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khiemtranIt's 8 pm, and we're sitting on a taxiway in Kaohsiung. It's been fourteen hours since we left Charles de Gaulle. Two hours ago we aborted a landing attempt at Hong Kong. There was a typhoon in progress and the approach was one of the roughest I've experienced. Air France is extremely generous with their meal service, but the large portions of Camembert and free wine are not quite the thing to have in your stomach on a wild descent through a rain storm...
As we got lower and lower, the ride only got worse. We were being shoved up and down, side to side, what seemed like ten or fifteen metres at a time. It was probably a lot less, but I had no way of telling for sure. After the last sudden drop, which probably only lasted a second but seemed like an eternity, we heard the engines kick in and the pilot commenced a go-around.
There was a loud "S'il vous plaît!" from a French woman across the aisle from me. She gestured frantically to the Taiwanese girls in the row between us and they passed her a sick bag. Just about everyone in that section of the plane looked down at that moment to check if they had a sick bag of their own. With comic timing, a flight attendant rushed out of the galley with a stack of paper bags and dispensed them in record time.
After giving up on Hong Kong, we diverted to Kaohsiung on the southern tip of Taiwan. The Taiwanese girls were elated. The rest of us, less so. After half an hour of confusion, everyone with a Taiwanese passport was allowed off, the rest of us had to stay on the plane. We would wait in case the weather cleared in Hong Kong, and if it didn't we'd have to stay overnight in Hong Kong.
Now we're stuck in the cabin. Despite the circumstances, the mood inside is pretty good. Some passengers are complaining, of course, but most are resigned. It's a typhoon, what can you do? Better to sit here than to be smeared over a runway somewhere. The Air France cabin staff are doing an excellent job keeping people entertained. Many people have gathered around the galley to drink and talk, the rest are in their seats, either listening to music or texting on their phones.
Walking from group to group, I hear all the different rumours. The passengers are calling and texting their friends on other planes. Some planes are already leaving for Hong Kong again. A Hong Kong man says he heard from a relative there that the weather is already clear.
After about an hour on the runway, the pilot announces that the weather is still too bad at Hong Kong and that we will be disembarked as soon as accommodation can be found. Nothing happens. After another delay, we hear there is no hotel space in Kaohsiung, or in Taipei either, so now they are looking for somewhere else to send us. A Filipino woman cheerfully suggests Manilla. The British lawyer beside me wonders if we'll just go from city to city and end up in Australia.
It's the pilot again. The weather has indeed cleared in Hong Kong and we're about to refuel and take off. Another wait and then he announces there's been a "small technical problem" with the refueling and anyway we'll have to wait for clearance from Hong Kong before we take off, due to the number of diverted aircraft all trying to get back.
By this stage, the Norwegian women in the row in front of me have drunk a little too much of the free wine. The man in front of them remonstrates and they quieten down. I do feel some sympathy because they've already had two flights just getting to Paris, all because they missed an earlier connection.
At last we're moving. People return to their seats and clap. Now all we have to do is land.
The flight is swift across from Taiwan. As we near Hong Kong again, we can feel the turbulence pick up. This time our approach seems a lot shorter. The plane turns steeply, this way and that. The lady across the aisle from me fans herself with her flight safety card. She looks absolutely miserable. There is the smell of vomit in the air.
We can see lights now. City lights. But where is the airport? We're still turning. The flight is getting rougher again, though not quite as bad as last time. We're getting low. We can see trucks and cars and people. We must be landing now. We pass over the edge of the airport and ... whoooah... our plane does a wild slip and shimmy through the air. We hit the ground and snake along the runway. There is laughter and applause. The British guy beside me tells me he really thought we were about to crash.
We leave the plane at last to many a heartfelt "Merci" and "Au revoir". My connection to Sydney, as expected, has already left, but after several hours and some heroics by the Cathay and Air France ground staff, they manage to get me on a Qantas flight to Melbourne (though without, it would turn out, my luggage). A quick dash through the airport, including the security check, and we're at the gate, and ready for the next step in the trip home.
As we got lower and lower, the ride only got worse. We were being shoved up and down, side to side, what seemed like ten or fifteen metres at a time. It was probably a lot less, but I had no way of telling for sure. After the last sudden drop, which probably only lasted a second but seemed like an eternity, we heard the engines kick in and the pilot commenced a go-around.
There was a loud "S'il vous plaît!" from a French woman across the aisle from me. She gestured frantically to the Taiwanese girls in the row between us and they passed her a sick bag. Just about everyone in that section of the plane looked down at that moment to check if they had a sick bag of their own. With comic timing, a flight attendant rushed out of the galley with a stack of paper bags and dispensed them in record time.
After giving up on Hong Kong, we diverted to Kaohsiung on the southern tip of Taiwan. The Taiwanese girls were elated. The rest of us, less so. After half an hour of confusion, everyone with a Taiwanese passport was allowed off, the rest of us had to stay on the plane. We would wait in case the weather cleared in Hong Kong, and if it didn't we'd have to stay overnight in Hong Kong.
Now we're stuck in the cabin. Despite the circumstances, the mood inside is pretty good. Some passengers are complaining, of course, but most are resigned. It's a typhoon, what can you do? Better to sit here than to be smeared over a runway somewhere. The Air France cabin staff are doing an excellent job keeping people entertained. Many people have gathered around the galley to drink and talk, the rest are in their seats, either listening to music or texting on their phones.
Walking from group to group, I hear all the different rumours. The passengers are calling and texting their friends on other planes. Some planes are already leaving for Hong Kong again. A Hong Kong man says he heard from a relative there that the weather is already clear.
After about an hour on the runway, the pilot announces that the weather is still too bad at Hong Kong and that we will be disembarked as soon as accommodation can be found. Nothing happens. After another delay, we hear there is no hotel space in Kaohsiung, or in Taipei either, so now they are looking for somewhere else to send us. A Filipino woman cheerfully suggests Manilla. The British lawyer beside me wonders if we'll just go from city to city and end up in Australia.
It's the pilot again. The weather has indeed cleared in Hong Kong and we're about to refuel and take off. Another wait and then he announces there's been a "small technical problem" with the refueling and anyway we'll have to wait for clearance from Hong Kong before we take off, due to the number of diverted aircraft all trying to get back.
By this stage, the Norwegian women in the row in front of me have drunk a little too much of the free wine. The man in front of them remonstrates and they quieten down. I do feel some sympathy because they've already had two flights just getting to Paris, all because they missed an earlier connection.
At last we're moving. People return to their seats and clap. Now all we have to do is land.
The flight is swift across from Taiwan. As we near Hong Kong again, we can feel the turbulence pick up. This time our approach seems a lot shorter. The plane turns steeply, this way and that. The lady across the aisle from me fans herself with her flight safety card. She looks absolutely miserable. There is the smell of vomit in the air.
We can see lights now. City lights. But where is the airport? We're still turning. The flight is getting rougher again, though not quite as bad as last time. We're getting low. We can see trucks and cars and people. We must be landing now. We pass over the edge of the airport and ... whoooah... our plane does a wild slip and shimmy through the air. We hit the ground and snake along the runway. There is laughter and applause. The British guy beside me tells me he really thought we were about to crash.
We leave the plane at last to many a heartfelt "Merci" and "Au revoir". My connection to Sydney, as expected, has already left, but after several hours and some heroics by the Cathay and Air France ground staff, they manage to get me on a Qantas flight to Melbourne (though without, it would turn out, my luggage). A quick dash through the airport, including the security check, and we're at the gate, and ready for the next step in the trip home.
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