From The Other Side

We waited, with no information, all day. At 5 PM we were told a bus would be here for a 6:30 departure. It arrived a 6 PM. At the airport, our flight AR1695 was listed on the monitor as “taken off”. This means little as our flight last night ‘officially’ took off 2 hours late and arrived at its scheduled destination!

One of the Spanish passengers informed us our flight number has changed to AR1699 and due to depart at 8 PM and that the plane is the same one from last night.

At 9:30 PM the captain manoeuvred the plane, with us all in it, to the very end of the runway once again. He also revved the engines a couple of times on the way. Not a confidence inspiring start.

He did the U turn and applied full throttle with the entire length of the runway ahead. We got half way down and he didn’t hit the brakes. Are we about to become a burning twisted wreck of metal in the desert?

The plane angled upwards, and then the ground released us. We were in the air, just. After climbing a few hundred feet more all the passengers started applauding as if their team had just scored the winning goal.

When the captain announced we are descending to our destination, Bariloche Airport. Every second of the approach was stretched by the mounting fear. We went through a cloud. The plane jolted and a quarter of the passengers screamed. More long seconds passed. We went through another cloud. The whole plane jolted and rattled. Half the passengers screamed. When the third cloud and jolt came no one screamed, we were clinging on for dear life.

I suspect this was the point we all died somewhere in the desert outside Bariloche. But it might have been on the actual landing which we recall as being smooth and cheered by all even more vigourously. There were hugs and kisses all around as the survivors of flight AR1699 bade farewell to one another.

Others stayed on the plane, they were headed to another place. They were not so joyous.

We were apparently now in heaven in the form of a Swiss mountain ski resort.

We were up early the next day to be flown by a catamaran down a lake in a wind tunnel with a bright light at the end.

Tricia’s waterproof camera was stolen. There are pick pockets in heaven.

A bumpy bus through a dark forest then brought us to a clearing where we passed the tests to enter to the other side.

Here we find a beautiful hotel in a valley fit for Angels, Peulla. Sixties music is playing. Our waiter is Manuel. But he no longer has to stoop to avoid being hit on the head by anyone. He also has a full head of hair. This is Manuel’s heaven too.