One of my favorite airplane photos, from a book I own, shows an Air India flight attendant standing on the stairs outside one of the airline's 747s. It's the "Emperor Ashoka," and the picture was taken in 1971, when 747s were still drawing crowds every time one landed. Air India's paint scheme, which is unchanged from the days of this photograph, is one of my favorites. Each fuselage window -- and there must be how many down each side of a 747, a hundred? -- is carefully outlined with the shape of a little Hindu temple.

The book also has some pictures of the women from Gulf Air, too. Gulf Air -- as in Persian Gulf -- is the airline of Bahrain. On a rainy night several years ago I was at the Bangkok airport trying to catch a flight to Narita. It was four in the morning and the terminal was mobbed. Suddenly the crowd parted and I saw something I could hardly believe. It was the cabin crew -- a dozen flight attendants -- of the Gulf Air departure for Bahrain, making its way to the gate. Never in my life have I seen stewardesses like those. Each was stunning, and each seemed at least 6 feet tall. They were not Arab women but most likely Brits or Australians working in the Gulf. And they were walking single file, as if down a runway during a fashion show.

Adding to the effect was the standard Gulf Air flight attendant uniform, which featured a long beige coat and a chic redesign of a Muslim headdress -- a purple hat with the "Golden Falcon" -- the Gulf Air emblem -- and a swirling purple veil dropping to the neck and shoulders. People dropped their luggage and stared. It was the most glamorous thing I'd ever seen -- these gorgeous women in purple veils towering over the throng of anxious Thais.

No sooner was I home when I'd dashed off a résumé to Bahrain. A month later Gulf Air wrote back, telling me I needed 1,000 hours in a Boeing 767 to be considered for a position. My time as a Dash 8 captain flying back and forth to Baltimore wasn't going to cut it. The Gulf Air stationery, I remember, was as thick as a slice of Swiss cheese and had an embossed Golden Falcon at the top.

Why can't I use my cellphone during flight, and why are laptops also restricted? Even more annoying, we are asked to turn off devices as innocuous as portable CD players. Can these things really interfere with flight?

I'm asked about this frequently, but in researching the answer I'm confused by much of what I uncover. While I'm not an electronics expert, there have been several cases where devices (mainly cellular phones) have indeed interfered with the electronics aboard airliners. I can assure you the rules are not arbitrary or a scam to make you splurge on a pricey onboard satellite phone. One report cites a regional jet forced to return to the airport for an emergency landing after a fire warning sounded in the cockpit. Investigation revealed the alarm was triggered when a cellphone in the luggage compartment had begun to ring. I've also heard anecdotal evidence from pilots about times when cellphones have caused trouble.

Something of an easily digestible explanation can be read here.

There appears to be little evidence that laptop computers pose a similar threat, but the airlines are erring on the safe side. And a laptop, like any other carry-on, must be stowed during takeoff and landing to prevent it from becoming a 200-mile-per-hour projectile.

Remember that some devices, like Walkman or Discman players, are prohibited during takeoff and landing not necessarily because of interference, but so passengers are able to hear P.A. announcements and instructions in the event of trouble. In this spirit, maybe airlines should demand the removal of earplugs and wake up all the sleeping passengers, but it seems they've drawn the line at listening to music.

I was on a flight from Amsterdam to Manchester. While accelerating for takeoff we stopped suddenly on the runway due to conflict with a plane ahead. After a few minutes we restarted the takeoff from the point where we'd stopped. I can't help wondering how much of the runway we'd used up in the first attempt. How did the pilot know we had enough runway left?

Well, it's not like the crew figures, "Yeah, this is probably enough room," and gives it a go.

Runway length must always allow for two things: 1) a successful climb (the data includes off-airport obstructions) assuming an engine failure at the most critical point of takeoff and 2) sufficient distance to stop after an aborted takeoff initiated at this same moment. This length will vary depending on weight, temperature, wind, atmospheric pressure, etc.

If it seemed your crew was able to calculate rather quickly, it's because the info can be processed by the folks backstage (dispatchers and flight planners) and relayed to the pilots via computer in a matter of seconds. Alternatively, it's available in the tables and graphs in the onboard performance manuals.

Airplanes will typically use the full length of a runway, but once in a while this isn't entirely practical or necessary. So-called intersection departures are not uncommon and aren't necessarily a case of bad judgment. Amsterdam to Manchester is a very short distance, so I doubt your flight was heavily loaded, and the runways at Schiphol are long. Not the usual procedure, but neither was it unprecedented.

Which airports do pilots dislike most, and which do they enjoy?

Three things pilots don't like are congestion, short runways, and complicated arrival and departure patterns. When it rains it pours, and in places like Washington National (are we really calling it "Reagan" now?), Boston and La Guardia, we win the Trifecta. Chicago's Midway is well known (which is to say disdained) for its compactness, as is San Diego. Newark and JFK, meanwhile, have nice long runways but often suffer agonizing delays and aren't very popular either. I happen to love flying into Kennedy, but only because I enjoy its mix of exotic airlines.

Aside from flight operations, you've also got terminal access, facilities and restaurants, etc., to consider, which can be crucial during multi-hour breaks or when transiting to a layover hotel. Passengers and crew are generally in agreement here. Everyone hates Miami, for instance, but I've never heard a disrespectful word uttered about Amsterdam, Singapore or even Pittsburgh (so long as shopping is your thing).

One of the more exhilarating experiences in commercial flying was the old "checkerboard" approach to Hong Kong's now shuttered Kai Tak airport. Pilots would follow an ILS-style (see ATP number 8) beam toward a mountain on which a giant red-and-white checkerboard was erected. With the board in sight, and now at less than 700 feet, jets would bang a 30-degree turn toward the runway, skimming along the hotels and high rises of Hong Kong, and rolling at wings level only moments before meeting the pavement.

Do you have questions for Salon's aviation expert? Send them to AskThePilot and look for answers in a future column.

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