One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six, seven, eight, nine. Ten! Eleven, twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.
Sixteen hour flight from Istanbul, Turkey to Buenos Aires, Argentina making one stop in Sao Paolo. How did I survive for 16 hours on a tiny seat in economy class? Well. First off I slept until lunch service, which shaved about 2 hours off the clock and 2000 km to the good. After having my chicken cutlet I decided to watch a movie. “A place along the Pines” or some shit like that. That killed another 2 hours for me. I looked at “Time to Destination” and there was still a cool 9 hours to go. Luckily I had a window seat and the seat next to me free so I can have some form of personal space.
The entire flight I went back and forth between sleeping in all different angles and shapes to watching something to keep my brain busy. The only thing I looked forward to (besides landing in Buenos Aires) was food service. I must say it was pretty damn good considering how airline food goes. But all the food I was eating was giving me the gas. And believe me, I would go til the very end to not have to use the bathroom for #2 purposes. I just felt bad for the people around me. I must have farted a dozen times. But who could point a finger? Nobody knows who’s doing it! I’d be very sleek about it too. They were the silent kind. Silent, but deadly.
But enough about my farts. At some point I got up to take a walk around the plane. I went all the way to the back in hopes of finding some extra food. All you can eat raspberry cakes! As I was standing eating what would be my 5th piece of cake, I randomly struck up a conversation with a fellow passenger. Turns out he’s a pilot. Intriguingly I start asking all these questions about what a pilots life is like. After all, my parents were pushing me to become one.
After an hour of chatting and a couple of airline beers, we became buddies. After hearing about his line of work and his life, I knew I (once again) made the right choice by not listening to my parents. He even said “Bro it’s not for you”. I even asked him about the myth that surrounds the airline industry. “Do pilots get to fuck hostesses?” His honest answer made me once again realize that all my hopes and dreams would have vanished had I became a pilot. Besides he said, “80% of the hostesses are ugly”. The good looking 20% are married or have boyfriends. Honest to God those were his words.
After landing in Sao Paolo, we had a 1 hour layover before continuing on to Buenos Aires. Cleaning crew was on board, the new cabin crew took charge, the pilots changed, new passengers, everything. I was walking around the plane and found a spot to stand right next to the doors so I can get some fresh Brazilian air. You see, I have this thing. I spit on the floor of countries I visit to mark the fact that I was there. It’s a personal thing, I’ve done it everywhere I go ever since I was 12 years old. Like a dog urinating on a bush to mark his territory, I would spit on the floor to make sure my bodily fluids have made contact with that part of the world. It’s stupid I know, but I saw an opportunity and I took it. First, looked down and made sure there were no workers below. Then, I gargled up a nice chunk of saliva and sent it flying towards the grounds of Sao Paolo from the airplane. Therefore, I have been to Sao Paolo!
Another 2 hours of hell and we finally landed in Argentina. After a smooth ride out of the customs and finding my bag with ease, I headed towards the exit where I was reunited with my mom in the most unexpected places of all. Now I’m all showered, clean and after a nice pie of pizza I’m ready to hit the sack. You can bet your sweet ass I’ll be thinking twice before making this trip again! Buenos Noches?