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Tuesday, Nov 10, 2009
More fun with the poetry of airliner names. And, what to do about those narrow seats for wide people?
Nov 6, 2002 | Thanks to John Wegg and Roger Thiedeman of Airways magazine for pointing out that the "Hindu temple" cabin windows of Air India are actually Mogul arches. Strangely, an episode of "The Simpsons" once portrayed an Air India jet, and to my shock they had correctly drawn the little Taj Mahalian designs around each oval portal.
All airliners from around the world wear registrations, normally marked in numbers or letters on the rear fuselage, but some, like the Emperor Ashoka of last week's column, also wear names. The tradition of naming airplanes is more ingrained at some carriers than others. Certain airlines make a point of naming their entire fleet, while some choose only select airplanes and others skip the practice altogether. A few years back, United began calling some of its jets after various employees and even frequent flyers (imagine not getting an upgrade on the very plane with your name on its nose). If a plane has been christened in honor of something, somewhere, or somebody, look for titles on the forward fuselage, usually just below the cockpit.
Turkish Airlines names its spotless Boeings and Airbuses after Anatolian cities. You can ride aboard the Konya, the Antalya or the Isparta. Flying Virgin Atlantic, which styles itself a bit more whimsically, you might find yourself en route to London on the Maiden Toulouse, Lady Penelope, or maybe the Tubular Belle. Austrian charter carrier Lauda Air remembers artists and musicians with, among many others, the Gustav Klimt, the Bob Marley and a 767 named Freddie Mercury.
Occasionally -- usually during shakeups or employee buyouts -- a plane is singled out to fly the line as a sort of management liaison, painted up like a motivational billboard. What these schemes lack in imagination is made up for with gaudy mismatched colors and drivelly sentiment. Workers are encouraged to shed an allegiant tear while slinging suitcases into the Soaring Spirit or buffing the fairings on the Wings of Pride.
You can ride the St. Patrick to Dublin on Aer Lingus, no surprise there, or take your chances aboard a Syrianair 747 called Arab Solidarity. (We assume the Iranian government's 727, Palestine, will not be touching down at Tel Aviv anytime soon.) Freighters too carry names, even if there's nobody around to notice but pilots and forklift drivers. Every FedEx jet, for example, wears a single first name, male or female. So if you're a Natalie or an Olivia, or a Clayton or a Daniel, you've been immortalized by a namesake purple cargo plane.
South African Airways, like Turkish and several others, concentrates on cities. Flying to Johannesburg on one of its 747s, I didn't realize I was aboard the Durban until coming across a wooden plaque that told me so, near the staircase to the upper deck, emblazoned with a crest and scroll. If done right, the gesture gives an elegant, cruise-ship sort of feeling to a jetliner.
For many years I've hoped for a chance to ride on KLM's Audrey Hepburn, a McDonnell Douglas MD-11. The Dutch flag carrier's themes vary from model to model: It names its MD-11s after famous women (others include the Florence Nightingale, Maria Montessori, Marie Curie), its 737s after birds (Swift, Crane, Avocet), 767s after bridges (Brooklyn, Golden Gate, and Rialto are each represented), and 747s for rivers or cities (City of Karachi, City of Jakarta, The Ganges). You might recall it was the Rhine that plowed into Pan Am's Clipper Victor at Tenerife in 1977.
Pan Am was perhaps the most renowned company when it came to titles, all aircraft sporting a "Clipper" designation, a carryover from the airline's grandiose earlier years when its flying boats pioneered new routes across the oceans. There were nautical references (Sea Serpent, Mermaid, Gem of the Ocean), including a particular fascination with waves (Crest of the Wave, Dashing Wave, Wild Wave). There were nods to Greek and Roman mythology (Jupiter, Mercury, Argonaut), and the inevitable heaping of faux inspirational piffle (Empress of the Skies, Glory of the Skies, Freedom). Most enjoyable, though, are the mystifyingly esoteric ones. Looking back at some of the choices, one wonders whether Juan Trippe and his boys weren't downing too much scotch in the boardrooms of their Park Avenue skyscraper: Water Witch? Neptune's Car? Nonpareil? Young Brander? And you've got to give an airline credit for daring to paint "Clipper Wild Duck" on the side of a Lockheed L-1011.
