PIREP Leg 08: Riga, Latvia (EVRA) to Vilnius, Lithuania (EYVI)

[Bruce (a.k.a. brian747) 142]

Since this is my first PIREP for the ATWC, I have also incorporated some introductory and explanatory material about Brian’s Charter, which I hope will be helpful from a contextual point of view.

 

The thing is, at this time of year a charter company based in the northern hemisphere typically spends most of its time shifting cargo rather than passengers: the self-loading freight we carry mostly in the months from April to October, which also tends to be when the major airlines get their sums wrong again and turn to us for a helping hand. So because it’s January the aircraft seats are currently spending the majority of their time under dust sheets in our hangar back at base, which is tucked away at the far side of Farnborough airfield (well away from the private jets which are meant to be its only customers, but unfortunately for the new owners we have the lease for another 71 years...).

 

 

 

That picture shows only our working offices and aircraft hangars (the little puddle-jumpers on the tarmac are nothing to do with us, they just pay a parking fee). When we're moving passengers or freight, though, the action takes place at our terminal and cargo hangars, a short distance down the taxyway.

 

 

 

The hangars on the right are the ones used for our cargo operations (you can also see the monorail departing — that takes the pax to the far side of the airfield, adjacent to the exit). The helicopter is for charter too, naturally, and mostly takes well-heeled folks for a trip down the Thames for some London sightseeing (an especially spectacular trip when taken at dusk), or else it drops them off at Battersea oops sorry, "The London" heliport, or at London City airport — not to mention transporting them to the race meetings and other events which abound in the south of England during the warmer months. And when the biennial Farnborough International Airshow comes around, the helicopter is in the air pretty much non-stop from the start of the build-up until the day when the last of the workers and equipment have left the site.

 

But I was starting to explain that the aircraft seats spend most of their time in storage at the moment, so the bigger aircraft (we have two 737 NGs and a 777, as well as the 747-400 which is my particular pride and joy) zap about the globe carrying anything and everything that's too big, too heavy, or too awkwardly-shaped, to go by surface transport. Or, especially in the case of the 747, almost anything at all.

 

Not that the Mutley baton is either unduly large or particularly strangely-shaped, you understand. In fact it probably qualifies as the smallest item that my 744 has ever proudly carried on its manifest. But nonetheless, since I have undertaken to get it from Riga to Vilnius then that is precisely what's going to happen — and the problem of what else to carry over that incredibly short (by 744 standards) distance is one that I had cheerfully handed over to Phil Lightfoot, my "sales and international liaison" manager back at base, disregarding his barely-concealed bafflement and clearly evident irritation.

 

Now the reason why I pay Phil such a fat rate of commission is that he has by far the longest list as well as the widest variety of contacts in the aviation world of anyone I have ever met, but nevertheless this trip was going to present something of a challenge even for him. He had already managed to get me in the right part of the world, since two days before I was due to pick up the baton from Kieran I had landed not too far away in Stockholm, to deliver some computer machinery and pick up a load of tractors to take across the water to Riga. What was to happen between Riga and Vilnius I would have to wait to find out, but naturally I have every confidence in Phil. After all, he's only had to get me out of jail twice, so far....

 

Looking out of the window of my hotel room on the morning in question I found that the weather was being relatively kind for the Baltic at this time of year, with swirling snow that stopped short of being an outright blizzard. In my taxi as it slithered back to the airport, I recalled collecting the baton from Chuck the previous day, and hoping that my short leg of its journey couldn’t and wouldn’t involve any diversions to unexpected places — given the current snowy and icy conditions, landing a 744 at Vilnius would be a challenge in itself.

 

 

 

As CEO, Chief Pilot, and general all-round dogsbody of the Brian's Charter outfit, I also get to do my own flight planning, but for this trip it was almost laughably simple and my laptop barely had time to warm up. Given the present weather conditions even the runways lined up favourably, so that all I will have to do is take off from Riga's rwy 18, head for MURUN, and then drop down to land on Vilnius's rwy 20 — things don't get any easier than that! Expressed less casually, it's the ERIV4E SID out of EVRA rwy 18, then DCT MURUN (with a very short cruise at FL230), followed by the MURU2B STAR and GEKBI transition into the ILS for the rather short rwy 20 at EYVI.

 

 

 

 

As a truckie, you have to get used to (and get right!) the huge variations in ZFW which can be the result of adopting different configurations — in the case of a 744 freighter the FMC will typically accept anything from 160 to 290 tonnes. Get that wrong and at take-off time you’ll probably be off the end of the runway and onto the golf course at the back (and they get very cross about letting you on there if you haven’t paid a green fee...). Or things could be much worse, of course. So just because it didn’t take me long to do the planning doesn’t mean that I hadn’t triple-checked everything!

 

With even the weather seemingly on my side, naturally, there had to be a snag.

 

I felt no premonition at all when I received Phil's message, in fact I was still feeling perfectly genial as I opened it — but not for long. Reading between the lines (and you become quite good at doing that as time goes by, especially when there are things being carefully said that are hopefully not obvious to any casual readers such as the leather-jacketed heavy sitting rather conspicuously by the door, not to mention his colleagues) it was obvious to me that the task of finding something to fill the hold of a 744 going a mere 131 miles down the road had indeed provided Phil with a challenge, albeit one that he was clearly determined to meet. So my cargo consisted of eighty tonnes of old printing machines <groan> destined for a new life of servitude in Vilnius, and sixty-five crates of something that was blandly described as "black engine oil". Hmm. Black engine oil.... especially black *unspecified* engine oil?? This being Riga, it doesn't take a suspicious guy like me with considerable accumulated mental scar tissue to be able to detect the unmistakeable scent of recently-greased palms, and I started to get that familiar twitchy feeling again. Suddenly, what had been a comfortable early afternoon departure slot seemed a very long time ahead, and not for the first time I mentally used strange words about Phil and his determination to keep me earning and his commission rolling in at all costs. The fact that the leather-jacketed heavy by the door dropped me a perceptible and extremely unlikely wink as I left (I’m sure that it wasn't my sunny smile, and certainly not my aftershave, that provoked it) did nothing at all for my peace of mind.

 

So I presented myself at the main desk, filed my flight plan, and signed for my slightly dubious cargo whilst at the same time fervently hoping that I wouldn't soon be regretting doing so. As I studied the latest met reports a husky and well-known voice bade me a good morning, and I turned to find the lanky form of Ken Hobbs, my F/O for this series of trips, wheezing gently beside me (how he passes his medicals only he knows, and I'm not about to enquire). Whilst awaiting confirmation of the flight details I went through the flight plan with him and then showed him the manifest. Harry's face is unreadable: he doesn’t say very much either, to be fair, although sometimes his eyes can be quite expressive once you get to know him. "Interesting —but not here," he breathed, "Tell you later". My heart sank a little further: but I took a little comfort from the fact that the weather outside was still extremely cold but relatively benevolent — for the Baltic. In spite of that, the room now seemed strangely warm, though.

 

 

But fast forward half an hour or so and you will find me sitting in my favourite place — the cockpit of my 744. In Riga, and pretty much everywhere else on the planet I suppose, cargo aircraft are routinely assigned to a remote and unglamorous section of the tarmac, although given the particular circumstances of today's flight, Apron 4 suited me just fine. While Harry did the walk-around and also helped CJ to direct the energetic but not conspicuously careful cargo loaders, I approved and then supervised the fuelling (for which, thankfully, Julie Lansdown, my FD and Company Secretary, had previously arranged the funding — so this time I didn't have to produce my battered plastic). Oops, I haven't previously mentioned CJ, either: Colin Johnstone (as he is known only on his passport, as far as I'm aware) is a former RAF Air Loadmaster — he also doubles as Chief Flight Attendant when we hire hosties to herd the summer pax. We've all been flying together for years (along with Geoff Swanson, my other F/O, who wasn't needed on this trip but whom you may well meet in other sections of this intermittent journal), and it's a team that works well.

 

Harry having been detained slightly longer than usual (I grinned at the thought of CJ's predictable reaction to the idea of second-hand printing ink in his scrupulously -maintained cargo areas) I started my cockpit prep in the certain knowledge that Harry would soon catch up, and indeed it wasn't long before he squeezed his long frame into the seat on my right. It seemed that the walk-around had gone well, and sure enough, to the bewilderment of the locals, CJ was currently deploying swathes of plastic sheeting around the machinery to avoid any potential contamination.

 

"Er, in passing I happened to kick one of those crates of oil, quite hard", Harry offered. Ah. I nodded sympathetically — accidents will happen — and waited. Sure enough, after a suitable pause for effect, Harry uttered again: "Tell me — they're not shipping oil in flowerpots these days, are they?", he asked, gazing studiously into the middle distance.

 

That did take me somewhat by surprise. Just between ourselves, I wouldn't have been entirely shocked if the crates didn't actually contain drums at all, or even if they turned out to be filled with drums of something slightly different, but flowerpots? Harry, however, had the smug air of someone who has already worked out the answer. I should explain that exercising a phenomenal crossword-solving ability was his favourite way of passing time in the cruise, and in view of the fact that his puzzle-solving abilities have often been useful on previous occasions, at this point I was especially happy to have him beside me on the flight deck. But since at such short notice I was unable to match his cerebral skills I was momentarily stumped by the wretched flowerpots. "OK", I sighed: "Tell me the worst."

 

Harry leaned over in his seat so that his mouth was closer to my right ear. "I think it's Riga Black Balsam", he murmured, clearly conscious that the CVR might already be active. Seriously? We're shipping sixty-five crates of cough medicine over the border into Lithuania? But then I belatedly realised that I had leaped to the wrong conclusion, as an unwelcome and long-suppressed memory surfaced from the furthest recesses of my brain.

 

Riga Black Balsam, I now reluctantly recalled, is an extremely strong and bitter Latvian drink, and is indeed as black as its name suggests. The alcohol content of the stuff is sky high; and it's sold in old-fashioned ceramic bottles — hence Harry's flowerpot noises. Originally made up by a pharmacist (which says it all, really) from ingredients found in the forest that many consider should have stayed there, the locals help it to keep out the cold by diluting it with other liquors such as schnapps, aquavit, or vodka, in a variety of uniformly lethal cocktails (anything to try and disguise the taste of the Balsam, I can only assume). Given just one of those cocktails I'm pretty sure that I would lose all interest in the cold or anything else until I was awoken by a splitting headache the following morning. On the basis of my first and last attempt at tasting it, many years ago, I still contend that calling the stuff a liqueur is terminological inexactitude of mind-boggling proportions; and whilst I have occasionally listened politely (albeit with thinly-veiled scepticism) to those who have suggested that the second time you taste it it's not quite so bad, I have remained resolute in my determination never to test that theory.

 

 

 

 

Heaven only knows how many ceramic bottles of the stuff you can get into sixty-five crates when adequately packaged for transport, but I could now understand why someone had no wish for those crates to be examined at the Lithuanian border in the event that they had gone by road. I had also become sharply aware of the fact that any idea that I might entertain about unloading this spirituous liquor straight back onto the tarmac where (in my view) it belonged would without doubt diminish my life expectancy significantly.

 

From Harry's thoughtful look he was clearly some way ahead of me in the mental arithmetic. So we were stuck with the stuff. And CJ thought that all he had to worry about was a few drops of printing ink! (It would, we tacitly agreed, be kinder to tell him about the other little problem afterwards).

 

So as we experienced that rather special sensation of warmth which derives from the feeling of your bridges burning merrily behind you, we got on with our preparations for engine start. At least the snow was continuing to look unthreatening, a fact which was even more welcome than usual, under the circumstances (the weather at Vilnius was forecasted to be the same, unsurprisingly enough considering it's only just down the road).

 

As you can probably imagine, I didn't fully relax until all the doors were closed and we were cleared for start and push, and I released the brakes for pushback with a distinct sense of relief.

 

 

 

The snow was still swirling around outside, but with our four hefty RB211 engines I knew we would climb above it fairly quickly.

 

Happily, Apron 4 is quite close to the threshold of runway 18....

 

 

 

...so after a relatively short taxy...

 

 

 

...we were on the runway and cleared for take-off. In spite of having ten and a half thousand feet of runway in front of me I had opted for a derated take-off — maintenance costs are significant for an outfit of our size who have to pay the going rates to get our aircraft serviced — which also meant that there was no question of any violent acceleration affecting the contents of those ceramic bottles in their crates. I hated to think what CJ would have to say if any of that stuff escaped and polluted his cargo deck. But although we were carrying a fair old weight of cargo, the short trip meant that even whilst carrying sufficient fuel to reach out alternate airport our fuel tanks remained comparatively empty and hence we were much lighter than normal, and so our rate of climb will therefore be unusually high for a 747. As we ran through the take-off checks and positioned ourselves at the end of the runway, I was looking forward to getting through the clouds and out of the weather.

 

 

When take-off clearance was received I advanced the throttles, and with the engines stabilised I engaged TO/GA. The engines spooled up — not to maximum thrust, but to the pre-calculated (derated) figure which would safely lift us off the runway before we reached the end whilst stressing the engines no more than necessary. The runway lights were slipping past us faster and faster as I rotated the aircraft and followed the Flight Director bars and hence the ERIV4E Standard Instrument Departure that we had programmed into the Flight Management Computer.

 

 

 

With positive climb established the undercarriage was raised, and the flaps were then retracted on schedule. Usually I hand-fly the departure until somewhere between 10,000 ft and the cruise altitude, but this flight was so short that it hardly seemed worth it, so I turned the aircraft over to the automatics as Harry depressurised the hydraulics and spoke to Riga Control.

 

After the anxiety concerning our cargo, happiness could be defined as Riga in the rear view mirror. (OK, we haven't got one, but you know what I mean).

 

 

When we broke through the clouds it was to find a sky that was a steely cobalt blue, and outside the aircraft it was very cold (-45ºC) at our unusually low cruising altitude of FL230. The aircraft having only just entered the cruise, I nevertheless had to start briefing the descent almost immediately, since the ToD was only minutes away. Quite a novelty, for a 744 crew — Harry definitely wasn't going to get any opportunity to get his crossword out this time!

 

 

 

Before long we were descending through FL180, and headed below the snow-laden clouds again.

 

 

 

As we descended further towards what were all too obviously classic icing conditions, Harry didn’t wait for the automatic ice detection system to kick in, and manually turned on the NAI (nacelle anti-ice) to supply hot bleed air to the nacelles. The ECS synoptic on the upper EICAS display confirmed that bleed air was now being ducted to keep the engines warm. He would, I knew, continue to monitor the situation, just in case the wing leading edges needed some warmth, as well, which was a distinct possibility.

 

 

 

As you can see from the above picture of the upper EICAS display, the Total Air Temperature (TAT) is -8ºC (top left). This is measured by a special probe mounted on the aircraft's skin that is designed to bring the air to rest relative to the aircraft. But obviously, the process of bringing the air to rest results in an adiabatic increase in its temperature (the energy has to go somewhere). So the temperature measured by the probe is always higher than the actual temperature of the air through which it's moving — which is referred to as the Static Air Temperature (SAT). Clearly, because of the energy thing going on it’s impossible to measure SAT directly, so the TAT is fed to the air data computer which can then work out what the SAT is (in this case it's -16ºC, as you can see bottom right). The SAT isn't calculated just to satisfy the pilot's curiosity, of course: it's essential to know what it is so that the computer can also work out what the true airspeed is to get the ground speed and hence a few other things.... Happily, all of those calculations are easier these days now that the computers also have an input from GPS systems (although they don't rely entirely upon those, of course).

 

But I digress. (Again).  <sigh>

 

Sure enough, once below the cloud we again encountered the snow.

 

 

 

As we descended through 5000 ft we were approaching the localizer for Vilnius's rwy 20. Time to start thinking about slowing down and getting some flaps out.

 

 

 

Once prepared to land, with the runway in sight and sub-zero temperatures outside it was time for wing anti-ice, too.

 

 

 

The landscape outside seemed not dissimilar to what we had left behind, a short time previously.

 

 

 

But soon the runway was dead ahead — and, it has to be said, with a Landing Distance Available of just 8251 feet it wasn't what you might call reassuringly long for a 747 in icy conditions. Harry’s breathing rate had increased perceptibly, which is the only sign you’ll ever get that he’s feeling nervous.

 

 

 

This was no occasion for a gossamer touchdown — something reassuringly firm (and right on the marks) was called for. I have in the past put this bird down onto shorter runways than this one, but it’s always a challenge, and especially in conditions like these.

 

 

 

Happily, the tried-and-trusted combination of autobrakes and spoilers and reverse thrust worked their magic — so much so that I was able to take exit E without having to go right to the end of the runway. Harry’s breathing returned to normal.

 

 

 

After  another right turn, I was soon trundling back towards the terminal.

 

 

 

But once again, as a cargo aircraft I was headed for a parking spot well short of the terminal itself, in this case gate 36.

 

 

 

Turning in to gate 36, I made one of my better parking manoeuvres and ended up exactly on the spot.

 

 

 

I signed the documentation as soon as it came aboard, and by the time we had shut down the aircraft and done the paperwork CJ reported that the cargo had been offloaded. I put the treasured baton safely in my inside coat pocket and headed for the crew customs (no, they don't trust us, either). But as I stepped through the screening gate the alarm went off, which was unaccountable because I had deposited everything metal in the basket provided, and I felt fairly sure that the Mutley baton had no metal parts. (Hmm, unless Joe has cunningly hidden a tracking device inside it...? But if so, it’s not only extremely lightweight, but has a battery whose life defies current technological achievement, so probably not).

 

A burly gentleman appeared at my side, and I noted resignedly that he too wore a black leather coat (is it standard issue with these people, or simply a status symbol?). "In here, Captain", he rumbled, and I allowed myself to be shepherded to a side office where my watch and change, as well as my other luggage were already awaiting me. Just before the door slammed shut I could see Harry watching anxiously, so at least the guys back at base would be informed what was going on.

 

I sat in the indicated chair and prepared for some awkward questions.

 

My interlocutor seated himself opposite me and nodded grimly. "So, Captain, you were carrying 65 crates of ‘engine oil’?". The raised eyebrows and heavy sarcasm were anything but subtle. I sighed and started the standard explanations for the defence, concerning agents and manifests and inability to check everything personally — in fact I was concentrating so much on my excuses that at first I didn't notice the noise that eventually distracted me. But once it had entered my consciousness I looked across the desk to find that my "host" was quivering with laughter (if you can imagine an extremely large jelly wearing a leather coat in a howling gale you'll have an idea about the visuals, if not the miscellaneous basso-profundo sound effects).

 

"Ah Captain", he gasped once his paroxysms of mirth had subsided, "I am here to thank you for your...oil". He reached inside his coat and I feared the worst for a moment, but he produced a well-known and utterly unloved ceramic bottle, which for an infinitesimally brief moment was a relief. "We drink toast, yes", he went on (this was not a question), and I realised with a sinking heart that I was about to forcibly reacquainted with the bitter Balsam.

 

You remember that crazy idea someone had that the second time you taste it it's not quite so bad as the first time? Well, I'm afraid that for me, it’s still at least as bad, it really is. Maybe the third time? But no, barring some quite unimaginable emergency, for me there will be no third time! And I am unanimous in that. So after only a single plastic cupful of the stuff (the plastic didn’t enhance the taste, either) I was able to tear myself away, using the mendacious excuse that I would be flying again soon. Well I would be... soon-ish — it’s all relative, isn’t it?

 

Only half an hour after meeting my new-found friend I had finally recovered my baggage and was being driven to the main terminal. I must apologise to Edward, who must have thought me pretty anti-social when I handed over the baton with barely a mumbled greeting, and then disappeared off at high speed towards the nearest exit — but all I had in mind at that point was the urgent necessity of getting myself to Vilnius's Comfort Hotel to find Harry before he pressed the panic button.

 

As luck (and Phil) would have it, in fact I had a clear 48 hours before I was taking off again for Mumbai after a brief detour for a stop at Berlin Brandenburg (a rather longer trip, thankfully, and one that would hopefully not involve any dubious items of cargo); so that night I definitely intended to have a real drink or three — and not something distilled by some crazy pharmacist out of forest droppings, either! Instead, I had very much in mind some of the local wheat beer, of which I had more pleasant memories.

 

Also, during the long cruise to Mumbai I’ll start to think of some way of rewarding Phil for his.... diligence (I could suggest other words for it), in making sure that the cargo manifest was as full as possible.  Difficult, though — that is what I pay him for, after all.

 

Welcome to the wacky world of Brian's Charter.

 

 

Simulation details:

Unbelievably accurate 747-400 flight simulation, weather download, and traffic generation: Precision Simulator X

Scenery generator: FSX

Information injection into FSX for the  visuals: VisualPSX

Aircraft model: FSX stock 747 (repainted)

Riga airport scenery: freeware from Latvia vACC (www.lv-vacc.org — Pilots | Scenery downloads)

Generic scenery: Orbx Global base, Vector, and OpenLC Europe

Vilnius airport: Vilnius X v1.01 (Aerosoft)

[hurricanemk1c 195]

What was dull about that Brian? Excellent leg and story - loved the 'engine oil'!

[Bruce (a.k.a. brian747) 142]

<grin> Many thanks for that. Although as Ian Fleming once said "It reads better than it lives".   ;-)

 

If you're ever around Riga, though, you really should try the balsam. I can't say that you'll love it; but it will be an experience you're unlikely to forget....

 

I was lucky. I first encountered it in Norway, of all places, (but that's a story which couldn't be included on this hallowed site).

 

Cheers,

 

B.

 

[rob16584 42]

Welcome back Brian! Great post

[mutley 4,495]

 

Wow!, that was a challenge in itself!

 

Thanks for an insight into Brian's Charter, I am sure the PMC would have a couple of spherical trophies on the mantlepiece if you had desecrated any golf courses closer to home!

 

A really enjoyable story behind such a relatively short leg, you certainly have the gift of the gab Bruce, you will fit in well here, loved the detail 

 

One thing I have to pull you up on is the comment that 45 abv content of Riga Black Balsam being "sky high" at  45%, the usual tipple of ATWC pilots is Absinthe, typically 70+ % abv, we need to get you along to one of our crew meetings with Sharon, now she knows how to drink!

 

Ok, we will move the baton to Vilnius on our tracking map, thanks Bruce! 

[hifly 925]

Great yarn Mr B. But the stock FSX 747? and I thought you were a PMDG and nothing less sorta guy. Nevertheless flown like a real pro.

[mutley 4,495]

Great yarn Mr B. But the stock FSX 747? and I thought you were a PMDG and nothing less sorta guy. Nevertheless flown like a real pro.

 

Ha ha, you will regret that remark Geoff!! 

[needles 1,013]

Well I was expecting a PIREP, not a short novel.

Excellent read Brian, thanks.

I liked the mix of external/cockpit shots.

What screen/s are you using Brian?

I am using triple screens but the problem is, they don't expand very well on Mutley's.

Looking forward to more PIREPS from you in the future.

Cheers and welcome back to the Hangar.

[hifly 925]

 

Great yarn Mr B. But the stock FSX 747? and I thought you were a PMDG and nothing less sorta guy. Nevertheless flown like a real pro.

 

Ha ha, you will regret that remark Geoff!! 

 

 

Awaiting incoming flak.

[Bruce (a.k.a. brian747) 142]

@Joe

Glad you liked it, my friend.

90% proof is fine for me, especially when it's usually mixed with other potent brews, so my apologies if I had unintentionally misled you. (Hic!)

@Geoff

<grin> No flak, but perhaps a gentle explanation...

It appears I may have equally unintentionally misled you, too. The 744 simulation I was vlying was PSX, the closest to a full level D simulation of the 744 that you can find on a 'home' PC. FSX was used purely as a scenery generator to display the resulting vlight (see the sim specs at the end). ;-) To understand a little better, it might help to take a look at my review of PSX here: http://www.mutleyshangar.com/reviews/bc/psx/psx.htm

To make things clearer, perhaps next time I'll indicate which screens are from PSX and which are from the FSX visualisation of the result. :-)

@Needles

> "Well I was expecting a PIREP, not a short novel."

Er, you have seen some of my previous contributions? I mean, come on, It would be out of character for me to do terse, I'm afraid. ;-)

As to screens, that's a bit complicated - perhaps an offline chat might be best?

Many thanks indeed for your welcome. :-)

Cheers,

B.

[brett 2,310]

Excellent first ATWC PIREP from the man with more names than a member of Spanish royalty, nicely done.

[Captain Coffee 2,030]

Excellent job of turning a mole hill of a hop into a mountain of an adventure. Very fun read. The drink sounds vile, and I am very glad Pat Moran has a preference for rounds of rum and tequila...on my credit card however...not so glad.

[The red barron 41]

Excellent PIREP Brian!, best I get my skates on to meet you.  

[stu7708 244]

Brain, that was no where near boring mate!

 

Joe already handed you a much deserve Award, and if he hadn't I would have  

 

Loved both the shots and the story. I can't help but wonder if that "oil" is something like the Becherovka found in the Czech Republic.. it's nowhere near black, but your description of the taste is fairly close  

 

I can definitely see your trusty 747 coming in handy for a few other legs further down the road. Fingers crossed you get a more "Kosher" load for the next one   

 

 

[Bruce (a.k.a. brian747) 142]

Hi, Micke!

Thank you, my friend. :-)

> "...wonder if that "oil" is something like the Becherovka found in the Czech Republic.. it's nowhere near black, but your description of the taste is fairly close..."

Ygrmphhhgh.... <gulp>

I'm reminded of the old (if ever so slightly cynical) saying: "If it hurts, then obviously it *must* be doing you good". <sigh>

(A saying which was probably invented by a pharmacist. Or a doctor. Or...).

> "...Fingers crossed you get a more "Kosher" load for the next one..."

<grin> I'll drink to that! (As long as it's not you-know-what in the glass for the toast!).

Cheers,

Bruce

a.k.a. brian747