sometimes the greatest experiences are giving something back

‘I bet you have had some great experiences on your job,’ people usually tell me. And then they ask about the greatest and most memorable experience I’ve had.

They probably expect me to talk about the great places I’ve travelled to – perhaps the Great Wall of China, or the Great Lakes of Northern America, or the Great Barrier Reef of Australia.

However, the greatest impression left on me during my flying career was my trip to New York, only six days after 9-11. As we travelled on the crew bus toward Manhattan, the sun was setting behind the island. There was not a cloud to be seen in the sky. It should have been a beautiful sight, but it was not. The familiar shapes of the World Trade towers were missing from the city’s skyline. There was only smoke where the twin towers had stood. When we had arrived at our hotel, just around the corner from Times Square, you could tell that things were different. Gone were the friendly smiles of the hotel staff. Gone were the big city noises usually associated with New York. I couldn’t even hear the impatient horns of taxis. People had come out to the still-blackened streets, but the atmosphere was still quiet, somber.

When we arrived at our hotel, we really didn’t know what to do. It was inappropriate to party, but some of us felt we should do something. But what? I suggested we go to a little bar called ‘Don’t Tell Mama’, only a short walk away from the hotel we stayed in. According to the concierge, all of the city’s theatres and bars had been closed for days, but some bars were reopening that night.

‘Don’t Tell Mama’ is a bit like a karaoke bar, but with live music. The inhouse pianist knows every Broadway tune ever written, and most of the bar staff are performers, some even understudies for the local Broadway shows, and they sing show tunes on stage between serving drinks. The bar is also a meeting place for producers, actors and a few Broadway stars, who sometimes drop in for a drink after a show. On any given night, you are likely to hear some exceptionally talented performers there.

On the night several of our crew went there, many of those performers paid their respects to family and friends that had passed away in the blasts only days ago, and singers belted out Frank Sinatra tunes with a passion I have never seen before. They let their tears flow freely, and we sat there for hours, watching them, awestruck by their strength. By the time we left the bar, the sun was long up.

We then walked down to the World Trade site. Security was surprisingly lax, and one of the crew members flashed a fake press pass (from Bangkok). We continued walking inside the cordoned-off areas. And we stood there, silent, amongst the smouldering rubble that was once such a symbol of power. No one took photos. No one spoke. Everyone was moved.

From this experience, I learnt how fragile the human life can be, and how senseless these acts of violence are.

In all fairness, I am not as completely self-absorbed as I seem. Nor am I completely oblivious to the difficulties of those less fortunate than myself. I am involved in charity work in a number of poverty-stricken nations. A number of crew work on these projects, and we donate our time and experience, not just goods or money (although we do that too). We have hammered in many, many nails for others – we have funded and helped build houses for orphanages in Asia and Africa.

On the home front I have my own little project going on: I save all the hotel amenities that I have collected from trips, like shampoos, soaps, slippers and lots more, throughout the year and make little gift hampers. I even buy a few extra odds and ends in my travels to add to these hampers. I then deliver them to several nursing homes in my area at Christmas time. I usually take them in a few days prior to Christmas, as I am typically away on Christmas day, going away on one of my trips. Not this year though, I make a note to myself. For once, I have not been rostered to work on Christmas. This year, I get to don my little Santa hat and hand out the hampers on Christmas morning.

I have celebrated Christmas only once at home so far, ever since I began my flying career. That day, I still remember, I took my sack of hampers to the first of the nursing homes. There was a lovely old lady sitting near the home’s front door, and we had a little chat. She told me she was so excited about meeting her family – they were on their way now, to meet her and spend Christmas morning with her at the home. When I met the nurse in charge, I explained that I did not have enough hampers for every patient at the home, and that they be handed out to only those that did not have families; people like the lovely lady I had just talked to had family arriving to see her, and they would obviously bring her gifts, I reasoned. The nurse told me that the lovely lady I had just spoken to had been staying at the home for over three years, and every year she waited outside for her family to come. But, every year, no one came for her.

I wept for her. After I had regained some semblance of composure, I offered a hamper to the lovely old lady, then sat with her and chatted for most of the morning.

As for India, all my charity attempts there have only ended in an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Each time crew have taken either clothing or food into a slum, the slum lords have taken away the goods, and although they promise to distribute them to those who need it, we know that they will sell the things we gave them. The only ones that eventually benefitted from our generosity are those at the top, not the ones who need help. Sometimes life is unfair.