Arrived at TPE

I was so exhausted that as soon as I boarded I nodded off and did not realise that we had taken off. All I could recall was the annoying low whining of the engines of the Airbus 300-200 and the long, long taxi to the runway as I slipped in and out of consciousness. I remember eating, beans with mushrooms and potatoes, which actually tasted better than the meal I had in Business Class on Air Canada.

The next moment I woke up, the satellite map revealed we were just about to begin our slow descent to Taiwan. The island was but a few hundred kilometers away, and the imagination of its mountains, of the lights rushed in my blood.

The captain’s voice came on, a young, energetic one, and announced that we had been delayed due to strong headwinds. Indeed, as I looked at the flight data, we were only flying at around 600kph, whereas normally a plane like this could do close to a thousand.

Lights began to appear, ever more, until we were flying parallel to the eastern coastline. I could see the mouth of the Danshui River, its shores dotted with golden streets, and its lip bright with the floodlights and quays of the newly inaugurated Port of Taipei. The sprawl of the city lay not far away, and the flashing signal lights at the tip of the wing caught the gray shadows of a light drizzle. Outside, it was close to 25C.

The plane banked as we needed to make a 180degree turn to approach the runway with the wind. As much as I enjoy sitting by the window and spotting landmarks and sites I recognise, when the window seems to veer to close to the ground as the plane leans sideways, my palms always fill with sweat. Even more so as at the low speed we were flying so close to the ground, the lift on the wings could easily drop, and bring the plane tumbling down under the force of gravity… at least that’s my elementary understanding of flight mechanics, and of the fate of the unfortunate flight TK1951. And to add on my fears, as we banked and as the wing tips seemed to be yearning to touch the ground, strong winds made the cabin rock and drop, swing and shake turbulently. Cold sweat oozed throughout my pores as I prayed to get on the ground as soon as possible…

Miraculously, as the plane leveled for the final approach, everything was so smooth. Perhaps the calm after the turbulence, and the plane seemed to glide ever so softly onto the runway, touching down without the slightest of bumping. I hurried off the plane toward the immigration controls, but was caught between lines of loud, obnoxious Chinese tour groups. When it was my turn, the immigration officer was probably wondering why I had a red European passport, whereas the rest of the people before me had to take out their green “Exit and Entry Permit” especially reserved for people from the People’s Republic of China. After scanning my passport twice and flipping through the pages, probably wondering why I had visited this island so many times in the past six months, she closed my passport and welcomed me.

The journey home was uneventful, and I managed to quickly board the bus to downtown, even though I was eyeing around to see if there were any trace of mum or relatives. To be honest, I was a little disappointed, but then again I really did not want anyone there waiting for me, especially after being delayed and at past midnight.

Quietly as I could, I opened the door and entered. The low glow of a floor light in the living revealed the bed that mum had made for me. The house was pretty much the same as I left it. Then again, that was only one and a half months ago. I tiptoed around, but perhaps the sound of the door locking woke my mum, who called from her bedroom.

I walked toward her, and in the darkness saw only her silhouette. “I am home, mum”, I said, and gave her a big, long hug and many pats on her back. She felt thinner, but warm. “Good that you’re finally here”, she said, especially she had somehow thought that I would get here yesterday night.

In the dim light I looked at her face, her hair. Unsure whether she was wearing a wig or not, she looked more or less the same. But this was in the dark. And even in the dark, I could see that the fringes of her hair, close to her ears, at the back were the colour of salt and pepper. I guess because of the chemo she did not dye her hair, and age had returned more prominent than ever.

Listening to the croak of frogs in the distance, and the occasional sound of a lone scooter whiz past, I fell asleep. At home again.

Something different in her voice

Speaking to mum the last two days, there's something different in her voice. I'm not sure whether it's because I caught her at an inconvenient moment, but it always sounds as if she's distracted or a bit absent.

Two days ago I spoke to her, she sounded down because brother had mentioned that he might go back to see her this week, and then told her that he decided against it (whereas in fact he only told her that so it would be a surprise when he does show up at the door...) Mum's voice was sad, her response slow and hesitant sounding.

Just now I spoke to her, and she said she had been worried sick because she didn't hear from me since yesterday. Apparently she confused the date of my arrival, and she thought I was supposed to arrive yesterday. But with the time difference, it's actually today. So she was imaging that something was wrong.

Maybe I'm making something out of nothing, and that it's just a simple case of misunderstanding or maybe she's just tired.... But it makes me worry how her health really is now...

At NRT

Some fifteen hours later, I land at Narita Airport. Outside, the sun is blaring and it's supposed to be 23C. I wouldn't know, as I'm stuck here for the next four hours waiting for my connection to Taipei. I originally wanted to leave the airport for a few hours, but arriving here I just decided not to do that... I'm not feeling all that adventurous at the moment. All I want is to get home quickly and to see my mum. Besides, I have some work I need to finish off...

It feels so surreal to be back in Asia... On the decent towards Japan, I saw the coastline, the rice fields, the green mountains and paddies. A land dotted with squarish architecture that's iconic of the region. To think, a dozen hours or so ago, I was looking down at the seemingly endless vast expanse of Canada that stretched to the horizon and beyond.

Right now, sitting at a desk in a quiet corner of Terminal 1 away from the crowd, away from the Asian shoppers (and there are many, as this is Asia after all...). The broadcast in a foreign language, and every few minutes the vending machine next to me bursts to life with (what I presume) is "Feed me with your coins!" That is... if I have any local currency.

I feel somehow so estranged from this reality, like I'm existing in another plane (no pun intended). I see the passengers walking around me. I see the jumbos parked on the tarmac, waiting to leave to destinations around the world. And to think last time I walked around I was in Montreal, where it was snowy on the ground, where the sun was barely piercing through the clouds...

The Few Washed

If anything free came out of all the hours and distances of I covered flying around the world in the past year, it is two upgrade certificates which allow me to move a few rows closer to the captain’s seat.

So on this long trek across Canada and the Pacific, I lifted myself from the crowded and stinking confines of the ‘Great Unwashed’ to the ambiance-light and perfume filled cabin of the ‘Few Washed’.

Already at check-in and boarding, we were already separated into the (aerial) “Haves” and “Have nots” (a practice, mind you, also done at L**den University). A red carpet, and none of the queuing and waiting with whiny old ladies and crying children, leads to a special designated counter, cordoned off in a section of the terminal to prevent inter-(booking)class mingling. The luggage is granted the privilege of bearing special priority tags and given the right to swallow a few more pounds than the rest of the riff raff in Economy. Upon seeing my booking class, every single sentence seems to end with “…Mr. Chen”. “Would you like a window or aisle seat, Mr Chen?” “We have availability on an earlier flight. Would you like to be on that one, Mr. Chen?” “I have tagged your luggage all the way to Taipei, Mr. Chen.” “The boarding gate is A51, and you have time to enjoy our Maple Leaf Lounge, Mr. Chen”. I wondered whether my suitcases were on their way to a cushioned room with their elitist counterparts prior to being petted, handled with the utmost care, and gently lifted and placed on board the plane.

Security screening too is segregated for the aerial “Haves”, and signs directed me to a special line with fewer people and away from the looming dark shadow of the full body scanner. It appears the Few Washed seem to pose less of a security risk than the rest. Indeed, which attempt at bringing down a plane, either with tap water, a shoe or underwear, was by someone sitting up front? Looking to my side, I shook my head with pity when I saw the row upon row of frustrated passengers with their belts unbuckled and with their creams, gels, and tampons exposed for the screeners to sift through.

When boarding at the gate, the Few Washed get special mention, and are ushered through a special lane like VIPs. Everyone else had to impatiently make way, watch on, and wait for the ‘Chosen Ones’ to pass. I quickly walked through, ever conscious of the envious eyes that watched me jump in front of everyone and forever listening out for the person who may inadvertently just tell me to go stand at the back of the line to queue up like everyone else. I was lucky that despite my jeans and riff-rafty appearance nobody challenged me infiltrating the ranks of the high-flying elites.

I found my seat, and I did not have to walk far to find my bizarre-looking capsule next to the window (as requested). I settled in, and stretched my legs, and avoided looking in the eyes of the Great Unwashed as they shuffled by one by one. A few girls from a Canadian sports team played with the controlled of an empty seat behind me before dragging themselves into the ‘no-go’ zone. And I later found out a team mate of their sat alone a few seats away from me, while everyone else squeezed into the back of the plane. So much for team spirit.


The personal capsule is laid out at an awkward angel to the cabin wall, in a way that whenever I look up I can see what other people are doing (and vice versa). Even with my bag underneath a little footrest in front of me, I had plenty of room; not to mention the unused overhead compartment which can easily fit a grown child inside. Due to the lack of space in the back, a member of the Great Unwashed parted company with his hand luggage, which was offered space up in front. I am sure the hand luggage will be more rested and relaxed than the person.

At the back of my mind I was reminded of a friend who had pointed out that in Business Class I take up the same amount space as four other members of the Great Unwashed (…so much for AirWei’s CO2 reduction policy). I looked back, and saw the stinking masses crowded in their narrow 32” seats, sitting right next to total strangers who may well suffer from chronic symptoms of airborne flatulence… or who may very well be the next Mr. Park (luckily, the cabin crew walk around the dimmed cabin with a flashlight…). Occasionally, you do have the curious Unwashed poking their heads through the separator curtain. Sometimes you even see the stray Unwashed wander down the corridor and admiring the full lie-flat beds, 16” flat screens, with their mouth watering as they eye the baskets of fresh fruits and steaming dim sum in the galley.

The cabin attendant came around before take off and offered hot towels and a drink (one of many, many to come), and even asked if I wanted my coat checked. Even sitting in the back of the plane, crowded as it already is, I like to hug my coat throughout the flight, so I declined. Together with Yuri (the Space Monkey), I played around with the seven (no less!) buttons that controlled various aspects of my seat, until I got bored and began to browse through the safety manual. In fact, there are different instructions for the Few Washed, for the locations of the lifevest and shape of the seatbelt are all different from the back. I wondered to myself whether in the (as they always say “unlikely”) event of an emergency, the oxygen masks (with soft cushions to prevent and foam protector guards chafing the neck and ears, no doubt) will drop first for people up in front, and whether life rafts are also segregated by (booking)class.

Despite the hospitality, and nice presentation, the meal was actually a disappointment. Even though as soon as I was handed the plastic-coated menu I was undecided between whether to have the Thai Red Curry, or the Braised Black Cod, or the Grilled Alberta AAA Beef Tenderloin or the Kaiseki-style Japanese meal (with sake, salmon, chicken, egg roll and beef appertisers accompanied with pickles, steamed rice and noodles, followed by chicken with sesame sauce, spinach, bamboo shoots, red and yellow pepper… and let’s not forget, miso soup), they had me down for the Asian Vegetarian meal. It consisted of some salad with pieces of white things (that suspiciously tasted, felt and smelt like chicken…), a fruit salad, and rice with curry flavoured peas. The rice was actually kind of raw, but being used to the mass-microwaved food in the back, I did not complain. Unlike a couple behind me (most likely also members of the riff raff upgraded into the elite zone), who demanded many times that they wanted “bubblies” as soon as they got onboard. If I got hungry, I could always go down to request cheese platters, grapes, cereaels or instant noodles. At one point I got a piece of banana bread served on a plate which came together with a napkin, a knife and a fork (alas, no spoon…). Unwilling to betray my lowly class status, I opened the napkin, and when nobody was watching used my bare (but today being one of the Few Washed, washed) hands.

On my seat was an amenity kit, with a pair of very blue socks, toothbrush, body and face lotion, and an eye mask. The toilet is surprisingly wide and bright, and while answering nature’s call, you can even look outside to admire the massive GE90 engine or watch cotton clouds float by across the blue ocean. Again, these are the luxuries of space and scenery the Great Unwashed (back there, with their unsanitary and developing country conditions of one-toilet-per-fifty-passengers) can only imagine.

And to think these two different worlds, never in between shall meet, are just separated by a thin, gray curtain. They should have considered building a bulletproof wall. Bolted and locked, like the one to the cockpit.

"Invictus"

I am no fan of sports, much less of rugby (even though it is a “hooligan’s sport played by gentlemen”). But “Invectus” was more than just about men running on a big field, kicking and passing an olive-shaped ball sideways and backwards. It was about a sport that managed to bring a new nation together, and about the man who lived forgiveness and aspired for unity.

Set in a South Africa shortly after its transition to democracy with the election of Nelson Mandela, the movie touches the heart of a newborn nation, and deals with the story of a president’s attempt to unite a people divided for far too long by race and colour.

Rugby seemed at first the most unlikely means to build bridges and trust between South Africans. The green and gold colours and emblems of the “(Spring)Bokke” (“Antelope”) was for a long while a very poignant symbol of Apartheid. Before, while the whites cheered what was supposed to be the ‘national’ team of South Africa, the majority black population would rally for whichever opposing country. How do you build a “rainbow nation” that is “hungry for greatness”? How do you gently leave behind the past and allay suspicions of revenge and repeats of the worst excesses of what is happening in Zimbabwe? How do you address the cruel wrongs of a segregationist pariah regime and soothe the collective trauma and suffering of the vast majority?

Through reconciliation and forgiveness. Through dialogue and sharing stories. Through a president whose seemingly endless dark nights and days on Robbein Island was lit by the beauty and healing of poetry and humanity. Through victory at the 1995 Rugby World Cup And through team captain Francois Pienaard who shared the same dream of togetherness as Mandela, and who sang the same song of hope and freedom which to his black compatriots sang.

Morgan Freeman’s true-to-life performance captures the essence Mandela, from his genuine concern for all those around him, down to the dimpled smile and infectious swaying dance and hand movements of South Africa’s former dissident turned president. South Africa may still have its fair share of economic and social woes, and may still be plagued by its recent past, and by the great divides of race and class. But if the movie has a message, it is that in those moments of collective euphoria and celebration, those memories of pain and suffering grow ever paler.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Last day

My cat is rubbing against my leg and sitting next to me. Occassionally, she jumps on my desk and eyes me from her crouched position, purring whenever I give her a soft stroke. She knows how to touch a soft spot in me, a spot that's made even softer as tomorrow I will leave her again for a number of weeks... I wish I did not have to, and looking at the way she looks at me makes me feel guilty this time tomorrow she will be all alone. Maybe she enjoys that... maybe she likes to be 'boss' and roam around like she is the queen of the household, lie down and shed fur wherever she pleases... but I somehow know that she enjoys company, as much I enjoy hers.

Yes, my suitcase from last time has hardly had time to collect dust, and I am again on the move. At least in the last couple of weeks I've really managed to be productive, not just with my research, but also helping out a bit with my school's journal. Overall, it's been a good few weeks, despite the loneliness getting to me at times. Lonely, not only because I long for someone to be close to me, but also because I sometimes wish I could have someone to talk to, to share feelings without feeling like I'm unloading and taking up their time...

At least when I go back to Taiwan, I won't be so "lonely" anymore... It'll be a different kind of lonely. Sure I'll be with my family, with mum almost constantly, but I won't have friends I can talk to or see when I feel like it.

It'll be different than being alone here, as I have something to do, someone to take care of, and that somehow make the days go by really quickly. On the eve of me leaving, I wonder how mum really is doing... she says she is well on the phone... but nothing can be more real than seeing her, holding her in my arms, seeing how the hair has fallen out since I last saw her...

I'm not sure how I will react, how I will feel inside, but what the case will be, I must be strong.

"Breakfast at Tiffany's"

Sometimes I listen to the radio, and a song comes on, taking me back to 'those' days, filling my heart with warmth of youth's yesteryears...

"You say that we've got nothing in common
No common ground to start
from and we're falling apart
You'll say the world has come between us
Our lives have come between us still I know you just don't care
...
I see you, the only one who knew me
And now your eyes see through me I guess I was wrong
So what now it's plain to see we...'re over
And I hate when things are over when so much is left undone"

Dreams...

Been sleeping bad lately
Just troubled by dreams, perhaps because I've been pushing myself too hard, working, working almost constantly. I go to sleep, and am often caught between that stage of consciousness and sub-conscious... I can almost hear the cat next to me, breathing, but I am in my dream-like state of mind, experiencing, watching, feeling, being absorbed in a world of fantasy and makebelieve conjured by the inner images and imaginations of my mind. I often 'see' planes, 'feel' like I'm on a plane ... 'see' myself flying to somewhere (or worse, crashing...)

And I wake up, tired, drained and mouth dry, with a tough start to the new day.

Tracking form

My student visa to stay in Canada expires in around four months, so it's about time to think about renewing it. I filled in all the necessary forms online, and all I need are some documents to support my application. One such document is a letter from my faculty saying that I'm registered there and that I need an extension to complete my degree.

So I go into the graduate students' office and ask for this letter. "One week", the secretary said. One week to get a letter saying I'm a student at the university and that I need an extension for my visa to study. Why does it take one week? In the time it took for her to explain that they've so busy with work these days, and that in the many, many emails they send out telling students that they need one week's notice to process requests, she could have printed out the document I need and I would have walked away happy.

But no. It takes one week for some reason. Even though I knew that all it takes is for the secretary to copy and paste my name on some official template. That takes one week. But she said she'll try to get it to me sooner, so I was somewhat assured.

An hour later I received an email from the secretary. Sorry, no letter until I submit a so-called "Tracking Form". The tracking form must indicate a report of my progress and timeline of different stages in the completion of my thesis:

with confirmation from the supervisor that there have been regular meetings, that appropriate progress has been made, and that the next session is required in order to develop the thesis in order to reach submission quality.

What it is is an idiotic piece of bureaucracy that keeps secretaries like her busy over nothing. It's supposed to (as the name suggests) keep track of student's progress with their studies. And everyone's supposed to fill one in so the administration knows what we're up to.

Why do I need to fill one in, I asked. A few months ago I had expressly mailed the administration to let them know that I have not been making much progress lately because of my mum's situation. They mailed back, acknowledging my situation, and even expressing sympathy. I thought that was the end of it, and that I don't have to deal with them anymore...

And now suddenly I need to fill this "tracking form" in so that I can extend my student visa? What should I write under reason's for failing to achieve the objectives I set out last year? That my mum is doing chemo and that I've been shuttling back and forth between places? That I'm often so depressed I don't feel like working or going out at all? Why do they have to know this... they know this already. I told them. Why do they have to have all this in writing?

I fail to see why it is so important to the administration, who do nothing but keep our files in order, to know how far I am progressing. I have three years to finish my degree, and it's only been half that time. I can use all the time I want, and I'm sure that I can finish in time. But by the way they keep on asking students like me for tracking forms, it's as if they want to get rid of me.

I spoke to my supervisor about this before, and he too thought it was a ludicrous extra invented by people who have nothing better to do than bother students (and professors) with signatures. A waste of time writing up all the things that have been accomplished and drawing up sham timetables and deadlines which do not have any significance whatsoever. Where do these tracking forms go? Who looks at them? Who actually cares, except the people in the student administration who seem to have a fit if the tracking forms are not submitted on time?

So now I have to fill in this ridiculous form just to please those people in administration. Without it, I can't get my letter proving I'm a student at the university, and without the letter I cannot get my visa. Who gave these administrators so much power to dictate whether I can stay in the country? Are they going to expel me if I do not complete such a form?

Utterly ridiculous lot of Kafkaesque bureaucracy...

Chocolates

The door rang, and outside was a dark girl. I opened the door, and she showed me her card, and went on in French about her cause. I understood most of it, something about her classmates going to do humanitarian work. "Two chocolates for 5 dollars. Super bon!"

I turned to search for a few coins in the kitchen shelf, and gave the girl the money. She was grateful, and handed me two giagantic bars of chocolate. Indeed, on the bar was more information about their cause, and a link to the organisation which helps charities raise money for similar events.

"Bonne chance!" I said, glad that I have extra karma points and two big bars of chocolate.

Upside down

I'm not sure why I can't sleep at night.
I go to bed, and try to close my eyes and wait for sleep to come.
But sleep wanders and visits only a few hours later.
By that time it's already almost morning.

So my days have been pretty much upside down these days.
Day is night, and night is day.
I don't like it, because I feel unhealthy when I go to bed too late.
And when I sleep late, I sleep in too,
Usually until after noon.
And so the vicious cycle continues.

Maybe it's a pattern,
A phase I go through before I leave on a long trip.
It's happened before, and mainly I think because I'm just feeling agitated and anxious,
About the long trip ahead, about being away for so long,
About being faced daily with mum's illness.

At least here I am separated by distance and time difference
(though that does not make it better, it makes it easier to 'escape', especially after I turn off skype...).

Throat ache

Unhappiness where's when I was young,
And we didn't give a damn,
'Cause we were raised,
To see life as fun and take it if we can.
My mother, my mother,
She hold me, she hold me, when I was out there.
My father, my father,
He liked me, oh, he liked me.

Spoke to mum this morning, and she seems alright. But she said she has a throat ache, and it aches everytime she drinks or swallows. It's the chemo, she said. The drug is so strong it 'burns' the insides of the throat, causing it to become irritated and dry. When you drink or eat something, the food or liquid scratches the insides of the throat. And even her tongue is 'burnt' she said. Not pleasant.

I shivered at the thought, and shiver still when I imagine what it must be like, what it must feel like... I remember she showing it to me once, last year or maybe two years ago, when she was doing chemo. The flesh of the tongue looked like it was singed with scalding water... unbearable.

But mum said she is fine.

I wonder often whether she is just saying so for my sake.

Something smells foul in the air…

And most likely it is not because of the smelly feet and socks of the person next to you. The smell is too long lingering to be the frequent passing of ‘wind’ which many of the flying public suffer from. Neither is it the smell emanating from open toilet behind (or in front of) you.

The problem may very well be “cabin contamination”, also known as “bleed air contamination”. In the cabin of a flying plane, the air that passengers and crew breathe is continuously pumped in and out of the cabin through mechanisms that flow through the engines of the aircraft. As the engine turbine turns, fresh air is sucked in or out of the plane. Ideally that is the case. However, ever since the 1950s problems have been reported with air being contaminated with fumes from the engine, and worsened in the 1960s after the air circulation systems of commercial jetliners were designed to draw cabin and flight deck air supply from the engines and auxiliary power unit (“bleed air”):

Aircraft rely on engine bleed air to pressurize cabins, provide ventilation and other uses. Once compressed, the air is cooled and sent into the cabin and cockpit. About 50% of the air in a plane’s cabin is bleed air, and the rest is filtered recirculated air. Cockpits sometimes use 100% bleed air (source: WSJ).

An episode of Zembla (Gift in de cockpit—Poison in the cockpit) drew attention to the seriousness of the problem in the Netherlands and with the Dutch airline KLM. A maintenance technician with KLM, who has been concerned about the problem for some time says the issue falls on deaf ears within the airline:

“It is not the airline companies that keep this quiet, but the industry as a whole. A number of aircrafts are notorious: the [Boeing] 757, the Bae 146, and the Fokker 100 and 70. The Fokker engines of Rolls Royce always leaks. It’s the seals, the rings, and the lower chambers of the compressors. If those leak, there can be oil fumes can enter the supply of air [into the cabins].

A report by the UK’s Civil Aviation Authority admits:

It was clear that the BAe 146 was not the only aircraft type affected and that the Boeing 757 had also been similarly affected. Report of other aircraft types such as the F100 [Fokker], A320/321 [Airbus], B737 [Boeing] and DHC-8 [De Havilland] experiencing "fumes" although not to the same extent.

A former pilot of the BAe 146 testifies:

Any BAe 146 pilot will confirm that the smells on the aeroplane, particularly on the ground before flight are very bad. I have reason to believe that these smells are not good for any occupants on board. The smells originate from the air conditioning system and on bad days can be seen as feint blue fumes in the cabin for the first 10 - 15 minutes before actual flight, it tends to clear - just before the passengers arrive.

Around the world there have been many reports of such problems (see especially pp. 10-13), but often pilots are scared to come out and speak about it. A former KLM pilot, speaking under the condition of anonymity reports that especially the Fokker planes of KLM (more specifically, its subsidiary Cityhopper which operates 5 Fokker 100s, 26 Fokker 70s, and 5 Fokker 50s on European regional routes. I had the (mis)fortune of flying on one of these planes.) suffer from the problem of cabin contamination:

It happens regularly that the cabin really smells. It is the [smell of stinking socks]. Just recently, my co-pilot got a bout of severe coughing. Personally I had irritations in my nose. […] Sometimes even the passengers complain about the stench. There are technicians who say that you are just breathing in oil.

The UK’s Department for Transport reports that since 2001, there have been some 36,000 complaints about the problem, and assures the public that only 0.05% of flights a(or 1 in 2000 flights) are affected. Though an expert neurologist interviewed in the programme says that the risk to occasional fliers may not be so high, airline crew and frequent business fliers must be aware of the problem. At least three former KLM pilots are filing a claim against the airline. A briefing prepared by the UK’s House of Commons:

Dr Sarah Mackenzie Ross, a clinical neuropsychologist at the University of London, says the illness could be affecting up to 200,000 passengers a year. Many experts and campaigners consider that a conservative figure. In January this year, investigative journalists from German and Swiss TV secretly took 31 swabs from aircraft cabins on popular airlines. These were analysed in the laboratories at the University of British Columbia under the supervision of Professor Christian van Netten, a leading toxicologist. Twenty-eight of the swabs were found to have dangerously high levels of TCP.

A Dutch toxicologist interviewed in the programme, especially as a hazardous neurotoxin known as TCP (found in, among other things, chemical weapons) are present in engine oil used in commercial aviation. Exposure to such the neurotoxin leads to “tunnel vision” and the feeling of dizziness. Further, heated engine oil often results in chemical reactions that release a toxic chemical called trimethylolpropane phosphate, which can lead to convulsions epileptic attacks (and in the case of mice, convulsions followed by death). A French report cites that the extended exposure to the “smelly sock” fumes can result in infertility and pose a threat to the unborn child. Report by the European Aviation Security Agency on the symptoms of cabin contamination:

This ranges from benign symptoms like unpleasant odour, light eye or nose irritation, light headache up to more serious symptoms like severe headache, difficulty to concentrate, nausea or muscle cramp. The most serious symptoms can substantially degrade flight crew awareness and performance of their duties. Then, the main associated safety threat would be a dual and simultaneous pilot incapacitation occurring during a critical phase of flight such as take-off or landing, which would be potentially catastrophic [emphasis mine].

As a former British Airways pilot describes it, the smell is sometimes very faint, but resembles that of a “wet sock, wet dog, or gymnasium type of smell”. A source of the problem is the use of lubricant oil to lubricate parts of the engine. When a seal is broken or worn, it is often difficult to address the problem without taking the whole engine apart in a specialist hangar—which can be a costly and time consuming endeavour. So often airlines would continue to fly the aircraft, even though leakages exist.

One reported incident is case of flight KL1540, from Leeds to Amsterdam on 2 December 2009. Shortly after taking off, the 23 year old Fokker 100 (registration: PH-OFE) returned to Leeds due to problems with the air quality, which prompted the pilots to put on their oxygen masks. In the logbook of the plane were written the words: “Crew dizzy”. A few weeks after the incident, the problem occurred again, and this time it was so severe that the plane was returned to Amsterdam without any passengers on board. One of the engines was replaced, but the problems of engine fumes returned shortly afterwards. A KLM technician on the little Fokker:

The machine still has dealing with complaints of “wet socks”, which does not surprise me. The engine, used to replace the [old one], comes from a machine which also suffered from the same complaint”.

An investigation by Fokker after the incident recognises that it was a “serious complaint” but assures that there are no serious problems with the plane. Fokker admits that the investigation only conducted measurements into the quality of the airflow and the temperature in the cabin, but whether toxic oil fumes are leaking into the cabin was not measured. In response to whether such planes should continued to be flown, Vice President of Fokker says:

If KLM decides that an aircraft can fly, and I am the passenger and I go sit onboard, then we fly […] [the reliability of the Fokker fleet] is only getting better, so I do not have a single problem with it. I’m going to fly in every Fokker there exists. […] The airline company makes the decision whether it is safe to fly.

KLM denies that there has ever been a situation through which exposure to toxic fumes placed the safety of the crew or passengers at risk. In a written response, KLM states: “Only aircrafts of which we know are 100% safe are permitted to fly […] The quality of the air on board our airplanes are constantly checked”. Even so, KLM does not allow any interviews to be conducted with pilots or technicians at Schiphol. Spokesperson for KLM: “We do see the reason [for an interview]. Exactly because from our perspective maybe there is less [of a problem] than what other people assert”.

The airline and Fokker attribute the problem of “smelly sock” to and fungus and bacterial formations—and because of not oil leakages. Vice-President of Fokker attributes the smell on water on board the aircraft:

In the plane there is a lot of water […] so we have throughout the years brought about some changes to ensure that the plane remains as dry as possible, and that no blankets become wet and so on. […] The complaints [about smelly socks] keep on coming, so we have to keep on [investigating].

Since 2007 the Dutch Transport and Water Management Inspectorate reports that there has been 17 reports of problems with stench inside the cabin “possibly due to engine malfunction or problems in the air conditioning […] There are 13 reports in which the crew or the passengers became unwell. The Inspectorate takes these sort of reports extremely seriously”. Even so, it is up to the airlines to self-report the problem, which is unlikely to happen.

Indeed, associations such as the Aerotoxic Association and the Global Cabin Air Quality Executive warn of the serious nature of the problem. Not only is “bleed air” linked to physical and neurological problems, worse is that the aviation industry, comprising of airlines and manufacturers, are colluding to cover up the problem:

4. Aircraft have no detection equipment for contaminated air yet aircrews are not required to even have a sense of smell to be able to fly. Many compounds present in contaminated air are also odourless like carbon monoxide.

5. The breathing air for passengers and crews comes from ‘bleed air’ in flight, which is taken from the engines. This is not filtered and is known to become contaminated with engine oils and hydraulic fluids.

7. Airlines do not tell passengers they have been exposed to contaminated air and never check up with exposed passengers to investigate any medical effects of exposure after an event.

8. Airlines fail to warn passengers of the serious health effects that can occur from exposure to contaminated air.

9. Most passengers assume the air they breath is free of hazardous chemicals as they trust the airline they fly with to supply clean air. Should they get sick, few if any ever make the link.

10. The CAA is entirely funded by the airlines it regulates. This results in a serious conflict of interest. This has resulted in the CAA dealing with the ongoing contaminated air exposure issue in a negligent manner. The CAA in this regard fails to protect the travelling public and working crews.

14. Serious failures in flight safety have resulted from exposure to contaminated air as few crews actually use oxygen when they suspect the air is contaminated as they ought to. The airlines and CAA know this, but do nothing to rectify this hazardous condition. Why? As to do so, would be costly to the industry.

15. Lip service is being payed to regulations regarding the reporting of contaminated air events or the airworthiness of an aircraft which is suffering from such events.

17. The Government and regulator who are entrusted to protect the public are in the eyes of many either protecting British industry (British Aerospace) or failing to enforce regulatory change

There is really something foul in the air…

Links:

Aerotoxic Association: http://www.aerotoxic.org/index.php

At seventeen

To those of us who knew the pain
Of valentines that never came
And those whose names were never called
When choosing sides for basketball
It was long ago and far away
The world was younger than today
And dreams were all they gave for free
To ugly duckling girls like me

We all play the game and when we dare
To cheat ourselves at solitaire
Inventing lovers on the phone
Repenting other lives unknown
That call and say, "come dance with me"
And murmur vague obscenities
At ugly girls like me, at seventeen

Coffee with a friend

Actually, more like a hot chocolate, because neither of us drink coffee. It's been a good while since I last saw her. She hasn't changed much, and she said I still have the same hair, same face. I guess that is a good sign.

We sat down at a quiet coffee shop and started connecting. She's actually my first 'real' friend in Canada, a friend of a friend, who was introduced to me so I could practice my French (or the bits and pieces of it...). But soon she became a close friend, as we discovered that we have many things in common. Somehow last year we lost touch... partly I guess because I was away a lot, and when I did come back, I find it hard to reconnect with people. I mean... why depress people with sad news and my troubles when I have not seen them for a long time?

But I'm glad I met up with her again... we spent some time talking about what has happened to me recently. She said she was sorry for me, having to face death again and again, and that my mum is lucky to have me as a son.

I was quiet. I do what I can, and sometimes I think that is not enough... sometimes people seem to forget how I hurt inside, behind the smiles, behind the hardwork, and behind the long and many travels. It is hard. It is hard... but I don't like to complain to people, to bother them with my troubles, especially as they all seem to have their own little lives and problems to worry about.

"Where do you belong?" she asked, at one point.

Almost without hesitation I said here in Canada. Not the Netherlands... not where I feel almost every moment of the day I am and will always be a (coloured) foreigner. Not in Taiwan... though there is where my roots still lie, and where my mum and family is. It is here in Canada, in my little appartment, with my little black and white cat. I may be away a lot, I may have my suitcase constantly by the door in case I need to go again at a moment's notice... but here I am at peace, at ease and can be myself. Fully.

"Though I do wish," I said, "There is something concrete to tie me down here." And by that something I actually meant someone.

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me
And just forget the world
Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Dream

I must be going crazy if when I sleep I dream of going on dates...

Choral Fantasy

One of my favourite classical choral pieces of all times... (performance by the Berliner Philharmoniker, conducted by Claudio Abbado)

Text is a poem called "Fantasie" by Christoph Kuffner. 
Schmeichelnd hold und lieblich klingen
Unsers Lebens Harmonien,
Und dem Schönheitssinn entschwingen
Blumen sich, die ewig blühn.

Fried und Freude gleiten freundlich,
Wie der Wellen Wechselspiel.
Was sich drängte rauh und feindlich,
ordnet sich zu Hochgefühl.

Wenn der Töne Zauber walten
Und des Wortes Weihe spricht,
Muß sich Herrliches gestalten,
Nacht und Stürme werden Licht.

Äuß're Ruhe, inn're Wonne
Herrschen für den Glücklichen,
Doch der Künste Frühlingssonne
Läßt aus Leiden Licht entstehn.

Großes, das ins Herz gedrungen,
Blüht dann neu und schön empor,
Hat ein Geist sich aufgeschwungen,
Hallt ihm stets ein Geisterchor.

Nehmt denn hin, ihr schönen Seelen,
Froh die Gaben schöner Kunst!
Wenn sich Lieb' und Kraft vermählen,
Lohnt dem Menschen Götter Gunst.

(english translation)

Flatteringly sweet and lovely ring out
our lives' harmonies,
and from our sense of beauty arise
flowers that eternally bloom.

Peace and joy move together,
like the alternating play of waves;
that which seemed harsh and hostile,
transforms itself into inspiration.

When music's magic holds sway,
and poetry's sacredness speaks out,
magnificent things must take form,
night and storms turn into light.

Outer calm, inner joy,
prevail for the happy person;
indeed, the arts' spring sunshine
lets, from sorrow, light come into being.

Greatness, that was deep in the heart,
blooms anew then, reaching up beautifully;
if a spirit rises up,
it is always echoed by a chorus of spirits.

Therefore accept, you lovely souls,
happily, the gifts of beautiful art.
If love and power join together,
humanity is rewarded by the gods' favor.

Plans

"Don't worry. I believe that because you're so caring, Buddha will protect me..." mum said. She sounded normal, though there was a hint of tiredness in her voice. Just yesterday she had the invitro chemo removed, and she said she's slowly recovering from the poisonous cocktails. It takes time, and she's feeling weak and miserable, but better than yesterday at least. It takes time to recover, and then comes another session in less than two weeks. Each time, more and more cells are being killed off. Both the bad and healthy ones.

I guess the fact that I will be with her at the end of the month made her feel happy. Or at least have something to look forward to. We talked a bit about plans for the coming weeks, and I asked about the possibility of her going to Europe to recuperate for a month or so. My plan is to join her, be with her, and possibly, if she's up to it, take her on trips to see the lavenders of southern France... so that when she sees the sea of purple and lilac, she can forget, even if only for one moment, that she is a cancer patient.

All that is still uncertain, and will have to wait. She wasn't sure about the exact dates yet, but she said she is hopeful. "I want to, and my will is strong," she said. Through the darkest of times, it is hopes that keep people afloat, and I would like to believe that this is one of those circumstances.

So as so often I am still taking a 'wait-and-see' approach. How I wish I could just decide on a date, book something and not have to think about things too much. Like friends of mine, with their well thought out travel dates and holiday plans... I often wonder how they can plan ahead and have everything so figured out. How one can plan everything down to the flights one is
taking or the number of days one is staying somewhere before jetting off to another destination.

Isn't life so much simpler, and in many ways cheaper too, without having to deal with sudden changes and associated fees and expenses?

Back to normal

I feel my mood sinking these days, and the anxieties are mounting. Maybe it's the fact that I know that in less than two weeks I will be packing my bags and leaving again. That really makes me feel unsettled and short for time, especially given the many things I still have to do before the long trip.
But I think there may be something fundamentally missing from my life.

Sure I have good friends, friends I get together occassionally with to have fun, to chat and have a good laugh. But at the end of the day when I go home, there's that emptiness and loneliness at home, one that even my cat, however loving and affectionate she is, cannot fill.

I want something more... more affection, more intimacy, more connection than just simple laughs and chitchats, with someone I feel for, and who feels the same (or more) back. Someone who can challenge me, who can inspire and stimulate me, instead of unloading me with the repetitive gossip or complaints about this or that person in thw small circle of friends. Someone who can make me feel like I want to get up in the morning and start everyday new and fresh. Someone I can turn to after a long day, and be next to, even if we say nothing at all.

But it seems that it may be selfish to want to depend all those wants in another person. True happiness comes from within, not from without, as I've been told too often. And beside, I'm too often travelling around these days I cannot settle down, cannot find the time or mood to find someone to develop the kind of relationship with I long for.

And if I do come across someone special, will I feel really happier?

Full body scanner

A body scanner at Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam.

At the moment I'm researching and writing an article on the full body scanner and its use and effectiveness at airports across North America and Europe. The body scanner came to the limelight after the foiled bombing of a Detroit-bound flight. The response of dozens of airports is a sudden rush to introduce the new imaging technology as part of passenger security screening.

So far, I've done much research on the legal implications of the use of the full body scanner. There is no doubt that the scanned images of passengers are a clear infringement of privacy. Sometimes the black-and-white images even reveal clearly breasts, genitalia and very personal details about one's medical condition--such as implants, pacemakers and urinal bags. As one US-based civil rights union calls it, the body scanner is a virtual strip search.

Authorities like the US' Transport Security Administration have publicly announced that there are procedures and measures built in to minimise breaches of privacy. Even so, the Government Accountability Office, a congressional watchdog, has warned that the TSA has not undergone enough practical testing to demonstrate the effectiveness of the expensive new measures, nor undergone a full cost-benefit analysis prior to the deployment of new body scanners.

In Europe, the Netherlands and the UK were the first ones to install the machines. Whereas in the former country, the body scanner is an optional alternative to a patdown, in the UK one must go through the body scanner or prepare to leave the airport. This has caused some uproar when two Muslim woman were turned away from their flights for refusing to undergo body scanning on religious reasons. The European Parliament is still researching the privacy implications and effectiveness of the body scanner, and is soon expected to publish a report that may form the basis of a common approach to the matter within the European Union.

But I can find no legal precedence which says that the government cannot perform a search of passengers or their belongings, however intrusive the search may be. Security has always been a key public interest, and often the courts are not hesitant to defer to the importance of safeguarding security, even at the expense of the rights and interests of private citizens.

Just came across this web-site which has some (vehemently) anti-body scanner clips and posters.

Graduation

It's not my first 'graduation dinner' of my current studies at McGill (but hopefully it'll be my last...). There's a strange tradition at our institute of giving students the honours of being accepted to the McGill family even before they have finished the exams or completed the thesis. And since I'm still making excuses not to complete the latter, I technically have not yet graduated.

Even so, graduation dinner is always a good opportunity to dine at the posh falcuty club, and to get together with friends, old and new. Three hours of speeches, applauses, laughs and fine dining and wine later, what impressed me most was the question which came back again and again from people I spoke to: "So what are you doing next?"

Not sure. But of course I can't say that. What I did say was that I am in the process of completing my thesis, and that there've been events recently that have slowed down my progress, but hopefully I should be done by year's end. But I guess that's the short term goal, and what most people mean by "what next" is the long term career plans.

Again, not sure. I look around the room of professors, of professionals, of high-flying lawyers (literally, as it was full of air lawyers...), of chairs and members of this and that prestigeous council or association, of well paid employees of this renowned institution or organisation. They all seem to have an impressive CV and wealth of experiences... And I am still stuck wondering what to put on the next page of my thesis... I feel like I cannot compare, can never compare to them.

Not that comparing is healthy... but just, as the keynote speaker said, I don't know what drives me, what interests me so much that I am willing for the next years or even decades to dedicate my life doing. What fills me with passion, what can make me fulfilled and so captured that can make me wake up every morning filled with the same rejuviant sense of pride and drive that will carry me through each and every day? I guess writing comes close to that... and travelling too. Writing and travelling to see the world and its peoples inspires and touches me deeply. But can I really make a "career" out of it? Is it not more than a hobby or past-time, something someone would do besides the hectic life of 'real' work and toil at a desk from 9 to 5 (or later) day in, day out?

I do not know, and I have not known for perhaps always... Hence when people ask, I look nervous and answer back that I am still considering options. I guess staying in school, or at least not grauating keeps me safe and sheltered from having to really decide, to really commit and face the 'real' world of work and life...

But I can't do this forever. I cannot postpone graduating and having a "career" indefinitely without a steady income to sustain myself (and cat...).

Stable

I didn't really sleep much or well last night, as normally before sleeping I'd call my mum. But last night I couldn't reach her. I called repeatedly, home and her mobile, but noone picked up. I knew that she was due for a checkup at the hospital.

So as I lay in bed, I thought of the things that may have happened... and at one point I got really sad and anxious, imagining the worst, imaging that I may have to grab my suitcase and just board the next flight. I've done in before recently, and it could very well happen. But thinking it made me so tired, so dreading it if that were the case... I guess the tiredness drained me and I fell asleep, while shadows played outside the window.

And I finally managed to reach mum this morning. She said she was indeed at the hospital, and before that she had been doing errands, and after the checkup she went for a massage. I guess she didn't have her phone with her, but the important thing is that she is safe and well.

And the good news is that her condition is now stable. The latest blood test revealed that the cancer index has gone done to around 5, which is the standard level for someone who smokes (someone who is healthy is usually around 3; whereas above ten indicates there is cancer present in the body, in the twenties indicates the cancer is spreading...).

This is a dramatic improvement, given that back in October is was close to 19! It means that mum is responding well to her treatment, which is excellent news! :)

As we were talking on the phone, she got another phone on the mobile, and she said she needed to go. It was a visitor who had come to see how she's doing. She was really happy to see this person, which is good, because it cheers her up even more.

Come with me....

I didn't manage to reach my mum on the phone, and she was supposed to start chemo this week. And when I took a nap this afternoon, I dreamed of her...

I saw her from the corner of my eyes, her feet first through the door opened ajar. I looked up, and it was mum, dressed in gray trousers and long sleeves. She looked tired, and her hair was uncombed. "Mum!" I called out, and lept forward to hug her. We hugged tightly, and she leaned her face closer. Next to my ear she whispered, "When you go back to study in Canada, can you take me with you?"

"Of course!" I said, "I had wanted that for a long time". I felt overjoyed, happy that finally she would come and see where I live, see where I've settled down and get to know the new life that I have begun in Canada all by myself.

It was then that I realised that her skin was dry was dry, her eyes were gray and old, and her hair, what remained of it, looked charred and old. She smiled at my reply, but she felt weak in my arms...