Here's a tardy post; I meant to post this, but needed time to find a terminal.
Before entering the plane, the load-master asked if anyone was prone to car sickness. He explained that there was a typhoon 200 miles from our destination, and the destination itself was in the bands. (Expect turbulance). The doc came around and handed out dramamine. Knowing that I needed to work upon landing, I bit one in half, and handed the second half to the guy next to me.
Now imagine this: You're in the Pacific Ocean feeling like Jonah. You feel like him because the plane your in looks and rides like a whale. It's fat, slow, and cumbersome. It makes the squeeling sounds. There are air pockets that drop the plan about 20 ft instantaneously, giving you that 'Demon-Drop' feel. You're 400 feet off the coast of an island, hoping the pilot can see the landing strip. You certainly can't see anything.
You know for a fact that the whale is tipping the left wing down, then the right, then the left, trying to stay on target. Then you feel the back of the whale slide out to the side. (Your plane is coming into it's landing sideways. Now, the other Jonah's in the plane look to you for strength, stability, and even for guidance. You gasp, but force out a laugh and raise your fists in the air, all the while saying to yourself, "We are going to die." What came out of your mouth to everyone else is, "hoorah, aint this fun?"
The whale's wheels touch down and you're pleased you may just crash on deck and get third-degree burns. You know for a fact the FAA would have a fit if they knew a whale, nick-named 'Sumo', had landed on an island, during a typhoon, at roughly the equivalent of Rusty Wallace's speed any Sunday afternoon.
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