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Air eet
Finally, Ernesto turned to me and said, “they want to see your airplane.”
We all walked out to the F33 and they looked over the engine compartment, the front seat and back seat, and finally the baggage compartment. Then they saw the case of Scotch and started pointing and yelling at Ernesto again. The conversation I assume was something like, “What the hell is this? Is he trying to sneak this into our country without declaring it?”
I told Ernesto that the Scotch was actu- ally a present for the customs officials in appreciation for all their help. Ernesto frowned at me but proceeded to explain the situation. The official scooped up the Scotch and we returned to the office where at least a hundred stamps were pounded on the documents and I was shown the door and cleared to go. I’ll never know what the fuss was about but what I did know was that I felt like hugging Ernes- to as the stress melted from my body. But I didn’t.
“Thank you so much. You have no idea how much I appreciate you coming to my rescue. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I told him over and over. His friend Fares appeared, and I introduced myself. Fares was the new owner of the Skyhawk and Ernesto, a much more experienced pilot, was helping with the ferry flight. It was about four in the afternoon and I wanted to get some more miles behind me, but I also wanted to buy these guys dinner. “Where are you guys headed tonight,” I asked. “Imperatriz. It’s about 300 miles south of here and I know a great restaurant and bar there,” Ernesto responded.
We agreed to meet up at Imperatriz but also to try to rendezvous in-flight to snap some pictures of each other. They took off about 15 minutes ahead of me as I still needed to top off with fuel.
It was a brilliant blue-sky day but with tons of puffy cumulus building up from the jungle below. After a bit of search- ing, we located each other and I brought my power back to about 18 inches and dropped the approach flaps to try to match the Skyhawk’s speed. We snapped pictures of each other for five minutes before I powered up and pushed ahead to Imperatriz.
A few hours later we were sitting to- gether at a restaurant table located right on the Tocantins river that runs through the jungle town. It was hot, incredibly
humid and I could literally smell the moist earth that surrounded me. And I loved it. I was in an exotic place in a foreign land but completely relaxed for the first time on the trip.
During dinner, Ernesto brought some- thing up that made me a bit uncomfort- able and embarrassed. “I don’t agree with your idea to give the case of Scotch to the customs people. It makes us feel like you think of us as a corrupt banana republic that needs to be bribed to get anything done,” he said after a big swig of beer. “Gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that,” I responded, feeling like an ugly offensive American. “Don’t worry,” he said trying to make me feel better. “You’re not the only one to do such a thing, and I suppose those guys are back there enjoying their Scotch right now.”
After dinner, we went to a bar for a few more beers and to share work history and flying stories. I learned that Ernesto was the son of a leader of a fuel and chemical company called Ultra (it was only later when I would understand just how power- ful his family was in Brazil). It was obvious he had a strong upbringing as he exuded a maturity and confidence that is rarely seen from such a young man. He then invited me to visit him in São Paulo after I was done with my customer delivery, saying I could stay at his house and he would introduce me to some other aircraft salespeople – an incredibly generous offer. I accepted the offer and told him I would call when I was done later in the week.
Four days later, after delivering the Bo- nanza and spending time with my custom- er, I flew TAM airlines to the Congonhas airport in São Paulo, which is in the heart of the city with huge buildings surround- ing it. It serves as both a general aviation airport as well as a hub for many of the regional flights around Brazil. I caught a cab through all the traffic to Ernesto’s apartment. It was spacious, well-appointed and located in a very nice part of the city. Later that evening, Fares joined us, and we went out on the town to several bars and a terrific Italian restaurant.
The next day, as promised, Ernesto offered to take me around town to in- troduce me to some fellow aviation pro- fessionals. He apologized that his only transportation was his motorcycle, and would I mind sitting on the back. I was to fly out later that day and couldn’t imagine
18 • TWIN & TURBINE
March 2019