If you're ever in Borneo, make sure you fly from Miri to Bario. It's a truly terrifying experience. Well, it's not really, unless you have a psychotic/suicidal pilot, a fault engine, a broken propeller and your water bottle, well, there's no other word for it, sort of imploding.
Our journey from Miri-Bario had been all right, but our return journey...well, firstly, our group had been split, which left only T and J (both unhappy fliers), myself and the older De and Di. Seated besides T and J, I shared their amusement when only halfway down the runway our engine came to an abrupt stop and a propeller dipped slightly. However, the pilot merely laughed, and on our second attempt, we lifted smoothly into the air. We flew ridiculously low, knocked metres sideways by every breath of wind, and the strange altitude was wreaking havoc with our eardrums and our water bottles. J was looking distinctly queasy and growling at everyone who dared offer concern. T and I were in hysterics as we prepared quite cheerfully to die, whilst De and I congratulated each other on finding the only two vibrating seats on the plane (I swear, you'd pay a fortune in Soho...).
Anyway, our pilot suddenly realised that we were about to miss our airport and so, with typical ingenuity, decided that the only way to get there would be- obviously!- to turn off the engines, save fuel and descend (translate as plummet) neatly onto the runway. It worked...well, sort of...we did arrive in the right place and alive, which I suppose is all you can ask for. Elated by our arrival, T and I helped a miserable J off the plane as De bid a sorry farewell to her vibrating seat. So, when you next see a little 10-seater plane on one of the war movies and think you'd like a ride...unless you (and your pilot) share a death wish...think again.