Brugge

The other day we flew back to Ostende with Beuford “Jim” Wallace and Tom Crook. We flew overver northern Sudan (a whole lot of nothing) and Mt. Etna.













The last time I saw Mt. Etna it looked like a roman candle. I was happy for no fireworks (flying around volcanic ash makes me nervous).

Today was Sunday and I found a church to go to in Brugge; just a 15-minute train ride and a 30-minute walk away. I joined the 25 or so branch members for the Flemish service. Everyone was very friendly and wanted to translate for me, but having a translator makes me uncomfortable. I worry about distracting the other people and it changes the whole vibe of the service. To me, Flemish sounds like a cross between old English and “low” German, so I could understand about 20% of what was said and about 40% of the context.
After church I walked around the city of Brugge. It must be beautiful in spring, but today it was cold and wet; and a romantic city isn’t very romantic when you’re by yourself. Only two more days before I get to fly again.

It seems like a long time.
I know that most people’s view of what I do is more akin to vacation than to work, and I will be the first to admit that I am lazy, but sometimes flying can be a real job.
Ostend to Lagos started out late and cold. Normally being delayed a couple of hours isn’t a big deal (especially when you are flying into Africa) but because of a weird sleep schedule and an already long 16 hour day, I would not see the next bed for at least 22 hours.
The hardest time for me to fly is sunrise. The sun is an annoying friend reminding me of what is glaringly obvious – I haven’t slept. At the same time forcing me to close my eyes (not the best course of action when I’m already sleepy). Flying into the sun is beautiful though.




This is the sunrise over the Congo. 41 thousand feet below some of the worst things on the planet are going on, but out my window, only heaven.

We got into Nairobi just in time for 12 hours at the hotel and then off again to Ostend (or so we thought). The weather was too bad to land in Belgium so we went to Amsterdam.
After a drive from Holland to Ostend and 24 hours it was once more into Africa.

This time Al Ortiz and I went to N’djamena, Chad, where everything is a hassle from parking the plane, to paying for fuel, to filing a flight plan, to getting through customs, getting to the hotel, to paying for the rooms – well you get the point. We only spent about 15 hours in the country, but it seemed like a week.
On the road to the hotel I saw two boys about Jackson and Bensons ages. They looked alone but confident; the older of the two watching out for the younger boy amid a sea of motorbikes, cars, dust and people. Why was I born into unbelievable wealth? I have no idea, when I could have just as easily been born in Chad and have my sons alone on a dusty street. Africa is such a beautiful continent with more potential than just about anywhere on earth. I hope someday it might reach its promise.

Al Ortiz in Chad