Panic at 35,000 ft – a feeling of near certain death

This might look like an unremarkable photo of a plane to you. To plane-spotters out there, you will recognise it as a Tupolev 154, and might even pick out the China Northwest livery. For me, this photo represents a memory of irrational panic and overwhelming relief at stepping from this flight alive. Please let me explain.

The 1992 Lonely Planet edition on China was full of tales of horror regarding its internal air transport, and not without good reason. Chinese airlines were falling from the sky at an alarming rate, with old decrepit planes bought as cast-offs from Russia. Stories featured incompetent pilots, home-made spare parts passing as maintenance procedures, and runways marked with aircrash debris – at both ends in some cases. It made for gripping reading, and for someone who was already unhappy about flying, was not good for the nerves.

We were in Shanghai, and met an American ex-pat family in the city. When I mentioned my concerns about internal flying, the guy said two things to me that were to stick in my mind. First, “you’ll be ok as long as you don’t fly China NW” and second, if we do fly them “you’ll be ok if you get a Boeing – they are replacing the Tupolevs with Boeings every time they lose one, and they’re losing them damn quickly!”

Two days later, Shanghai airport. Our Chinese escort (in those days even as independent tourists we had an escort in each town, although they could be bought off easily if we wanted to be on our own) presented us with our onward tickets: China Northwest! My heart rate rose. “Never mind”, I said to myself, “it’ll be a Boeing”. At the gate, and yes, there in all its glory stood: a rusty old Tupolev. My pulse quickened still further.

The flight itself is a bit of a blur to me. I remember being thrown a bag of nuts that passed as in-flight catering. I remember squeezing my wife’s hand so tight and telling her all the things you would tell someone if you had seconds left to live. I remember being desperate to use the restroom halfway through the one hour flight, closing the door to the little room (which was painted in black!) looking around and thinking “I don’t want to die in here!” and spending the rest of the flight with my legs crossed and my bladder bursting. I also remember insisting to my wife that we travel the remaining parts of the trip by train, regardless of the time factor. I think she agreed, such was her alarm and embarrassment at my total loss of composure.

The flight was, to all intents and purposes, entirely uneventful. For me however, the feeling of overwhelming relief at having cheated death on a China Northwest flight put me on an adrenaline fuelled high for the rest of the day. I have since calmed my fear of flying, mainly through incessantly flying around the world. My pulse still races on take-off and I start to sweat at the first hint of turbulence; but it is not a deterrent from travelling, and for that I am very grateful.

This photo reminds me of that time in 1995. I have since flown on Tupolevs in far worse conditions than this one, and while I can’t say I enjoyed it I have developed a stronger sense of pragmatism to these flights. They are sometimes the only way to get to where it is you want to be. And when you get off the plane, as you probably will, you will always have a story to tell.

(May 1995)