Born To Fly Read online

  I grabbed a Subway before heading to bed. Boring I know, but the French guys behind the sandwich bar asked where I was from. They had asked every single customer the same question before attempting to sing them some kind of song relating to their home country, a song that finished with a Subway sandwich and a tip jar that was well and truly full held out for my contribution. After some kind of impromptu song about kangaroos and some serious laughter, I headed back to the motel.

  CHAPTER

  19

  Around the Mediterranean

  After I woke up in Cannes the next morning I packed and went downstairs. I clambered into a cab and we set off for the airport. My planned departure time was 9am, which was later than I had hoped or expected, but due to various regulations at the Cannes airport it was the earliest time I could take off. I was given a ride throughout the airport grounds to the Cirrus which was still sitting on the concrete pad; within half an hour it had come to life and was warming up.

  The list of waypoints was enormous; I sat and entered each and every one into the avionics and worked though the checklist. The flight was to take me over water to Italy, then over water again to the Greek mainland before a slight right turn towards the Greek islands. Although there was a lot of water, the fact that I would be able to spot land occasionally was calming.

  I taxied to the holding point of the same runway I had touched down on after departing England only two days before, rolled along the centreline and the Cirrus became airborne, straight out over the waters of the Mediterranean. It was fantastic.

  The coast disappeared and I settled in, being handed from one air traffic controller to another. The accents became a little less French and much more Italian, confirmed by the first time I heard, ‘Ciao!’ The Mediterranean Sea came to a solid end as it lapped up against Italy. A high, mountainous spine running through Italy had meant crossing the long and thin country would have to be done at 11,000 feet. Even then I would need to track for the lowest valley between Italy and Sicily.

  I peered down through the blue sky and could see iconic little red roofs clustered together on the Italian mountainside. It was hard to comprehend just where I was. Yes, the roofs were red but so were the ones in western Sydney. You had to look hard to take in the mountains, the villages and the water separating Italy and Sicily. It wasn’t until I looked at the online tracker that evening that I really realised just where I had flown.

  As the east coast of Italy met the Ionian Sea I watched land disappear and heard the accents change once more. I concentrated on doing the jobs I needed to do and soon the ocean abruptly ended, this time up against the Greek mainland. As quickly as land had appeared it disappeared as I turned right and pointed towards the Greek islands in the Aegean and Mediterranean Sea. Islands were continuously popping up off the left and right wings, they were everywhere. Rhodes, where I was due to land, was one of the easternmost Greek islands. I flew over dozens of tiny landmasses before I reached it.

  The arrival was a non-event; the air traffic controller swiftly instructed me to descend towards the ocean and lined me up for an instrument approach. With the weather on my side I became visual with the airport and a Boeing 747 airliner on a final approach to the runway. The long sealed runway lay parallel to the coast. At one end sat the city of Rhodes, my new home for a few nights before I moved on to Aqaba. It looked like a bleak city from the air; there was a severe lack of white buildings clinging onto the cliff faces – nothing like the welcoming landscape I had expected.

  I was told to stay clear of the airliner – good tip – and to fly an approach behind the jet for a landing. I touched down and kept the Cirrus moving quickly, hoping to get off the runway as fast as possible. There seemed to be a lot of traffic for a small island and many large commercial airliners parked parallel to the runway.

  It was all too easy. I had been so focused on the issue with Egypt that I had just wanted this leg over with, and now it was. Or that’s what I thought.

  I taxied from the runway and gave the air traffic controller the name of the handling company that would be looking after me. Off to the right was a ground marshal and I headed in his direction before following his lead and bringing the aircraft to a stop. He waved and walked off, so I began to pack up inside the plane so I could just hop out and leave. As I cleaned up the mess, a little white car pulled up beside the Spirit of the Sapphire Coast.

  This did not surprise me. In many of my stopovers so far someone had come to say hello and welcome, and even in some cases I was given a welcome gift.

  But this was Greece, and things turned out to be very different.

  I opened the door and said hello to the woman who had just climbed out of the car. There was no hello in return, instead a short and sharp, ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’

  I was slightly stunned. ‘Hi, I’m Ryan Campbell, I am on my way around the world solo and have been in contact several times in regards to my stopover here in Rhodes.’

  ‘I am the airport manager. We know nothing about you. You should not be here. You have to leave.’

  Oh crap. There’s one less Christmas card I’ll have to send out.

  Her English turned out to be not the best and many of the things I said just caused her to assume a blank and slightly confused expression. I told her I couldn’t just leave and handed her the paperwork for all of my clearances. From the look on her face I could see this had the potential to be quite a big issue. I climbed out of the plane and into the car, fully aware that we were not going sightseeing. We were headed for her office.

  For forty-five minutes we argued, or rather she did and I listened with the occasional nod. I apologised over and over again, my handler had not turned up and I had very little else to say. All the clearances had been obtained and I had entered Rhodes in a completely legal manner but apparently a twenty-four-hour notice of arrival had not been given. In the end that was not our issue. The handler, who I was paying, had not told us that Rhodes specified giving notice. Today was the first I had heard of it.

  Her solution was quite a straightforward one – she wanted me to leave. ASAP. The problem was I had no fuel in the aircraft, I was in the middle of the Greek islands not knowing where else to go, and even with endless amounts of fuel I didn’t yet have the permits approved for the flight to Jordan. Regardless of what she thought, regardless of what actions she decided to take, I was going nowhere. I decided I would rather argue with her than run out of fuel or be shot down by some foreign air force, another two items that never made my bucket list.

  After a little while a Greek man walked into the office and introduced himself: my ‘better late than never’ handler. He spoke with the woman in Greek while I awkwardly stood by. I knew they were talking about me and that the conversation did not concern the sights Ryan would most like to see while he was in Greece. They somehow came to an agreement. I awkwardly waved to the woman as my handler told me to leave and leave right away, and we wandered outside and just kept walking.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘She’s not the easiest to get on with.’

  Really? But she had seemed so nice, I thought.

  ‘I told her you were leaving tomorrow and she finally agreed. She wasn’t very happy about it. Don’t worry about her, though. I’ll make a phone call tonight and you can stay for your three days.’

  I wasn’t sure what to say. It had now been a couple of hours since I landed, the plane was locked up but uncovered and awkwardly parked. Luckily I had my bags and was off to the motel. We organised a time to refuel and repack the next day, I would pop by about 4:30pm and fill up the ferry tank. Other than the refuelling I would complete all my other jobs at the motel and stay away from the airport.

  I thought long and hard about what had just happened while the cab driver set off for the centre of town. It had rattled me a little and I now felt I was far from welcome in Greece, almost as if I shouldn’t be here at all. That said, I had few options. I decided to update everyone about my exciting
afternoon when I arrived at the motel then go and find dinner, to just forget about the flight until the following day, when I would finish the planning then go and refuel.

  I was staying in the Old Town. Rhodes Old Town has been occupied since 4000 BC and is the oldest inhabited mediaeval town in Europe. I got out of the cab and walked across a moat and into Old Town, as you do. There are more than 200 streets without names in Rhodes and I see this as the reason I became lost. I was still in the flight suit, I was carrying a lot of bags and equipment normally left in the plane and I was lost up a steep cobblestoned street. It was exciting to be there but I could not wait to drop everything and get changed. I wanted to look around, but not like this.

  I finally found and checked into the Nikolas Hotel. Mum had spoken with the owners and they were excited to have me stop by. I wandered in and shared my experiences of Greece so far and with a surprised look on their faces they showed me to my room. I threw everything on the floor and after a cold shower crashed out on the bed. I sent an email to let everyone know of the day’s happenings, put together a quick update for the blog and social media and packed away the computer. It was time to forget about the flight.

  I woke up with the Greek sun streaming through the window after what had been a good night’s sleep. With only a few little jobs to do before heading back to the airport in the late afternoon I had the morning to look around, so I bundled my washing together and took it downstairs on my way to breakfast then headed out.

  I needed to print off some paperwork and scan a few legal documents for future overflight and landing clearances, then I would email them through to Mike at White Rose so he could organise the finer details. Normally that wouldn’t have been an issue, but the motel didn’t have the equipment to scan or print, in fact it seemed that very few people in Rhodes did. Instead there was one so-called printing shop that took care of everything, even for the local university students studying on the island. I had a mud map and some comfortable shoes, so I packed my backpack and set off for a walk.

  The day zipped by, I found the printing shop and organised the paperwork. I had walked the cobblestoned streets and managed to take in the architecture. It was hard to understand just where I was standing, if only the walls could have talked. I was frequently lost in a mix of tourists and locals as I walked past the shops that lined the ancient streets. Even small details such as doors and shopfronts were ancient and often beautiful. Although the shops were selling souvenirs, locals lived in the old buildings right alongside. Rhodes was the reverse of a commercial city.

  I walked outside the walls of the Old Town and took a look around the marina to find a beach close by that I hoped to visit the next day if the plane was finished and ready to go. After a late lunch I attempted to find the motel hidden back amongst the unnamed cobblestone streets.

  I jumped into a cab and took off for the airport, arriving right on 4:30pm and went inside to find my handler. We had organised to meet at Customs, where I would have to go through security to be allowed out on the tarmac where the Cirrus was parked. I spotted the only person I knew in Greece. He gave me a wave but seemed to be in a hurry.

  ‘We can’t refuel at the moment, sorry. The woman is still here and we can’t have her see you.’

  He walked me up some stairs to a café where he found me a seat hidden behind a large wall.

  ‘Stay here, I’ll be back as soon as she has left.’

  I sat behind the wall of the café for two and a half hours, quickly popping my head around the corner to grab something to eat, but otherwise just staying in my seat. I watched as the sun started to go down and became more frustrated the longer I waited. What if he had forgotten and gone home? I sure as hell wasn’t going to walk around trying to find out.

  He finally appeared but he didn’t really say anything apart from ‘sorry’. I began to realise that this wasn’t the standard way they went about refuelling a customer. He let me know that my favourite person in the world had finally gone home as we zipped through security and tried to use the last of the daylight to refuel. As I unpacked the plane, he organised the fuel truck.

  In a couple of hours the plane was refuelled and ready to go and after another thirty minutes trying to find a way to pay the refueller we slipped through security for the last time. I ordered a cab and bought a tub of chocolate ice-cream from the café. It was around 9pm and I had been there for five hours.

  We pulled out of the airport and back to the motel. The cab driver seemed a little strange but he had some seriously catchy Greek music playing on the radio. While I sat and ate my ice-cream he turned around to tell me we would need to take a diversion, as there was a parade blocking the main road. I couldn’t have cared less, all I wanted was to go back; at least until we turned off the main road while every other car continued towards the centre of Rhodes. We were the only vehicle on a dingy and dark back road and I became a little worried. Maybe this guy was connected to the lady at the airport? Maybe this wasn’t a taxi? Maybe this was the end and the 60 Minutes story would be based on abduction and not a solo circumnavigation?

  I though about it for a second but that was all it took. This guy was letting me eat chocolate ice-cream on the cream leather seats of his Mercedes. With that much trust in me he was obviously a genuine guy.

  We eventually did get back to the motel. I zipped by a little café and ordered a gyros for a very late post-ice-cream dinner, a staple of the Greek diet with which I had fallen in love. It was similar to a mixed kebab that you could find back at home but tasted so much better.

  I woke up early the next morning, took the freshly cleaned clothes, rolled them one by one, and with my knee pressed into the bag managed to strain the zipper closed.

  The next few hours were spent finalising the flight plan to Aqaba in Jordan. I had the tracking details outlined and a flight plan form filled out and with the aircraft also ready all I had to do was submit the plan in the morning and take off. I was organised.

  I decided to head to the beach that I had spotted the day before. Apparently it was one of the nicest beaches on the island. The sand consisted of coarse grey rock, there were white plastic chairs filled with people and tourists scattered throughout the ocean. I had a few hours so I walked around the perimeter to see what I could find.

  There was a boat offering scuba diving, it was first come first served. I was surprised at how cheap it was, but it wasn’t so cheap that oxygen became an add-on. I decided to have a go. I was in Greece, why not?

  Kitted out and ready to go, I hopped into the shallow water with the instructor standing by. He told me to put my head under the water and have a go at breathing. I was surprised at the physical effort required to breathe out, something that was far from normal. I was a little hesitant but eventually stepped off the rock and into the deep water where I began to float. With one swift pull the instructor deflated my jacket, causing me to sink like a rock. I’d just been given all the encouragement I needed to learn how to breathe underwater, and quickly.

  It was beautiful. There was not too much to look on the barren sea floor apart from a cave hidden in a rock wall. That did not matter: I had taken on a challenge completely different to the one I faced each and every day. I had to be careful to stay close to the surface because of the major pressure differences that affect the body when under water and then in the air. That said, scuba diving was still extremely exciting.

  The day was coming to an end but instead of taking a taxi back to Old Town I caught a ride with the guys on the boat. I took in the coastline of Greece from the water at a level at I hadn’t been used to for quite a while. After getting changed I had dinner on the top of an old building, an opportunity to eat outside and watch the sun set over Greece.

  It had been a great and I had stored up some fantastic memories. Next stop Jordan.

  But the Greek experience had shaken me a bit. I had been told that there would be unforeseen problems between Europe and home, and having spoken to a lot of ferry pilots I was
aware of the sorts of things that might happen. The ‘targeted tipping’ funds were stowed away in the aircraft; we had organised every handler to try and remove the issue of a dozen people trying to help at once and then charging for their trouble. Even knowing all that, and being focused on the issues caused by the Egypt diversion, I hadn’t expected any problems in Greece. I had been taken by surprise and didn’t like it. Unfortunately I feared there would be much more of this to come. For the first time during my flight I wanted to head home.

  CHAPTER

  20

  On to Jordan

  The next morning I said goodbye to the owners of the St. Nikolas Hotel. They had been fantastic and looked after me very well, even giving me a thirty-minute word-by-word translation of a local newspaper article about the flight.

  I carried my bags outside the walls of the Old Town for the last time before finding the closest road and hailing a cab. I watched the last of the Greek countryside pass by before arriving at the airport. My handler was there and we both had the same idea: let’s get the Cirrus and me out of here. Pronto.

  I packed the bags into the plane and completed a pre-flight check. Just as I went to pay my handling charges I was told the only ATM machine was back inside the terminal and on the other side of security. I took a breath and off we went, I withdrew the money and fixed up the bill and just for fun we took on security one last time. I walked to the plane via the control tower, passed on my paper-written flight plan to be faxed away before being handed the printed weather forecast. Now I was good to go.

  I clambered into the plane and carefully stashed away my Mars bar and bottle of Fanta. Some would say this is not the ideal breakfast, but there’s not a lot you can do when you’re faced with a vending machine.

  I requested a start up and got immediate approval so with the engine warming I began the ritual of programming the avionics and working through the checks. After a few minutes tower let me know there was an issue with my flight plan, and told me to ‘just stand by and we will try and sort it out’. I sat for ten minutes, just waiting, with the aircraft idling and with everything ready to go. Tower soon replied: they hadn’t been able to resolve the problem and told me to come up to the tower. I shut down, locked the door on the Cirrus, grabbed just the iPad and my flight planning paperwork and walked briskly across the tarmac.