Flying, which used to be one of the most glamorous ways of travelling, is quite a nightmare these days. In the post-911 era, air travel has become a pain and nauseatingly complicated at times. At best the experience is dampened by airlines jamming more seats and packing us like sardines in tin boxes. And now we have this nightmarish video of a passenger, in the ‘greatest’ country on Earth: US of A, being dragged down the aisle like a mailbag.
Honestly, I was very disturbed by what I saw – to the point of feeling like an idiot – because I have flown United Airlines. Maybe it was because they picked on an Asian-looking guy or maybe, this was the last straw on the loads of racist narratives coming out of the US these days. Anyway it was not just me but the whole world, especially this part of the globe, that is upset.
My father, who was a truck driver, took a better care of his loads of potatoes than how some big airlines from the ‘civilised’ countries – the US in particular, treat their human cargo. On a flight from New York to San Francisco in 2014, I was even made to pay for water.
Still, since flying is the best way to get around, let me share how we in Bhutan also ‘re-accomodate’ our passengers – and where flying is still fun and glamorous. And where passengers are not just payloads or figures on the balance sheets, but human beings.
Flight overbooking is a norm in airline business. But in Bhutan, we never overbook. Instead, we under-book our flights. That’s because the airport is at 7,500 feet above sea level – and engines, like humans, need a good level of oxygen to efficiently burn the jet fuel. And oxygen is bit in short supply at this altitude while the iron birds have to safely soar up the high mountains that encircle the Paro International Airport. The aircrafts are, therefore, handicapped from taking off at full capacity. Also, our airlines don’t bump off passengers in favor of their employees. On most occasions, it is the other way around. Employees are kept on hold till all paying passengers are checked in.
![1985 0827 [7] Druk Air Dornier at Paro airport (1)](https://dorji-wangchuk.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/1985-0827-7-druk-air-dornier-at-paro-airport-1.jpg?w=367&h=244)
The second time was in 2003 when I got my first chance to fly the business class – courtesy of my Japanese hosts who were paying for my trip. I had just settled on the spacious leather seat when a flight attendant leaned over to me and asked if I could go to the Economy section. “Why?” I asked. In Bhutan we don’t say, ‘I paid’, or protest. Money is not everything and passengers are not just PNR numbers. The flight attendant explained that they had a VIP travelling at last minute and I would be compensated for moving to the Economy. As we were negotiating – and as I was trying to cling to my rare chance to fly business, the chief steward, who was in kindergarten with me, rushed into the cabin. He didn’t even wish me. He instantly turned back to the exit door with, “Oh! It’s Dorji Wangchuk. No problem.” In Bhutan, we can still take our friends and family members for granted. No apologies and public statements are required. However, you can also hit back for being downgraded to the coach. When the lunch was served, I told the chief steward to serve me the food from the business class – and also to pack me some fruits, bread, wine, soft drinks and beer for my long transit time through Bangkok Airport – which he grudgingly obliged. Many flights later I also reclaimed my business class seat, for free, as I wasn’t feeling well that day. The crew members didn’t even ask for proof.
Another time, the captain was one of my good friends, whom I had not seen for a while. As soon as he saw me boarding the plane he said, “Drop your bags and come over. I know you like flying.” Moments later I was bolted on the jump seat behind him like a child with the seat belt crossing all over my body. The take-off was spectacular and the pit-stop landing in Kolkata was a walk in the park for our pilots used to the treacherous Paro International – considered the world’s most difficult airport. As more passengers joined in for onward flight to Bangkok, my pilot friend informed me, “Now you can’t go back to your seat. It is taken. We picked up one extra passenger here.” In Bhutan, if we have to release a seat, we can tie up someone in the cockpit. It is very uncomfortable in there for a 4-hour flight but the view is simply marvellous.
Of course, we are not perfect. Like, we rarely fly on time. The Bhutan Standard Time has been redubbed as Bhutan Stretchable Time. We are improving though – especially if we have to fly out. But when we fly into Bhutan we have our own definition of time. Few years ago, I met a Swiss couple who was visiting a common friend of ours in Thimphu. They missed their flight in Delhi and arrived a day later. “What happened? You guys overslept or got struck in the traffic?” I asked. They looked at each other and smiled and went, “Well, we actually got to the airport one and half hour before the flight.” “Then?” I asked – bit surprised. “We were informed that the flight was not on time. And that it just left.” “Left? Before time? Did you guys protest?” “Yes, we did. We were told very nicely that our ticket clearly reminds us that because of weather conditions in Paro, flights may not be on time. And that only westerners think that ‘not on time’ means delays. Not on time could also mean before the time.” A brief silence. Then we all bursted out laughing. And my friends continued, “We thought you guys are absolutely right. Why should not-on-time be always behind? It can also mean ahead of the stipulated time. We always learn a new thing every time we come to Bhutan”.
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(PS. The whole of Bhutan has 6 airplanes and 2 helicopters. We are better off than John Travolta by the two helicopters.)
Even without, or with less, formal education we can survive. When I was in the 7th grade (and I was just 12) I did house wirings in Tashigang town and in my village during school holidays and earned ‘tons’ of money. Two months and four houses = Nu. 800! Can you imagine? My father’s monthly salary was just Nu. 210. Other times, when I was growing up, I also worked as plumber and electrician and repaired sawmills and rice grinding machines. However, I wouldn’t have survived without learning. As as neonate I learnt to breathe and cry and feed myself. As a toddler, I learnt to walk, speak, tie my lace and say, kuzuzangpo. As I grew up I learnt many other skills besides what the education system gave me. As a matter of fact, from some of those skills I even launched very successful careers in documentary filmmaking, journalism, teaching and social work.
nd sending me home safely. As the flight took off from Narita airport, I bid goodbye, for this time, to this country that had given me so much but that was going through, what Prime Minister Kan described as, the worst crisis since the WW II.
Two years later I moved to Don Bosco Technical School in Kharbandi. My father rarely was home (he went on driving duty) and my mother had to be in Tongling to nurse my great-grandma. So I was packed off to a boarding school. I was only 7 and I remember Father Philip, the Selesian principal, refused to take me in. So my father, who had earlier worked as a royal chauffeur, got a kasho (royal edict) from HRH Ashi Dechen Wangmo Wangchuck (a real angel for many Bhutanese of my generation). The trip to Thimphu also coincided with the Coronation of the Fourth King Jigme Singye Wangchuck. At the celebration ground in Changlingmithang, I received my largest sum of money until then, Nu. 5, which lasted for good 3 months. On my return journey from Thimphu all I can remember is taking a detour to Dawakha over a scary Baily bridge over Chuzom – and vomiting all the way to Phuntsholing in his white BGTS International truck that had the map of Australia on the door (I would later learn that those American International trucks were a gift under the Colombo Plan. They were such powerful beasts).
Dorji Wangchuk 