Night Flights and Night Life
Flying with Ethiopian Airlines
You must have stamina to find an obscure airline's ticket counter in Washington Dulles' departures terminal. The ceilings are impossibly tall, and the rows of counters stretch beyond sight. Glancing down the length from domestic ticketing, even the few souls checking luggage at Alaska Airlines are no taller than matchsticks.
I didn't know there were so many airlines. Weaving my rolling bag crazily around luggage carts, security checkpoints, and small children, I caught glimpses of an incredible variety. Thai, Mexican, Irish, Malaysian, Kenyan, German, and Peruvian counters, each manned by a different looking woman wearing a different length of skirt, were all shuffled together.
I asked directions from an assortment of bored (and imprecise) employees and passed an airline servicing every other member of the United Nations. Many minutes later, transit to most inhabited continents behind us, we reached the end of the line. Windows had long ceased to figure into the architecture down here. Birds chirped from nests in the rafters high above. A small banner reading 'Ethiopian Airlines' peeked out from behind yet another counter. It hung unevenly, stretched out awkwardly with white twine. Nearby, a family sat together eating samosas out of Ziploc bags and chatting with the baggage handlers. Slight apprehension at informal state of affairs.
Earplugs and Eye Masks for All
Luckily, first impressions are not always accurate. The plane, in contrast, was clean, new, and as technologically advanced as any other airline can claim. The only outstanding feature of this particular journey was that a surprisingly large number of children were on board for a 20-plus hour flight. Of course, they were all seated near us. Before departure, we endured 10 minutes of an adjacent two-year-old boy's tantrum. A patient Rastafarian sitting in front of me tried to distract the child with a game that involved a dollar bill. The rules were manipulative but simple: be quiet, and keep the dollar. Cry, and it gets taken away. The arrangement worked for approximately 30 seconds before the boy learned to scream at the man for taking the dollar out of his hands. With speed, we moved to a vacant row in the back of the cabin and remained ignorant of future sobs for the rest of the flight. All else was pleasant and comfortable.
Marble Madness
Addis Ababa boasts a stately airport. It is constructed mostly of marble, and the resulting aura registers somewhere between a museum's knowing authority and a tomb's peacefulness. The first floor's massive halls are divided into endless unmarked cubicles, and every doorway looks like it leads somewhere off limits. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was going to barge into an important confidential meeting at any second and single-handedly instigate a breakdown of a random international relationship. By some miracle, though, the sight of a proper place was always waiting when a door swung open: a baggage claim, or passport control counter, or snack bar.
We had a scheduled layover of 6 hours, beginning at 9 pm and lasting until 3 am, and decided to reject the fuss of using a hotel voucher for such a short period of time. A meal of very dry red wine, rice, and spicy Ethiopian beef was a satisfying substitute. We ate silently, the only two people in a balcony cafe dwarfed by 30-foot ceilings. For the second time in 24 hours, I noticed small birds nesting high above me. Two waitresses giggled softly at the buffet line. A cart rattled down a distant hallway. A horn honked in the parking lot outside. All else was still.
For about thirty minutes. It started as a slow trickle. The cafe had around fifty empty tables. First, two Nigerians made themselves plates from the buffet and sat down at one of them. Then three ladies in traditional Muslim garb sat and ordered beverages from another. An Indian family took over the back corner, the children laughing and eating spaghetti with their hands. Within the time it took for me to drink a glass of wine, every table had filled. Conversations in countless languages ricocheted off the marble walls.
A dance beat started from the bar down the hall, and the lounge opposite sprouted a bouncer and red ropes. I suddenly became aware of the presence of tall, made-up women strolling up and down the concourse. Soon after, I became aware of the presence of young men, dressed in silk shirts, following them. The gleam of gold jewelry was everywhere. A brief fresh air outing to the curb outside baggage claim revealed a packed parking lot, crowded with cars and people. Watch check: midnight. The Addis airport was absolutely jumpin'.
When we finally boarded our connection to Entebbe at 2 am, the airport was still filling up. Not a seat in the house remained unoccupied. Every hallway, every duty-free store, every cafe was brimming with people.
You must have stamina to find an obscure airline's ticket counter in Washington Dulles' departures terminal. The ceilings are impossibly tall, and the rows of counters stretch beyond sight. Glancing down the length from domestic ticketing, even the few souls checking luggage at Alaska Airlines are no taller than matchsticks.
I didn't know there were so many airlines. Weaving my rolling bag crazily around luggage carts, security checkpoints, and small children, I caught glimpses of an incredible variety. Thai, Mexican, Irish, Malaysian, Kenyan, German, and Peruvian counters, each manned by a different looking woman wearing a different length of skirt, were all shuffled together.
I asked directions from an assortment of bored (and imprecise) employees and passed an airline servicing every other member of the United Nations. Many minutes later, transit to most inhabited continents behind us, we reached the end of the line. Windows had long ceased to figure into the architecture down here. Birds chirped from nests in the rafters high above. A small banner reading 'Ethiopian Airlines' peeked out from behind yet another counter. It hung unevenly, stretched out awkwardly with white twine. Nearby, a family sat together eating samosas out of Ziploc bags and chatting with the baggage handlers. Slight apprehension at informal state of affairs.
Earplugs and Eye Masks for All
Luckily, first impressions are not always accurate. The plane, in contrast, was clean, new, and as technologically advanced as any other airline can claim. The only outstanding feature of this particular journey was that a surprisingly large number of children were on board for a 20-plus hour flight. Of course, they were all seated near us. Before departure, we endured 10 minutes of an adjacent two-year-old boy's tantrum. A patient Rastafarian sitting in front of me tried to distract the child with a game that involved a dollar bill. The rules were manipulative but simple: be quiet, and keep the dollar. Cry, and it gets taken away. The arrangement worked for approximately 30 seconds before the boy learned to scream at the man for taking the dollar out of his hands. With speed, we moved to a vacant row in the back of the cabin and remained ignorant of future sobs for the rest of the flight. All else was pleasant and comfortable.
Marble Madness
Addis Ababa boasts a stately airport. It is constructed mostly of marble, and the resulting aura registers somewhere between a museum's knowing authority and a tomb's peacefulness. The first floor's massive halls are divided into endless unmarked cubicles, and every doorway looks like it leads somewhere off limits. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was going to barge into an important confidential meeting at any second and single-handedly instigate a breakdown of a random international relationship. By some miracle, though, the sight of a proper place was always waiting when a door swung open: a baggage claim, or passport control counter, or snack bar.
We had a scheduled layover of 6 hours, beginning at 9 pm and lasting until 3 am, and decided to reject the fuss of using a hotel voucher for such a short period of time. A meal of very dry red wine, rice, and spicy Ethiopian beef was a satisfying substitute. We ate silently, the only two people in a balcony cafe dwarfed by 30-foot ceilings. For the second time in 24 hours, I noticed small birds nesting high above me. Two waitresses giggled softly at the buffet line. A cart rattled down a distant hallway. A horn honked in the parking lot outside. All else was still.
For about thirty minutes. It started as a slow trickle. The cafe had around fifty empty tables. First, two Nigerians made themselves plates from the buffet and sat down at one of them. Then three ladies in traditional Muslim garb sat and ordered beverages from another. An Indian family took over the back corner, the children laughing and eating spaghetti with their hands. Within the time it took for me to drink a glass of wine, every table had filled. Conversations in countless languages ricocheted off the marble walls.
A dance beat started from the bar down the hall, and the lounge opposite sprouted a bouncer and red ropes. I suddenly became aware of the presence of tall, made-up women strolling up and down the concourse. Soon after, I became aware of the presence of young men, dressed in silk shirts, following them. The gleam of gold jewelry was everywhere. A brief fresh air outing to the curb outside baggage claim revealed a packed parking lot, crowded with cars and people. Watch check: midnight. The Addis airport was absolutely jumpin'.
When we finally boarded our connection to Entebbe at 2 am, the airport was still filling up. Not a seat in the house remained unoccupied. Every hallway, every duty-free store, every cafe was brimming with people.
posted by LookingGlassLand.com at 1:31 AM
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