Airborne, Tales from a thousand and one flights

with Ei kommentteja

Airborne, Tales from a thousand and one flightsEditors: Riitta Kiiveri, Tony Pokkinen, Noora Kunttu, Pirkko Saari, Christina Strandberg, Meriitta Ahtikari, Kati Kaivanto, Lene Malmström

Publisher: Atar Kustannus Oy, Helsinki 2012

This book is a collection of humorous as well as serious true stories written by customer service professionals of the sky. You can now participate in the adventures of Finnair cabin crew, as their stories of unusual and funny occurrences on flights, at destinations around the world, and at home.


Consists poems from PhD Sirpa Kivilaakso, flight-purser


Ode to blue-and-white Stewardesses

What are little stewardesses made of?

Hazy dreams,
the flight of fairies,
songs of strange winds
calling from afar
to see and experience it all.

What are stewardesses´ dreams made of?

Champagne and kisses,
Sleeping Beauty´s fantasies,
Cinderella´s hopes and dreams,
handsome princes of fancy castles,
fairyshoes of silk,
ballrooms and endless dances.

What are older stewardesses made of?

The sumptuous scent of fire roses,
shimmering pearls,
quiet waves of the wide ocean,
the majestic flight of white swans,
vintages of memories of flights gone by.

The fight attendant´s work day

- Good morning, how are you?
- Through the galley
and to your right, please!

The leisure flight from the Canaries
bringing Tom, Dick and Harry
and a red-faced Lisa
back into the cold.
- Through the galley
and to your right, please!

Meatballs for lunch
Oh, how wonderful!
And finnish coffee!

- Where are we now?
- How long did you get to stay?
- Make mine a double!
- Are you always on this same route?

How wonderful.

Breakfast in New York

I´d like to see Guernica,
I think
in the morning at the Millennium Hotel.

At Tiffany´s,
a coffee
and a plastic omelet
accompanied by a jackhammer.

At MoMa
only a white wall
and a sign:
Guernica Paris 1937

Since the robbery,
it´s only imaginary...

Leaving home

Grab your trolley bag and smiling lips,
fill your pockets with euros and dollars,
lip gloss and high heels
- a trip somewhere
and endless friendliness.

Run from the changing room
and into the briefing room,
remember your CIS brief
  and equipment checklists,
change float and special meals,
finally the security control
  and line for the crew bus,
hurry up the stairs and
- Welcome!

Counting heads
again and again
- Are you ready?
- Where can I put these?
- Check the seatbelts!

Are you ready -
Finally gathering speed
- Take your positions!

Iron Bird

The heavy iron bird flew
with sleeping chicks inside her belly.
She flew east, she flew west
engines roaring as she journeyed
through the night.

The heavy iron bird flew
drawing a white line in the sky
searched for a place,
then another, yet a third
to let the young ones out of the nest.

The heavy iron bird flew,
grew wings from her body
then bounced on her belly,
seeped out the seeds,
chucked out the chicks.

Up flew the heavy iron bird
curving and turning as she climbed,
with new nestlings inside
on her usual path,
her restless rambles.


In Tokyo´s perfumed dollhouse
awaits a geisha, koto
and green tea
spring flowers and the harvest moon.

Cursed be the night
that makes the cherry blossoms bow.

Heavy masks at the theater,
doomed love on this Kabuki stage,
on which only the complaint
of the crystal chandelier
a humbly kneeling neck.

Jet Lag

For 24 hours my home is
a room, TV, a bed and WC
on the 42th floor,
with a view of the backyard.

The whole night
I´m in a waking dream
I lie and listen
to my crackly shell
that sleeps in the smooth sheets
of my replecement home,
as my body clock ticks
somewhere over the Atlantic
and my thoughts run away
- My Dear, don´t run!

How much of life remains unlived
as I stretch to the tempoo of jetlag
here and there
- in waking dream -
the turbulence of my thoughts
on the mirrored walls.

The Irises of Amsterdam

In the haze of a November evening
a long, long time ago
Vincent sprinkled
a stubble field
spiraling stars
- and irises
on canvas.

Nobody understood.

Only much, much later
did the irises fly
to the country of cherry blossoms
to become stars.

Twilight on Montmartre

I step on to
twilight at Montmartre.

On my way
The Pompidou opened its tube:
  sucked in a fire-eater
  I an oyster
  on top of a red-and-white
  checkered cloth
and in that moment felt
the thunder of the ocean
  and sharpness of the blue.

One Night in Bangkok

My eyes sting
from exhaust fumes
- is this the intoxicating drug
of humid Bangkok nights?

At a familiar street corner
the idle sleep.

On the dark side of the alley
I throw a dime
out of pity
to a begging hand
and think I´m washing mine.

Singapore Silk

The busy day of a vendor:
- Copy watches, Mam!

The idle tourist´s menu:
- Singapore Sling and Hemingway
On the terrace at Raffles
sipping slowly...

The light afternoon drizzle
decorates hats and souvenirs
cameras and silks

If only one had time to use them all...

The Circle of Death

A tube full of johns and janes
on their way
from America to Asia.
An hour´s delay -
smiles and hot towels
what a way to start.

A marathon ahead
New York and aching legs behind.

Beef or bird
flown to you.
- Would you like Moomins or Fazer blue?
- Try the Chanel five!
- The channel or the perfume?

Sit for a moment
before getting up again
- a whisky on the rocks and headphones!

Sand in my eyes, dreaming of bed,
will this ever end?
The last stretch ahead:
heat the omelets and bread,
seal and count the money
if you could.

At the end, a brief moment together
- Thank you for coping so well!