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Rough Air My first mission flight ever was from San Francisco to Japan, the roughest flight of my life. We went over the Japan Alps and into a storm at night, through what is euphemistically called “rough air.” That air batted around the plane and its occupants (total weight, a ballpark 800,000 pounds) like a beach ball . . . slamming us down, lifting us, slamming us again. And again. Terrifying.

t r av e l If you were encouraged to learn a few foreign words for your trip and have failed to do so, and if you’re sitting on a plane right now, here’s your chance. Reach into the seat pocket in front of you. That little bag will tell you how to say puke in several languages. It may come in handy if at sometime on your journey you can’t keep those chunks of mystery meat down.


7/22/08 1:28:2