LIVING THE DREAM - Part 1: Life in the Trailer Park

A harsh, piercing sound jolts me out of a restful, deep sleep. My alarm clock. Where am I? The ceiling is not familiar, the bed is hard, and the room smells. Well, I know I'm not home. My mind is racing to identify my location on this planet. Oh yes, I'm at work. Houma, Louisiana.

- JANNIE MATTHYSEN

IT’S 3:45 AM, IT’S DARK, and my day is about to start. After slowly creaking out of bed, I splash some cold water on my face, and tiptoe to get the coffee started.

The other guys are not up yet, but they’re probably flying a different schedule today. I’ll be quiet.

Home away from home here in the swamp is a typical Southern trailer accommodating four pilots. There are countless such trailers in this part of the world in which local families create a comfortable home, knowing that all their worldly possessions might be swept away by the next hurricane. At least our trailer is relatively new, and it’s equipped with a powerful central air conditioner, the size of a small family saloon. It runs all the time. There’s a communal lounge and kitchen, but we each have a private room and en-suite bathroom. There is virtually no sound proofing, so we share a lot of intimate details that should have remained unheard.

Spoken words or otherwise created. There are many other trailers just like this, but this is ours – our little “family” away from family. This is top-notch luxury compared to some of the joints I have been stuck in before as an intrepid aviator.

The coffee is just what I need this morning, and I slowly galvanise with a rusk or two that somehow survived international travel across the Atlantic. No-one here knows what a rusk is, but I suspect that someone is developing a taste for my wife’s homemade delicacies. There are a few missing – I’m sure of it. I’ll have to hide these. It’s every man for himself when it comes to rusks or biltong in a strange and foreign land!