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![Anarlan]()
Anarlan
Top Review
20
Chipre flying hour
Nervousness.
But nobody notices. Fly alone today. I haven't been doing this long. But it's getting more and more routine. With the small propeller machines which I have flown lately were a few quite stubborn boards with it. The ones that flew me rather than the other way around. They've all come down. With me in it. Sometimes bumpy. But without a crash landing. You get used to a lot of things.
So what's the excitement?
I heard that the plane I was about to board behaves like a "Pour Monsieur" at full flight altitude. And I love them. One of the first machines I was allowed to sit in. Old engineering school. None of these garishly painted fashionable plastic things with a built-in minibar where Red Bull and candy lie around. The Chanel has a 1a altitude. Quiet and quiet like a mountain lake in spring. Starts off lively and lemony and always in the best weather. As soon as you're up: farsightedness, equilibrium, chypre distance. If this becomes the same today, so much can't go wrong.
So get out auf´s Runway.
The machine looks ancient. Oh, shit. An aeroplane detail. Never heard of it. Nobody flies a thing like that. A look into the engine compartment calms me down. Old French engineering. Solid technology, massive components. Looks like high quality. Could still exhibit stubborn flight behavior. Scratchy and bumpy like an old gramophone recording.
I'm about to hear ich´s
So, pilot's glasses on, scarf lashing. Can get rough up there.
I'll start the engine.
Rolling down the runway, there's a smell of gasoline. Damn it. Damn it. Is the fuel tank leaking? I can calm down quickly, no warning display, everything tight. It's normal for a certain type of citric. Says Achilles. She must know. She flies boxes like this all the time. Once a certain wiring of the synapses has been laid, one constantly smells petrol with certain citrus notes. Diesel. Kerosene. Oil. Can't get out anymore.
That's it.
In front of me a dark cloud layer, looks much darker than on the Sunday flights with my Pour Monsieur. I'm pulling up the aeroplane. It goes through a dark layer of petitgrain and bergamot. Expect turbulence now. But the aeroplane glides through like oil. Well, she does.
The vision is slowly clearing. It's getting brighter and brighter. Familiarity sets in the further I leave the cloud layer below me. What could come now, I know.
Herbaceous freshness on woody tones. At the Pour Monsieur comes here cardamom in´s game. But then I get surprised.
The higher the machine rises, the clearer mint comes to bear. I can tell right away. No chewing gum or toothpaste amines. More like dried garden mint. Herbaceous basil provides additional buoyancy. Mat, austere, masculine greenness.
Will be a dreamlike beautiful flight today, I feel it.
I'm reaching final altitude. And now everything is as it should be. The expanse of the horizon, the abundance of light, cloud formations, the land far below me. Oak moss, a touch of earthy patchouli warmth.
Distance, symmetry of things. Chypre in perfection, from far above.
"The views were immensely wide. Everything that you saw made for greatness and freedom, and unequealled nobility."
I wave to Achilles with a fluttering scarf and tightened pilot's glasses and thank him for the rehearsal in the frame of a nose-, brain- and horizon-widening hiking package.
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