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In a jet 10,000 feet above Nam.
That sounds so cool, if I say so myself. I feel the urge to quote the stats about dogfighting from the start of Top Gun, but I shall restrain myself.
However, it may just be the laid back or amateurish style of Vietnam airlines, but I am entirely sure my pilot was never a Naval Aviator. His call sign was never Maverick or Goose or Iceman. It would have been the Vietnamese equivalent of 'Coo, Aren't We High Up' or maybe 'What Does This Switch Do?'.
I am reminded of my mother's descriptions of flying by Aeroflot in the '60's.
Wonderfully, however, I am enjoying being a giant here. I have never in my wildest dreams expected to have this much legroom. I think the lady on the check-in desk rang the engineers and suggested they take out a row of seats to make room for me, for fear that things might turn ugly and I might tread on her.
The most shambolic moment came when we were disembarking. All the passengers were literally walking down the staircase to the tarmac. Then a little chappie pops up and says Stop please, Stop please, Back up! We had to get back on the plane. Why? The little bus had gone to the exit at the back of the plane, rather than the front.
It took several moments of blank passengers' faces before it dawned on him that he could just move the bus.
Genius.
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