Time to Fly

 

Especially pre-climate change, in Northeast Ohio it was no surprise that in November of 1982, when we were finally able to fly to Thailand for the first time, the plane left Cleveland, Ohio in a heavy snow. Mentally, physically, culturally and clothing-wise, we were far better prepared for winter than we were for the tropics but that would soon change. Leaving Cleveland, we were dressed for a deep freeze. Not only was it pre-climate change, 1982 was pre-TSA. So, there was a group of friends and family that came to see us off at the airport and walked with us back to our gate. They waved good bye as we walked down the tunnel to board.

Other than a few road trips neither Marcia nor I were experienced travelers. As far as I can recall, I had only been on an airliner once before. Marcia thinks maybe her family had flown to Florida once. My brother flew small, single propeller, canvas covered wing planes and I had flown enough with him enough to know I didn’t like heights or bouncing up and down in the air. I am also prone to motion sickness. I’m also tall and even in 1982 airlines were stingy with their leg room. So, I wasn’t expecting the long ride to Thailand to be fun and I wasn’t disappointed. 

I don’t remember our exact route on that first trip but usually, if leaving from Cleveland we’d first go to the west coast of the US to one of the major airports. From there, we would take a flight to the east coast of Asia (often Tokyo but maybe Hong Kong or Taipei), then board a plane for Bangkok. The total trip would require 20 hours of being airborne plus however many hours we wound up in airports. We had a few magical trips where everything was just right and we went from Cleveland to Bangkok in 24 hours (including airport time) but usually it took more like 30 hours. No matter, to borrow a line from a John Denver song, “It’s a long time to hang in the sky”.

With my various phobias and frailties, I was a “white knuckle flyer.” Whether taking off, landing, cruising and definitely if bouncing in turbulence, I would grab the armrest and hold on. I know now and knew then that holding the armrest accomplished nothing as the seat with armrest attached would surely fall just as fast as the rest of the plane if there was a problem. But my phobias wouldn’t let me loosen my grip. Motion sickness ruled out reading (besides, I might have to let go of the armrest to turn the page). I could sort of watch the movie in those days as the screen was far away on the next bulk head but that’s about it.

In 1982, smoking was still allowed in sections of the plane but nothing divided one section from the other so there was smoke everywhere. That made me extra queasy. My height and the lack of leg room required me to sit in one exact position and never move which kept my head above the seat back. If I dared doze off enough to relax my neck, my head would swivel and flop like a deranged bobble head and was likely to bang into the person beside me. I couldn’t sleep and dared not try. Generally, flying for me was something to be endured. I would look enviously at Marcia sleeping soundly but for me flying was sleepless sitting and staring into space.

“Trekking” was apparently a big thing in the 1980s and a large group of trekkers bound for Nepal boarded the plane as we got ready to cross the Pacific Ocean. Soon, another group boarded and they turned out to be the “roadies” for Lionel Richie and the Commodores. What??? We were on the same plane as the Commodores? We were. Of course, Lionel Richie and the recognizable part of the group were in the first class seats up front and out of reach of us in economy. But still, we thought it was cool to be on the same plane as the Commodores.

At least it was cool for a while. It turns out the trekkers and the roadies liked to party and on that flight the booze was free. The border of the no smoking section was completely ignored and smoke filled what little air was left in the economy cabin. I can’t say we were disappointed when the Commodores got off the plane but we were reminded of one of their songs:

“Sail on down the road a half a mile or so

I don’t really want to know, where you’re going”

What was the only international airport in Bangkok in 1982 is now a small section of a domestic terminal and a whole new International airport has been built. But we were glad to arrive. We didn’t want to carry our heavy, winter coats from Cleveland, Ohio so we put them on and grabbed our carry on luggage. The plane did not pull up to an airconditioned, covered walkway as often happens today, but parked in a lot some distance from the terminal. So, we had to wait while buses came to transport us to collect our bags, get cleared for customs and immigration and get picked up. Dressed for an Ohio winter, we still remember getting hit with the first wave of heat, humidity and jet exhaust as we got to the doorway of the plane. We instantly knew we weren’t in Ohio anymore and that we were completely overdressed. Coming out into the public area after collecting our bags were Bob and Pat Coats ready to meet us. Tired, jet lagged and no longer fans of the Commodores, we were very happy to meet them and have them take us to the Bangkok Christian Guest House.