Flying in Germany

If you were to look up into the sky just a wee bit, you know what you might spot?

Me!

(hehe)

Martin and I were invited to check out a little flying club outside of Berlin.  These types of groups are pretty common in Germany.  They fly together, eat traditional German food on the air strip together, work on planes, and drink bottles and bottles of beer when it’s all said and done.

It’s quite funny.  It’s also quite exciting.

No one had to tell me to hop in twice!

When you say that you “fly” in Germany, it’s pretty much assumed you are referring to gliders.  These planes have enormous wings.  They’re very light.  And they have no engine.

See what I mean?

Glider flying is really the only way your average guy can afford to fly in Germany.  With auto gas prices coming in at $8/gallon right now (it was less than $4/gallon in the US where we were), I am too scared to even ask Martin what aviation fuel runs in Germany.

Aviation fees are out of this world here, too.  Want to land?  There’s a charge.  Want to call on the radio to tell people you’re going to land?  There’s a charge.

Our plane was attached to a thick cord.  Someone at the little red and white checkered van and the man operating the pulley would be on radios together.  When everything was good to go, the cord would start streaming across the runway, taking the plane with it.

You angle your wings upward, and whooosh.  Up you go.

Disney World’s got nothing on that quick ride up.

These flying clubs are so awesome.  Anyone can join… anyone, of course, who can communicate with the instructor in a quick and cohesive way.

Can you just see me attempting that?!

“Katrin, you’re going to stall the plane!” my instructor will say in a stern voice.

(Remember, no one can actually pronounce/remember “Katie”; I’m Katrin.)

“Stall?  Stall… What does stall mean again?” I’ll be asking.  (You only have seconds to correct some stalls, and I’ll be thinking of vocabulary.  I will not be flying the plane.)  ”Stall?  Stall?  Hmmm.”

**insert his German cuss words here**

So then I will pause, thinking about which WWII movie I heard those sharp German words on.  You know the ones.  The words are so bad they’re not actually translated into anything more than some wild #!(!# symbols.

“Okay, okay.” I’ll tell him.  Sheesh.

A few minutes later…

“So,” I’ll begin.  ”What’s stall mean again?”

“It’s kaput,” he sighs. “We’re going to be kaput.”

I’ll panic.  ”Oh my gosh.  KAPUT!”