Armenag Yeghiayan
Translated: Vahe H. Apelian.
The attached is my translation of the travel experiences Armenag Yeghiayan had been sharing with his readers. This piece is the most recent and titled “Remembrances No. 10” (Հայրենի Յուշեր-10).
Sometime in November 1971, I happened to meet Ara Krikorian, one of my old friends and also a onetime my classmate. Ara was better known as Ara Travel. During our conversation he told that that he has in possession travel tickets to Paris reserved for students that are far more affordable than regular tickets.
- “If you are interested, let me know”, he said casually.
- “But i am not a student anymore. I graduated six months ago and I have started working”, I said and noted that my age is well past a student’s age.
-“Leave that up to me, I can arrange something, Asdouatz Metz eh (God is great).” He said.
True to his “arranging something”, for 300 Lebanese Liras, less than 100$ then, I had in my possession a flight ticket to and from Paris for a seven days long stay during the second half of the month.
So it was, in all likelihood, on the 22nd or 23th of the month that I flew to Paris on a night flight that took off around at 7 o’clock in the evening.
* * *
I had a flight experience in 1965, when on my return from Armenia, where I had embarked my journey by boat and then by land, I had to return via Moscow with a stop over in Europe on our way to Lebanon. I had chosen Moscow-Vienna-Beirut route.
My flight experience should have been enough to change something in my innate fear of flght. Withstanding my previous flight experience, as soon as the airplane detached itself from the land and took off in the air, my old disposition towards flight took full possession of me and overwhelmed me, especially that this time around I was travelling without a friend to whom I could confide my predicament. Consequently, I put myself in a fetal position and futily attempted to take heart that everythingn is ok, and that the airplane is simply carrying us safe and sound to our destination at night. But the pitch darkness outside appeared to shield us from the impeding visible dangers. Even the robust and smooth flight offered no comfort.
The passangers, even though they were few, started dwindeling in number as they exited the plane when we landed in the two stop overs to our destination. I did not see new passengers enter the plane. It could be that, immersed in my thoughts, I did not notice if there were some. In any event I took comfort seeing fewer passngers remaining. They sure lightened the load of the plane and lessened the possibily of a danger.
It was 11 o’clock midmight when the captain announed that we had reached the vicinty of the Paris airport and that we had to buckle up and get ready to disembark. That is what we did and below us appeared the City of Lights. It was the first time I saw the illuninated city in the dark from above. But what a city it was, with so much light ! And how spread out Paris was ! I had not realized it during my previous visit, when I roamed the streets either by foot or by car.
I was happy because we had arrived without a disaster.
But I soon realized that the landing was not happening. The plane was keeping its altitude remaining over the city but circling around it not once, but twice, thrice, and even more
I realized that a cold sweat covered my face and my forehead, my respirtion rate was increasing and my heart was beating so hard that it looked as if it sought to flee from my chest.
I started staring right and left looking for sympathizers or should I say for partners in sorrow. The few passangers who had remaiend showed no sign of agitation, no sighed of anxiety. Everything seemed to proceed safe and sound for them, surely thanks to their ignorance. They simply did not realize, or pretended not to relize that we all were facing the same peril.
A few days ago, coincidentally I had read somewhere that should it happen that an airplane cannot lower its landing wheels, it continues to circle around to exhaust all its fuel and then land on the tarmac on the belly of its fusilage “à sec”, that is to say dry.
Obviously this was the case.
That is why now the airplane was continuing its flight going no where but continuing to circle.
This was exactly what the rest of the passangers were ignoring.
I realized that there were thorns underneath me that were preventing me sitting in any comfort.
* * *
I saw a hostess sitting a few seat away from me and looked entirely indeifferent. I signaled her to approach me. She politely obliged with a lovely smile. I explained to her my assessement of the situtation we are in and let her know of my concerns.
My companion suddenly exhibited an unbound urge to giggle but in order not to draw the attention of the other passangers to her, covered her face with the palms of her hands and headed towards the back of the plane where there was a steward. I imagine that she told him what I told her and both headed towards me.
The young man politely and with a smile told me that that the stuff in the airport had suddenly declared a strike. Without hesitation, he continued saying: “such things are commonplace, you should know that the Frech workers have an affinity towards strikes”.
True to his explantion, the captain announced that in few minutes we will land in the Orly Airport.
Everyone was happy, so was I. But, it did not occur to me that a mishap awaited me on the ground. If ever there was a mishap, it never missed me.
* * *
That year a new travel bag had become fashionable. It was made with sturdy canvas with a colored square patchwork design. It was known as Scotch. A neighberhood fellow had become an expert in fabricating such travel bags. He had the old Azirian communithy center turned into a factory producing these kinds of travel bage. I purchased my travel bag from him especially that the price was very reasonable. They had one drawback that never occured to me to be of any concern. The key could open any such bag.
After we landed I headed towards the baggage claim and took my baggage and headed towards the exit with two passages. One passage read “Declaration” and the other’s sign was “Nothing to Declare”. I headed towards the latter as I had nothing to declare. All I carried were my wears and under wears for my long week stay. I was carryign a smal carton box.
There was an officer who almost did nothing. He did not question a passanger’s choice but seeing me, he approached me and asked with a stern voice his facial expressions did not reveal in any way, “what do have in that box?”
--“Oriental sweets”, became my answer.
- “Please open”, he said. I undid the knot that held the box.
He examined it, smelled it and looked at my face, smelled it over again and with the same expressionless smile he ordered that I remove it.
I offered him to taste it. He categorically refused.
I was getting ready to move, when he asked me what did I have in my bag.
- “Nothing to declare” I said, “its my wears for my week long stay”.
He ordered that I open it.
There was a round table with an approximately two meters long diameter, sitting on approximatley one and half meter long legs. I placed my bag on the table and opened it........
More than the officer, I started looking bewildered at the content of my bag. Its content did not correspond to my declaration for a few change of wears and underwears. Instead it was full of women’s dresses and underwears, perfumes and the like. In short women’s needs
- “How do you explain these changes of wear ? ”, sarcastically asked the officer pointing to the contents of my bag and moving them around with his baton
- “I do not know”, I answered but soon realized that I had picked someone else’s bag and I apologized.
He checked the tag on my bag and found that it did not correspond to the one pasted on my ticket.
I took s sigh of relief and return to the baggage claim and picked my bag after assuring that the tag on the bag corresponded to the tag pasted on my ticket. I reported back to the officer who after checkign the tag numbers let me in without opening my bag.
Decades have passed since the incident but I have never ceased questioning what would have happened had the officer not checked my bag. After arriving to the hotel in the middle of the night, I would ahve left my bag on the floor and would have taken a shower and opened my bag for change of wear......
How could i dismiss from my mind my bag? The lady would also have resorted to change her wear.......
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