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Flag of The Maldives.

     At 120 nautical miles out from Malé International Airport, we were handed off by Colombo ATC to Malé Approach Control.  Contacting them on one of our VHF Radios, at frequency 119.7, they gave us the following:  Weather and visibility clear, wind from the northwest at 10 knots, the local altimeter setting, and that they were using Runway Three Six (360°/180° magnetic, North/South). 

     The Republic of Maldives consists of 1,192 islands, of which 192 are inhabited with a population of 300,000.  These islands lay within a double chain of atolls running north to south, encompassing an area of 35,000 square miles.  It’s the smallest Asian nation, and the lowest, having an average height of four feet and eleven inches above sea level.

The Maldives from Space.

     Note, dear reader:  Should the surrounding sea belch, sneeze or fart - the Maldives would literally vanish under water - which keeps the Muslim population a bit on edge.

     From approach control we also got our clearance for descent, and I began our let down at 93 nautical miles from the airport.

     Passing through 8,000 feet, we left the last stratus cloud layer behind and picked up Malé’s miniscule cluster of lights on the black ocean’s surface.  It sat on a tiny island hardly one mile across.  And northeast of it, at less than a mile away, was the skinny, narrow island of Hulhulé, where rested Malé International Airport; indicated by its flashing, green and white, rotating beacon.

     Frankly, dear reader, this airport was a pilot’s nightmare for these reasons:  No ILS (Instrument Landing System).  All it had was a VOR – which meant no glideslope.  This was an imperative feature to have, since at night I had runway lights floating on a black velvet sea, without any other outside visual references to gage height above the runway.  It was akin to landing on the deck of an aircraft carrier at night!  Plus, as the airport’s elevation was scarcely four feet, waves kept crashing across its seawall and onto the runway!  Consequently the runway’s surface was always wet; reducing the 747’s ability to stop!

Male International Airport.

     Getting clearance for a visual approach, I lined up on the runway lights.  Using the Malé VOR’s DME (Distance Measure Equipment) and the INS’s DME as backup, I ticked off the nautical miles to the runway.  While employing the “poor man’s” three-degree glideslope: nine miles out I descended through 3,000 feet – six miles out = 2,000 feet – three miles out = 1,000 feet – one mile out = 300 feet.  I rigidly adhered to this descent schedule using a 400 to 500 feet per minute rate of descent.

     Does this sound slightly tricky, dear reader?  You can bet your left testicle, or breast, on that!  This is Stone Age “fly by the seat of you pants” in a jet-age 747!

     As if things weren’t tough enough, the Jepp-Plate cautioned a crossing shipping lane was just off the threshold of Runway Three Six.

     That’s simply peachy, dear reader!  Now I’ve also got to keep an eye peeled for ships, crossing in front of me, as I approach the runway’s threshold to land!

     By some miracle, despite a crosswind, I got that big, 595,000-pound turkey - traveling at 151 knots (174 mph) – planted on the slippery runway at the 1,000-foot markers.  Using full spoilers, pulling in full reverse thrust, and standing on the brakes, I then used up nearly every inch of that 9,000-foot runway to get us stopped, before we slid off into the sea!

     Nonetheless, dear reader, our risks to life and limb didn’t end there.  The journey to the hotel proved otherwise.

     SIA had us booked at the Kurumba Village Hotel, on an island roughly the size of an average city block.  The hotel’s staff loaded our 21-member crew on a leaky, locally manufactured, motorized 40-foot launch, which they called a “Dhoni.”  It had long, crudely-made, wooden benches inside the covered passenger cabin, and wallowed in the sea as if waterlogged.  It was also very slow; taking approximately twenty minutes to cover the black, open-water stretch of 2.79 miles to the hotel’s dock.

The Dhoni Boat.

Which upon occasion would sink!

     Concerned that we were slogging across this open ocean at night, dear reader, and that 80-percent of my crew couldn’t swim; I started fumbling in the dark, searching for either a life raft or life vests.  There were none to be had.  What else should I expect from a Muslim-run country?  Shit!

     Apparently Poseidon smiled on us that night, for we arrived at the dock without getting our feet wet.

     The following day, I slept in till noon, and stepped out of my small, beachfront bungalow; finding pristine, white sand, and dazzling white clouds, plus various shades of blue and green from both sky and sea.  I had never before seen coconut palms grow in the shape of an “S” – leaving the beach and bending low across the water before shooting skyward.  As for the calm sea, due to the barrier reefs, it was the temperature of bathwater and crystal-clear.

My bungalow on the beach.

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     During the next five years I’d layover at the Maldives, on average, once each three months; deplaning with a plastic bag full of leftover, airline bread rolls.

     I’m positive you’re familiar with these bread rolls, dear reader.  You know the ones that dry out – after exposure to pressurized air – and become the consistency of concrete.  God!  The crap airlines serve paying passengers!

     Renting a mask and snorkel, I took great delight in wading out in neck-deep water, submerging myself and holding up one of these “concrete” airline bread rolls from my plastic bag.  Standing in sand, beside a reef, it was similar to ringing the dinner bell.  Immediately I was mobbed by Surgeonfish, Butterfly fish, and Oriental Sweetlips!  All taking nips from my bread roll; their flashes of blues, greens, yellows and reds bedazzling me.

Surgeon Fish.

  

Oriental Sweetlips.

     After a while, I heard this loud “CRUNCH” from behind my head.  Looking over my shoulder, I came face-to-face with a huge Parrotfish.  Awed by the brilliance of its greenish-blue markings, it took me a moment to register its disdainful look.  Munching on something – it eventually spat out these white bits.  Turning away from me, and my delicious concrete bread roll, the Parrotfish took another enormous bite of the coral reef with its beak: “CRUNCH!”

Parrot Fish.

     There’s no accounting for taste, dear reader.  However, if you should one day be bound for the Maldives, don’t forget to “liberate” as many bread rolls from the airline as possible.  They’re only going to throw that garbage away.  So why not have fun with it in the waters of the Maldives?

Feeding the occasional shark.

The Lady who lives on the reef.

Helping the occasionally lost flight attendant.

The hotel's front yard.

      And then there was that one particular layover at the Maldives that really unnerved me.  I was restless that night, couldn’t get to sleep, and decided to stretch my legs.  I pulled a compact Maglight from my flight case, slipped it inside a pocket of my shorts, and stepped out onto the beach wearing flip-flops.  It was overcast, making the beach extremely dark that night.  I couldn’t possibly get lost – by staying on the beach I’d circle the island in 18 minutes flat – ending up back at my bungalow’s front door.

     Traveling barely 30 yards, I got this uncomfortable feeling I wasn’t alone on that beach - coupled with the fact the beach “felt crunchy.”  So naturally I retrieved my Maglight and twisted it on.

     God Almighty, dear reader, how I wished I hadn’t done that!  Just remembering this episode makes my skin crawl!

     The entire beach was covered, as far as my light could reach, with this squirming carpet of brownish-red crabs!

     After beating a hasty retreat back to my bungalow, and stuffing a towel under the front door, I laid awake all night checking every strange sound with my Maglight.  Praying I wouldn’t wake up with these stampeding creepy-crawlies dining on me!

     Sorry to be such a silly, little girl, dear reader.

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