That’s what Rex said we would be saying in a few years. Remember that trip. I guess that’s all you can say after the past few days.
It’s Friday now. I got home this morning. Since Wednesday morning in Angola, I’ve spent a total of 3 hours sleeping in a real bed. The rest of the time was spent mostly awake, or trying to sleep in a variety of chairs and airplane seats.
The alert among you would realize that this is the week that I normally return home after 28 days of work in sunny Angola. I was particularly optimistic about this particular trip, as the incoming trip was very smooth, and I had dodged the visa bullet by getting my approved work visa back a full week prior to my scheduled departure. I was feeling pretty good – not only had I been lucky with my visa, I’d also been fairly productive at work, and made sure that all 22 pages of my turnover notes described my successes to my alternate in great detail.
On Tuesday morning I’d cleaned my room, packed my personal stuff into my locker and headed for my office, suitcase and backpack in hand. My usual helicopter trip outbound wasn’t going to happen this time as my alternate wasn’t going to meet me, so I was going to join the other folks who head out just after lunch. It was a good thing, as I’d be able to continue my excellent streak of productivity another 5 hours. As I do every morning, I arrived well before starting time to give me a little time on IM with Liz, who was also excited that I was coming home. I was chatting away with her, thinly veiled sexual innuendo liberally distributed through the text.
Then, another friend from camp popped up on IM, “Dude, you better call the 800 number the Houston Express. There’s a rumor that they had to turn back after leaving Houston.” Shakily, I called the number. A Texas accented voice announced that the plane that was to pick me up in Angola had to turn back after flying for 2 hours, and would now be delayed 24 hours.
I typed the news to Liz. Her long hesitation made me believe at first that I’d lost connection with her. Then she acknowledged the news. It’s okay, I thought. I’ll be here another day. Nothing compared to others who’d had problems in the past. Travel department sent emails confirming the news, and the arrangements for Wednesday.
On Wednesday I was a little less productive, but managed to complete a few details that I hadn’t counted on getting done before departure. At 2pm I went over to the waiting area, checked out of camp, and started the journey home. As usual with the home trip, people were happy and chatty, telling stories of past jobs and people they knew, and thinking about the folks at home they would soon see. The Logistics Department avoided driving us all the way to Cabinda on the public road, as the previous day another group of travelers had been delayed several hours due to road works. We were taken to the camp dock and boarded a crew boat for the 40 minute ride to Cabinda dock, and then boarded another bus to be shuttled to the airport, and then our plane. This part of the trip always reminds me of the movie ?Planes, Trains and Automobiles?. Soon, we were winging our way to Luanda and our charter home.
Let me digress for a moment and tell you about the fine aircraft that World Airways has brought to bear as our chariots home. They are somewhat aged Douglas MD-11 wide body airliners. The normal plane we use has been retrofitted inside with 32 rows of business class seats and only 5 rows of economy. The business seats are not top of the line, but they are definitely more comfortable than economy class for the 15 hour flight home. Unfortunately, World Airways only equipped one of their two MD-11s in this way ? the other plane, which we all call the ?backup aircraft?, is conventionally equipped with about 10 rows of business class seats and the rest economy. Lord help you if you are placed in one of the economy seats for the trip home.
Since the original aircraft was the one that had turned back to Houston the previous day, we were to use the backup aircraft on this trip. Fortunately for me, I managed to get placed in a business class seat. So far, aside from the original delay, all was pretty good with the world.
The plane took off on time at around 10:30, and everyone settled in to their normal flight routine. I had a glass of wine and prepared to sleep. Then, about an hour out, it happened.
In economy class, one of the passengers noticed smoke coming from one of the overhead compartments. It wasn’t a lot, and it soon stopped, but such things are nothing to fool with in a 40 year old aircraft, particularly one about to cross the Atlantic Ocean. The flight crew did a very professional job of searching for the original source of the smoke, and soon reported the incident to the captain.
In a low, matter of fact voice, our captain announced we would be returning to Luanda. It was the prudent thing to do.
Sighs of resignation from everyone around me. At 1:30 we landed back in Luanda.
Naturally, an aircraft returning to Luanda airport, well after the normal time for landings, caused a bit of confusion. The ground crew seemed hastily assembled and there was general confusion about what to do with us. Eventually, we were taken off the plane and directed to the departure lounge which we had left only a few hours before. After an hour of waiting, we were told we would be taken back through immigration and out of the airport.
Those people who were working for companies like Chevron and Exxon were met by their respective representatives, themselves looking a bit shocked at having been rolled out of bed. Of my fellow Chevron employees, about 40 of us were directed to buses and swept through the empty streets of Luanda.
No one had any illusions about being taken to a hotel. Luanda is infamous for never having a single free bed in the entire town. Ultimately, we were taken to the Chevron Staff House, a building with a small dining hall and attached lounge. The guard opened the door to the lounge. There, 40 tired and sweaty oilfield guys looked at about 25 chairs.
The faster of the group raced to claim seats before the music stopped. The others stood for a moment, then started finding places on the floor. Some apparently went back to the dining hall and started pushing chairs together there. I was lucky to have a chair in the lounge - I pulled up my rolling bag for my feet and passed out. It was 3:30am. I’m not sure I can describe being in a room full of snoring, farting oilfield guys trying to sleep in just about every imaginable position.
At 7am we were served breakfast in the dining hall. Any news we heard about our disposition was rumor and speculation. Finally, around 9:30 we were told we would be taken back to the airport at 10am to re-join our troubled aircraft. As I was standing in line waiting to check in, I realized that me and just about everyone around me had been wearing the same clothes continuously, in Africa heat, for almost two days. You could come to that realization with your eyes closed, if you know what I mean.
The plane took off at 1:30pm. Aside from the announcement that there would be no movie entertainment ?due to technical difficulties? The flight was uneventful. None of us wanted to think about what other aircraft systems were also having ?technical difficulties?.
We arrived in Houston at around 1am, and even the US Customs officers were sympathetic. As I presented my documents, the officer smiled at me, quickly stamped my passport and said, ?We heard all about you guys. Let’s get you home.? World Airways employees gave us hotel and meal vouchers and directed us to the airport hotel.
I didn’t really get any information about what onward flight had been booked for me, so my first call from the hotel was to the travel department in Angola. They were also kind and helpful, calling me back at 2am to tell me I had been booked on the 7:30 flight to San Francisco. I also made several calls to Liz, who tried to help by calling Continental Airlines.
So, 3 hours sleep in a real bed, a wide-eyed wakeup on Friday morning, a much-needed shave and then off to San Francisco. Liz met me with hugs and kisses. Home at last, only a few days late.
Remember that trip in April '07? I'd rather not.