An ordinary day of a not so ordinary life of an international pilot

From the Flight Deck

 I held my bags and walked down the steep staircase, eyeing the van below. I was pretty exhausted, but all wound up – I had just flown from Cincinnati to Nagoya, Japan, which was just a hair over 14 hours. I’m an international cargo pilot, and land up in some great, weird and scary places – this month has been no exception so far.

Walking to the hotel from the terminal can always be a bit of a task, but that day, the weather in Japan was unusually magnificent. We crossed the bridge, and took the elevator to the ground floor. Because the flight was so long, there were four of us pilots – two captains, and two first officers. We walked along the coastline of the airport, and to the hotel. While we were walking, we could see boats and ships bustling in the small harbor, loading passengers and fish before setting sail in the noonday sun. I remember being surprised when I got the weather report in the air before landing – the wind was calm and the skies clear, which is abnormal for southwestern Japan – it was a wonderful day for a stroll.

After checking into the hotel, I came back downstairs for a drink at the bar with my crew. I was wearing jeans and the team jersey of the Springbok rugby team – we had just won the world cup a few days before, and I wanted to showcase my team to the Japanese, as if they didn’t already know. 

I sat at the bar, and ordered a single malt on the rocks. Many of my fellow pilots had told me that Japanese scotch and whiskey is the best in the world, and until that day, I had been too cheap to buy it – but after a long flight over the United States, Canada, Alaska, Russia and Japan, I thought it may be time to pull out the secret credit card.

As I was lifting the tumbler to my mouth, one of my fellow crew members joined me at the bar. He was an attractive man – mid-forties, trim and well-dressed. He was chatty but pleasant, and always welcomed company. He saw my glass, got a gleam in his eye, and ordered the same single malt. We clinked our glasses together, the ice musically moving around in the light brown liquid, and each took a small sip. Japanese whiskey is everything it is reputed to be – smooth, sophisticated and delicious – just like most of what they produce. We each took a moment to savor the amazing experience before chatting energetically about our long day.

After a few whiskeys, and a few draft beers, we decided to cut the night short, since we had an objective for the next day – to eat a Japanese curry. Sleep was deep and uninterrupted, although after eight hours, I was still tired from the jet lag. Compared to being a passenger, I don’t suffer nearly as much from jet lag. My airplane is enormous, and usually never has more than eight humans in it, so I can get up, walk around, stretch, use the lavatory and prepare my own food without any hassles associated with having passengers. We even have beds in the plane, and take turns having breaks on the long flights. Passenger planes have this feature too, but they also have many people on the plane that pilots are hiding from, so we’re usually cramped in a small place on those jets. I really enjoy flying cargo – the freedom it offers in the aircraft is unparalleled by any other sector of aviation.

I opened the blackout curtains to another magnificent day in southern Japan, which was unusual even the day before. With a smile on my face, I took a shower, got dressed, and headed down to the lobby while checking the directions to the restaurant. One of my first officers had taken me to this restaurant the month before, and I was really excited to go again. With my particular company, it isn’t very often that we go to the same place in rapid succession like this. We are a company that is more or less a charter company – we fly anything anywhere. Like most places, we have some schedules that we know, but unlike some places, we have a lot of schedules that pop up, and we blast off to places that we are unfamiliar with. It is exciting and full of adventure, albeit challenging and fatiguing.

We headed over to the restaurant and sat down. The chef was also the waiter and the cashier, so he came from the kitchen and handed us two menus. On opening, to my colleague’s dismay, the writing was in Katakana – a Japanese alphabet. I snickered as I saw his brow frown in confusion. After I assured him I could order for both of us, and asked him what kind of meat he wanted in his, I ordered our Japanese curries. Like the whiskey, it was flavorful and delicious, yet simple. We wolfed down the food, and sat back satisfied but not stuffed. As I felt my body relax as it started to digest my lunch, it occurred to me that the next meal I would eat would be in Anchorage, Alaska. I started to think about the world’s best Vietnamese restaurant, and what I was going to order next.

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About the author:

Stephen Stark

• Cargo Captain
• Unbelievably chatty
• Always craving Vitamin Sea
• Purveyor of the exotic in life