White Man Walking: Night flight

It's two o'clock in the morning and I'm waiting for my flight to Taipei. It’s been 19 hours now since my head touched a pillow, and the prospect of sleep ahead on the 12 hour flight is slim. I wanted to go to bed hours ago, and now I feel like curling up in a corner. Sure there are some people spilling out of bars and nightclubs somewhere in Vancouver, but at this time of day most in Vancouver (the smart ones anyway) are tucked cozily into bed.

Those who know me well know that I'm not much of a night owl. Eleven o'clock is a bit of stretch most nights. I have a good friend who once took great pride in "teaching" me how to stay up late. That was twenty years ago. And I’ve long forgotten his lessons.

Someone remarked to me the other day that they didn't know flights left Vancouver at this time of day. Indeed they do. But there should be a law against it. And not because of the noise that such flights create for those living near the airport (No, for the sound of a jet forcing itself into the sky is a beautiful one), but rather because it’s a form of torture.

I’m not alone here. With two flights to Taipei, and others to Hong Kong, Manila, New York, and Sydney all leaving between midnight and 3:00 am, there are hundreds of other bleary eyed travellers in various states of comatose.

Given my fondness for a good night's sleep I've never warmed to overnight flights. It’s not as if I haven’t done this before. This is my ninth trip to east Asia, and all but two of those flights have left at ridiculously similar times. I get it from an airline planner’s mind, but if I were the master of the sky I would decree that all flights leave between 10:00 am and noon, and arrive at their destination before dinner time. Sounds reasonable to me.

I remember once my wife and I were flying home from Honolulu on an overnight flight. The minute the plane took off everyone was asleep, except me and the poor guy sitting across the aisle. We both looked at each other. Partners in misery we were. I swear the flight attendants were asleep, and the pilots probably were too. Why do you think they have autopilot? And to make matters worse the inflight entertainment system—however crappy it was back then— wasn’t working.

About three hours into the flight the plane shuddered violently. The turbulence shook the aircraft so much that it wasn’t long before everyone was awake. I bet even the pilots woke up. In a perverse way, I took some delight in watching those who had fallen asleep so easily now holding their arm rests a little tighter, eyes wide open, as the aircraft rolled from side to side.

And a couple of years ago I was flying from Miami to Bolivia on an overnight flight. The flying time was about six hours, and we departed around midnight. The cabin lights were dimmed during takeoff, and when we reached our cruising altitude I stretched out in my business class seat (I know the horror of it) and closed my eyes. I could hear the symphonic sounds from those snoring near me, but at least it was dark.

Then shockingly a flight attendant, who I imagined once worked in a prison, turned on the cabin lights. It was so startling that it took me back to when I was a kid in Sea Cadets and in the name of discipline, or some such thing, the officers would turn the lights on at two in the morning and we’d be out of our beds and standing outside in our shorts and little else.

Was there some sort of emergency, I wondered? We’re the pilots ditching the aircraft in the Amazon? Because really, what other reason could there be for such action, which surely should be investigated by the International Criminal Court.

I soon realized there was no emergency when the warden who was responsible for the light switches pushed out a trolley loaded with trays of food. I looked around and crazily the same people who were snoring a minute ago were all perky and wide awake, excitedly anticipating whatever meal the airline was about to foist upon us in the middle of the night. It was as if that darkened moment of bliss a few moments ago never happened. Okay, I get that Latin Americans like their evening meal later than most, but this just seemed too much.

I gave in. No sense fighting the absurdity. When flying over South America, do as the South Americans do, I told myself. So I ordered a glass of Chilean red and took pleasure in the conversation of my 80-year old seat mate from Paraguay.

The flight to Taipei is now boarding, so I drag myself to the gate. Three smiling flight attendants welcome me aboard. I smile back, find my seat and fall into it. The captain then announces that our flight will be delayed 10 minutes. Turned out to be 30 minutes. But what does it really matter at this time of morning. I close my eyes.