The following day, I took a bus from El Chaltén back to El Calafate as I had an afternoon flight to one of the southernmost parts of Argentina, and the world, Ushuaia. I had bought the tickets from a travel agent in Buenos Aires, where there are many in tourist areas like San Telmo. I was able to pay in cash, which meant I got them for close to half price on the Blue Dollar. Unfortunately, you can’t get the Blue Dollar rate for international flights, just domestic ones. For more about the Blue Dollar, check out my blog post here.
So, back to the airport and the plane journey to Ushuaia from El Calafate. The wind in Patagonia is legendary; it can blow you over sideways and then backwards. On the day of my flight, the wind was blowing a gale; I instantly noticed the windsock was fully erect upon my arrival, and I wasn’t surprised to find that flights were delayed as a result. After an hour or so, the single terminal waiting room was bursting as more and more people turned up for their flights. While waiting, Jeremy arrived, which was a nice surprise. We talked about NYE and the hike and arranged to hang out in Buenos Aires. Suddenly, they announced boarding for my flight. I looked out of the huge glass windows onto the runway, the wind was clearly still up; was it safe to fly? I imagine they just decided to get people up and away. I was full of trepidation as I walked onto the runway, and the sight I was about to see didn’t fill me with confidence. Never in my life have I been helped onto a plane by a line of firemen. There’s a first time for everything, I guess. We were told to hold onto the rope as we walked to the plane. Every few meters, a fireman would pass you from one to the next like a rugby ball. The plane twitched ferociously, this can’t be safe, this can’t be safe, my inner voice was screaming. Following the rope up the stairs, the last fireman by the door grabbed me, cradled me, and pushed me onto the plane. Ah, the safety of the plane, were unfortunately not the thoughts that sprung to mind. On the contrary, I instantly felt trapped. Was this tin bucket ride to be my last?
As I boarded the plane, the wind continued to howl, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of impending doom. You could have cut the tension with a knife; it was palpable, nobody was speaking. A teenager of about 16 was crying into her grandmother’s arms. I put my belongings away and sat down. Every fiber in my body was screaming to get off, and I almost did, but it was too late; the doors were closed. I gripped the armrest with all my might, pushed my back against the seat, and closed my eyes. God, please keep me safe! In an effort to stay calm, I kept telling myself that the pilots knew what they were doing and had done this many times before. As the plane took off, the turbulence was brutal; it shook ferociously as we tried to punch our way out of the winds, only for the plane to momentarily free fall before climbing again. The plane felt like it was being tossed around like a toy. I held on tight, eyes closed, the armrest in a vice-like grip.
I didn’t understand how the plane didn’t disintegrate under the force of the brutal, powerful winds. It seemed so unnatural to fly in such conditions. It was a flight I would never forget, a testament to the skill of the pilots and how engineering feats have conquered the power of nature. Miraculously, after a stomach-churning ascent, the turbulence subsided, and the rest of the ride was smooth flying; we landed safely to the relief of everyone on board.
My fear of flying started about 15 years ago on a domestic flight from Jakarta to Yogyakarta in Indonesia. I had picked up tickets at an insanely cheap price of around $20, never a good sign. Speaking of signs, there were many, including dirty staff uniforms and kids running around behind the airline office counter. The flight was with a company called Adam Air. The plane took off and came into land without any issues, only for there then to be a problem with what sounded like the landing gear. We seemed to be circling the airport for hours, and the trees seemed so close that it felt like we were kissing their tops.
Panic started to spread around the plane like wildfire. The man next to me told me that this airline has a very bad safety record and that there had been a few fatal crashes recently, fantastic, just what I needed to hear. He then went on to tell me that he didn’t mind dying as he had been a good Muslim and believed in an afterlife. However, I could see that other people on the plane were less sanguine about the prospect of perishing in a plane crash, from the muffled crying and panicked whispers. I looked at the air hostesses for reassurances, unfortunately, there were none.
Eventually, the issue seemed to get resolved, and we started our rapid descent. Unfortunately, there was no announcement, so I took the crash position and asked God to forgive me for my sins, not wanting for the pearly white gates to be closed in my face.
In Yogyakarta, I googled Adam Air’s safety record and, along with a company called Lion Air, found that it had the worst safety record in Indonesia, which at the time had one of the worst safety records in the world. In fact, Adam Air was closed down after being caught moving plane parts from one plane to another during inspections and bribing pilots to fly unsafe planes.
After telling some fellow travellers of my ordeal in the hostel, we all decided to take the bus to our next destination, Bali. We were crammed into a small minibus that swerved in and out of traffic, often into oncoming trucks, to our screams, before pulling back in last second, narrowly missing a head on collision. I was sitting in the front next to the driver and had to close my eyes; it was better not to look. One passenger even blamed me for the driver’s erratic, reckless driving as I had asked him not to chain smoke.
I’m still here to tell the tale, so clearly, we didn’t crash. I’m still in contact with some of the people on the bus, bonded by the scariest bus ride ever. The perils of domestic travel in developing countries are part and parcel of being a traveller in such lands, and something you have to accept. I often forget just how bad some of my journeys have been, only to embark on new ones.
