CHINA FLIGHT SEARCH : AIR JAMAICA CHEAP TICKETS : STATUS OF A FLIGHT.
China Flight Search
- an instance of traveling by air; "flying was still an exciting adventure for him"
- Shoot (wildfowl) in flight
- a formation of aircraft in flight
- (in soccer, cricket, etc.) Deliver (a ball) with well-judged trajectory and pace
- shoot a bird in flight
- Try to find something by looking or otherwise seeking carefully and thoroughly
- Examine (a place, vehicle, or person) thoroughly in order to find something or someone
- the activity of looking thoroughly in order to find something or someone
- Look for information or an item of interest in (a computer network or database) by keying words or other characters into a search engine
- an investigation seeking answers; "a thorough search of the ledgers revealed nothing"; "the outcome justified the search"
- try to locate or discover, or try to establish the existence of; "The police are searching for clues"; "They are searching for the missing man in the entire county"
- high quality porcelain originally made only in China
- Taiwan: a government on the island of Taiwan established in 1949 by Chiang Kai-shek after the conquest of mainland China by the Communists led by Mao Zedong
- Household tableware or other objects made from this or a similar material
- a communist nation that covers a vast territory in eastern Asia; the most populous country in the world
- A fine white or translucent vitrified ceramic material
Richard Halliburton Monument
Richard Halliburton (9 January 1900 – presumed dead after 24 March 1939) was an American traveler, adventurer, and author. His final adventure was an attempt to pilot a traditional Chinese sailing ship eastward across the Pacific Ocean; the Sea Dragon radioed mid-way that it was laboring in a typhoon, and it and its crew were not heard from again.
Early life and education
Halliburton was born in Brownsville, Tennessee to Wesley and Nelle Halliburton,who soon moved their family to Memphis, where he grew up. His favorite subject as a schoolboy was geography. He attended Memphis University School for Boys and the Hutchison School, which was run by a close family friend, Mary G. Hutchison. He graduated from Lawrenceville School, a New Jersey prep school, where he was chief editor of The Lawrence. He graduated from Princeton University, where he was on the editorial board of The Daily Princetonian, and chief editor of The Princetonian Pictorial Magazine. Typical of his personality, he threw himself into all these jobs, undertaking them with enthusiasm and dedication.
Travel as an unconventional career
Temporarily abandoning college in 1919, he worked his passage across the Atlantic, walked around England and France, then returned to graduate from Princeton. These first adventures helped confirm his desire for travel, and his rejection of conventional careers. He found he did not fit into a structured life, craving spontaneity and adventure. He intended to earn his living from writing about his experiences. Tongue in cheek, he dedicated his first book to his Princeton roommmates, "whose sanity, consistency and respectability … drove [him] to this book".
Although he was not of athletic build, one of his adventures was to swim the length of the Panama Canal. Only ships could navigate the Canal, so registering as the S.S. Halliburton, he paid the lowest toll in history, at 36 cents—based on his length and weight—to swim through its locks, Atlantic to Pacific.
A paragraph in a letter to his father captures his worldview. Wesley had written him about getting wanderlust out of his system so he could return to Memphis and assume "an even tenor" in life. His son responded:
"I hate that expression and as far as I am able I intend to avoid that condition. When impulse and spontaneity fail to make my way uneven then I shall sit up nights inventing means of making my life as conglomerate and vivid as possible…. And when my time comes to die, I’ll be able to die happy, for I will have done and seen and heard and experienced all the joy, pain and thrills—any emotion that any human ever had—and I’ll be especially happy if I am spared a stupid, common death in bed…"
He did indeed die—or more properly, go missing—in the middle of a tough physical challenge, becoming a "lost hero [...] like George Mallory on Everest in 1924 and Amelia Earhart over the Pacific in 1935".
Lecturer and pioneer of adventure journalism
While Halliburton was at Princeton, Field and Stream magazine bought an article of his for $150, which encouraged him to lead an unpractical life of travelling and working through paid correspondence. Upon returning from travel through remote countries, he tried to get publishers interested in his first manuscript, with little success. Through the Feakins Agency, he then contracted for a lecture tour, which turned his fortunes around. On the strength of his lecturing and his appeal as a celebrity, Bobbs-Merrill published his first book, The Royal Road to Romance (1925), which became one of many best-sellers for Halliburton. His rather high-pitched voice and occasional nervousness were offset by his enthusiasm and the vividness of his narrative, making him one of the most successful lecturers of the period between the two World Wars.
It was as a lecturer that Halliburton may have had his greatest influence, because his narrative re-enactments of his adventures helped to popularize a calling that developed into adventure journalism.
Halliburton never married. In his youth he courted girls and was seriously infatuated with at least two, as revealed by his letters to them. As he matured, he became bisexual, as observed by at least one traveling companion. Halliburton kept his sexual orientation secret from his public and his parents, who longed for grandchildren. His correspondence and his relations clearly offer this view of his orientation.He was a friend, and may have been a lover, of one of the first openly gay film stars, Ramon Novarro.A biographer of Novarro asserts that Halliburton chose Paul Mooney as crew for his fatal final voyage because the pair were lovers.
Halliburton commissioned a modernist house from William Alexander Levy, a 27 year old architect. Levy was lovers with Paul Mooney, Halliburton's editor and ghostwriter, and the house was built with three bedrooms, one for each of the men. The concrete box house, suspended
Wellpark rescue painting
A painting of the rescue by A. Cumming of Lenzie, Scotland. As someone who was there I am amazed at how accurately the artist (who was not there) portrayed the scene. The following is the story of this scene:
My mind drifted for a moment, drawn to the glass of ice cold water sat on my desk. The water tilted within the glass and then shuddered as the ship around it rolled on the wave and vibrated to the cavitation of the propeller. I glanced towards the black porthole. I had tightened the dogs on it earlier when the roll of the ship coincided with a high wave and momentarily our cabin view looked underwater, down into the ocean. I was a little weary. With the warm air and physical nature of our work I knew I should get some sleep before my duty watch started on the ship’s navigation bridge at midnight.
But I had to finish my Correspondence course. As only a second trip deck cadet, training as a Navigation Officer, I was almost the lowest of the low, and it was important my study at sea was completed on time. Our ship, “Wellpark”, was only three days from arrival in Kaohsiung in Taiwan and my work would have to be posted back to Nautical College in Glasgow on the other side of the world for marking. As luck would have it, we had speeded up a few days earlier from our normal cruising speed to our maximum of 15 knots, so that the ship could meet its dry-dock slot in Korea and still connect into a lucrative string of cargo charters thereafter. Dammit: I had even less time to finish my studies!
I could have excused myself. As I had just written in a letter to my mother it had already been a very eventful trip, a real experience for a young man keen to see the world. The journey itself from my home in the extreme north of Scotland to the south of Argentina had involved no less than seven separate flights over three days. And the weeks at sea crossing the lower latitudes of the South Atlantic, watching the albatross glide for days, before we moved into the warmer Indian Ocean and relaxed in its sunshine, had made it seem more like a cruise. After the mountainous waves we endured around South Africa we had time for fun after work, playing games on deck and organising our Crossing the Line Ceremony. Later we had passed through the Sunda Straits, passing tropical islands on both sides. Here we watched brightly coloured sailing boats dart between the islands, flying fish, and plumes of smoke erupt from a huge volcano. We were a happy ship and we were on a journey that had now taken us into the South China Sea.
It was 7.53 pm on Sunday 1st October when I had just focussed my mind back on my Correspondence course that suddenly the ship’s emergency alarms rang, and my life changed forever.
Immediately the tannoy blared, “This is not a drill!”. Still wearing my jeans and T-shirt, I scooped up my helmet and lifejacket and headed from my cabin, out through the water-tight door on to the main deck and up the two steel staircases to my emergency station on the poop deck next to the port lifeboat. All over the ship, cadets and men rose from what they were doing. Some were in the shower, some in the laundry, some eating, some relaxing and some fast asleep. All rose as one and ran to take up their posts at the three main emergency stations: by the port and starboard lifeboats and on the ship’s bridge.
As we gathered at our post, of course we were intrigued. What was happening? It was pitch dark outside and we could see nothing. Were we in danger of sinking and in trouble ourselves? Was there a fire on board? We relaxed as word filtered round it was a fishing boat that had fired off a distress flare, and we had time to laugh at the first-trip cadet who arrived at the emergency station in slippers and pyjamas.
And then we saw it…well, our keen eyes saw a flame, just a brief glimpse, distant in the black of the night out on the starboard (right) side of the ship. A roll was called and the senior cadets were selected to climb up into the port lifeboat with three officers, as we attended to removing the covers off the launching equipment and unshackling the boat for lowering.
40 minutes had elapsed from the sighting of the flare and the call to emergency stations, when we were ordered to lower the lifeboat to the water. Wellpark had closed in on the boat in distress but from where we were we could no longer see it. At 171 metres long, and a laden weight of over 40,000 tonnes, Wellpark had slowed but was still pushing into the waves at around 7 knots. In the wake of tropical storm ‘Lola’ the sea’s swell was high, there being roughly 15 feet (4.5 metres) between the peaks and troughs of the waves. Quickly the lifeboat was lowered until the tops of the passing waves ran below its hull. On a given signal the fore and aft quick release buckles were pressed to drop the boat onto the top of a wave. But disaster! The release buckle holding the front of the boat did not release, and the falling wave threatened to leave the res
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