STANDING at the aircraft door. We have landed, taxiied to the gate, my door disarmed and ready to open. I wait for the gate agent to give me a thumbs up through the window, indicating the jetway is in place, the door can be safely opened, passengers can

I AM WAITING for the captain to arrive. It is the day after Thanksgiving and we are in San Diego with a fully boarded airplane. The entire crew is here except for the captain. No one knows where he is. The copilot stayed with family the night before, not at

I AM EATING dinner with Beki, a driver for a tour company in Lalibela, Ethiopia. Beki is eager to introduce me to a local dish, tibs. “You will like it,” he assures me. “It is a favorite of Westerners.

I AM SHOPPING in Itaewon, the frantic marketplace in Seoul, Korea, where the locals NEVER shop. Korean girls prefer their designer clothing authentic, are willing to pay full price.

I AM WALKING around Budapest, Hungary, admiring old, beautiful buildings that are crumbling just enough to give the city great charm and character. It is a terrific city for sightseeing on foot. A Hungarian man riding a bicycle is heading in my direction.

I HAVE SIGNED up for spa treatments in a hot spring high in the Andes mountains of Ecuador. The high-pressure jet massage sounds rather interesting, something I have never experienced before.

I AM LIVING in Jerusalem in a tiny flat on the second floor of a building near the King David Hotel. A winding stone staircase leads to apartments on three floors. The neighbor upstairs is a short sturdy blonde woman who keeps trying to set me up with Yaakov, the

I AM EATING lunch in a restaurant in New Delhi, India. The restaurant is beautifully furnished and the food is delicious. The only patrons are foreigners, and tour bus after tour bus pulls up, discharging groups of Europeans.

I AM PANICKING because I have a mosquito bite on the side of my face. I am on vacation in Nepal, heading to India the next day. I chose not to take malaria tablets because the risk is relatively low in the places I am going.

I AM LISTENING intently to a passenger standing in the front galley of my airplane. The service is over, the trash picked up. Passengers are watching movies, listening to music, reading, sleeping, or trying to sleep.

I AM SMOKING a cigar in Pinar del Rio, Cuba, a Montecristo, the cigar of choice of Che Guevara, the revolutionary.

I AM READING the guestbook in F Street Station, a bar in Anchorage, Alaska. It is early January, bitter cold outside, and crewmembers from my airline are the only patrons.

I AM TALKING to a couple in the back galley. She has a seat in coach and he is sitting in first class, but he has walked back to the aft galley to talk to her. They know each other, are together in some way.

I HAVE SCHEDULED a massage in Seoul, Korea. This is my first time here, and the flight attendants have told me about the fabulous, inexpensive massages at the spa in this 5-star hotel.

I AM CHEERING for my favorite sumo rikishi (wrestler) from my seat in the arena in Osaka, Japan. Endo is his name and he is considered very attractive by Japanese standards.

I AM TRAVELING from Seoul, Korea to Vientiane, Laos, the start of a vacation that will take me from the Plain of Jars in Laos to the temples of Angkor Wat in Cambodia to the tunnels of Cu Chi in Vietnam.

I AM HANDING a passenger a bottle of water. She popped into my galley to ask for one and I notice the guy sleeping soundly in the seat next to her.

I AM GIGGLING in the back galley with my flight attendant friends. It is early evening, the service complete, the cabin quiet. There are several hours left in the flight. We are bored.

I AM EATING whole fried crab in a Chinese restaurant in San Francisco, famous for, well, whole fried crab. I am intrigued. How do you fry a whole crab in the shell, and how do you eat it? I grew up here, eating Dungeness at every opportunity, but never fried.

I AM SNORKELING at a site in Palau called The Big Drop Off. I have snorkeled many amazing reefs around the world, from Ras Mohammed in the Red Sea to the barrier reef in Belize, but I have never seen anything quite like what I am gazing at today.

I AM SWAPPING for a trip on the swap board, a computer-based program where flight attendants pick up, drop or swap trips with other flight attendants or with open time, which is a posting of all trips with vacant positions needing coverage.

I AM CAREENING through the streets of Saigon, or should I say Ho Chi Minh City? It’ll always be Saigon to me, a leftover moniker from the war I watched every evening on TV as a young girl.

I AM DRINKING “jungle juice” in a bar in Osan, Korea with a group of American fighter pilots. I have no idea what this purplish concoction is, served in a large communal bowl with straws for everyone.

I AM INTERACTING with a group of Himba women at their village in northern Namibia. These girls are known for their elaborate hairstyles, long plaits like tidy dreadlocks wound with ribbons,

I AM ESCORTING a young boy to his seat. He boards first, before the other passengers, because he is an unaccompanied minor, traveling by himself, no parent with him on this flight.

I AM STANDING in front of a classroom of 15 Laotian teenagers in Phonsavan, Laos. I had read on the Internet that in this somewhat remote northern city, a bit off the typical tourist track, they love it if a native speaker pops in to teach an English class.

I AM KNEELING in a Buddhist temple in Chiang Mai, Thailand. I am getting a sak yant tattoo that will be blessed by a monk. Sak yants are mystical tattoos with magical properties which will protect me from harm, bring me kindness and merit.

I’M JUST AN ORDINARY PERSON. I never thought of becoming a flight attendant. I assumed you had to be 5 feet 10 inches tall, drop dead gorgeous and speak five languages. I was none of those things.

I AM SIGHTSEEING in Hong Kong. The sights and smells on the street are overwhelming. The Chinese eat everything, and it is all for sale, coiled up in baskets, hanging from shop windows, crowded in cages.

I AM STANDING in the December cold in Boston along the route of the Olympic torch relay. My flight attendant friend, Mel, a woman in her mid-fifties, has been chosen to carry the torch for 200 yards, a torch lit in Athens

I AM ACCEPTING a pile of freshly laundered clothes, a hotel employee delivering it to my room. Jeans, shirts, socks, undies. Everything ls so cheap here in Kathmandu so I have the hotel do my laundry

I AM WAITING in the jetway in New Orleans with a young passenger and her mother. A motorized wheelchair will be brought up from the cargo hold for this young girl. She has very closely cropped hair,

IT IS LATE and we are serving dinner on a flight from Frankfurt, Germany to the USA. The food catered out of Germany is delicious, crispy schnitzel with fluffy mashed potatoes,

I AM DRINKING in the Officers Club on Kadena Air Force Base in Okinawa, Japan. I am with my flight attendant crew, having worked a military charter the day before, bringing troops and their dependents to Japan.

I AM WALKING through the fish market in Nagoya, Japan with my guide Takako. I got up early, met her at 7 am, the better to watch the activity in the bustling market. This fish market is more accessible

I AM LOOKING at the menu in a little restaurant in Doha, Qatar. I wanted local food so my hotel suggested this Yemeni place on the fringes of the souk, the bustling marketplace found in every Middle Eastern city.