Postcards

VIP treatment in one of Europe’s oldest cities

American pilots in Europe are constantly amazed that, in a Cessna Skyhawk, they’re often just two hours away from another country. Ten years ago, at the dusk of the Cold War, a trip from Munich to Prague, one of Old Europe’s most beautiful and elegant cities, would have been unheard of. But on a recent sunny afternoon, two friends and I made that two-hour flight. It was both a piece of cake and the thrill of a lifetime.

The route

From Munich to Prague direct is just less than two hours, but I’d thought up an interesting little side trip to Ceske Budojovice (Budweis). This would be both a leg-stretcher as well as a pilgrimage of sorts to one of beer lovers’ most holy spots: the birthplace of the Czech Budweiser brewery. I figured on a brief stop there, and then we’d depart for the 35-minute leg to Prague.

The return flight would be direct. Nothing could be simpler.

Red tape

In Europe, the radio work is still in English, and Jeppesen makes the charts in English, too. But the red tape factor was a supreme worry in making my flight plan, as I couldn’t seem to get a straight answer to the procedure for crossing the German/Czech border. Something about a NATO Identification Zone kept coming up, which sounded mildly alarming to say the least.

In the end, after many telephone calls and several blind leads, it turned out to be as easy as a flight from Miami to the Bahamas: a simple filing, in English, of an ICAO international flight plan form.

OK, the Czechs are a bit more procedural than their Bahamian counterparts, but it’s essentially the same thing: The plan must include your exact time, altitude, and the place where you’ll cross the border. A little nervous about getting all that right, I held off on filing my plan until I picked up the Skyhawk from Munich Flyers Flight Club at Augsburg Airport, just west of Munich. There I got a final weather briefing (confirming the predicted clear skies and 20-kt headwind at 10,000 feet) and faxed off the plan.

ATC and procedures are a bit different in Europe; there’s no flight following service for VFR flights, and the pilot’s first point of radio or telephone contact is with the broadly termed information service. Somewhat similar to a U.S. flight service station, each major airport in Europe runs its own, and each is responsible for multiple tasks. To file a plan and get clearances to leave the southern German airspace, I telephoned Munich Information before departure; later, as I neared the Czech border, I was handed off to Prague Information. These information stations act as VFR controllers and flight plan services all in one.

I’d verified my intentions by telephone with Prague Information, which OKed me regarding the stop in Budweis, and had meticulously noted checkpoints along the entire route to ensure that I crossed the border just where I said that I would.

I phoned Munich Flight Information right after filing my plan, and they assured me that everything was OK. I was in the process of fueling the Cessna when the airport loudspeaker blared, "Pilot of Cessna Delta-Echo-Hotel-Mike-Bravo, contact Munich Information!"

My flight plan, it seemed, had been denied by Czech authorities, which now said that there were no customs officials in Budweis—it was direct to Prague or nothing. The idea of hours of flight planning down the commode and then hastily planning a direct route to Prague while sitting in the cockpit didn’t strike me as particularly pleasant, but we reached a compromise: Keep the original flight plan, but turn left over Budweis and head up to Prague.

Munich Airport is Europe’s busiest during peak hours. Its information service would give me a transponder code and keep vague track of my progress, ensuring that I didn’t venture into restricted airspace or veer glaringly off course.

And, I’m almost sad to report, the flight was almost extraordinary in its ordinariness. I’d secretly hoped for bizarre instructions, exciting NATO complications, and cloak-and-dagger intrigue—perhaps the odd MiG scramble at the border. But the flight was as routine as they come. Well, there was something: Finding checkpoints was difficult because each and every town we flew over looked identical. Cluster after cluster of red-roofed houses with a church in the middle. Why, that’s clearly Dingolfing... or Straubing...or Deggendorf...or possibly Ingolstadt.

With the aid of a good flight plan (and, OK, a great GPS and the help of two very keen passenger/navigators), we reached the border transition area on time. Munich Information handed us off to Prague Information, which gave us permission to climb to 11,500 feet and cross the border. We were in.

To save a bit of time, Prague Information let us turn left, heading northeast on a beeline for Prague, rather than subjecting us to the farce of overflying the now-forbidden city of Budweis.

Flight Level Five-Five

English may be the language of the skies here, but you’d best speak very slowly and clearly: Controllers are used to conversing with non-native speakers, who use a more formal—if stilted—version of the language.

German and Czech controllers use the term flight level for all altitudes—not just those above 18,000 feet. About 15 minutes south of Prague, at 9,500 feet, I had a moment of confusion when the controller told me to "descend to Flight Level Five-Five on Prague Airport’s QNH 1023." QNH is ICAO-speak for the local altimeter setting in millibars.

I replied, thinking that I was being clear, "Mike-Bravo, leaving niner thousand, five hundred for Flight Level Five-Five; that’s five thousand, five hundred feet," and got back, "Cessna Mike-Bravo, I say again, Flight Level Five-Five."

All righty then. "Mike-Bravo is leaving niner thousand, five hundred for Flight Level Five-Five; that’s five thousand, five hundred feet," I said, slower and more clearly.

"Cessna Mike-Bravo, I repeat again," he said, audibly put out by my rebellious behavior, "descend to Flight Level Five-Five."

We probably could have gone on all day like that had I not just shut up and said, "Roger, Flight Level Five-Five" and descended to 5,500 feet.

Buzzing the rooftops

Despite that hiccup, things were going swimmingly and, having abandoned my flight plan, I was happy to quit looking at the map and let the Prague controllers call my every turn. Prague Information handed me off to Prague Tower, and I saw the city just ahead. I hadn’t landed there before and couldn’t see the actual field, so I was a bit cautious. But I’d figured that, since they had me heading 060 degrees, I must be on a straight-in approach to Runway 6, right?

"Cessna Delta-Echo-Hotel-Mike-Bravo, descend to maximum 2,000 feet, QNH 1023, and turn left bearing 310 degrees."

Hmm. I confirmed the altimeter setting and it seems a little, uh, low, as I’m about 500 feet above the ground at this point. My front-seat passenger, a Brit, says, alto voice, "I can see bloody dogs on the ground we’re so bloody low!"

He was right, but this was serious fun; I was actually instructed to barrel in low over the hillsides and rooftops, with the city of Prague off my right wing and my passengers boisterously humming Wagner’s The Ride of the Valkyries.

The hills dropped away, and we were now at the relatively sane height of about 800 feet above the rooftops. I finally saw the airport just ahead, but we were number two after a Boeing 737. The tower asked us to "make now a left turn for one orbit" (more stilted English), then to fly right along over Runway 31, turning left just past it to enter the left downwind for Runway 6.

I’ve gotten used to the shorter European airstrips, so I put it down gently right on the numbers. I was in the middle of saying to my passengers, "On behalf of Air Nick, I’d like to welcome you to Prague," when I noticed that we could have taken off and landed again in the distance it took for us to trundle over to Taxiway Charlie—Runway 6 is 12,188 feet long.

And then began the rock star treatment: The follow-me car was a nice touch, and our Cessna was met by a minivan bearing the gracious Vlastimil Sovak of the Czech Airports Authority Handling Agency, who cheerfully offered hotel booking assistance and information on getting to town by taxi or public transportation. He then whisked us off to our own private customs and passport control while our airplane was refueled. He even made the exchange office employee cut short his lunch hour so we could get bus fare to the city center.

Prague is a spectacularly gorgeous city, and it’s so old that its "new town" dates back to the fifteenth century. Alas, flying directly over the spectacular city center is forbidden.

Twenty minutes after leaving the airport, just outside the Staromestska subway station, we were treated to a sweeping view across the Charles Bridge to the magnificent Prague castle, home to Czech royalty since the ninth century. It seemed that around each corner was another architectural masterpiece.

We spent the evening wandering Prague’s ancient cobblestone streets and shopping for the justifiably famous Czech glassware. That night, while I caught up on sleep, my two passengers set out to do the town’s lively bars and clubs, sampling the famous beer and, I’m told, getting treated to several on the strength of the tale of their journey.

The next morning we headed back to Augsburg with no barreling in, no low passes, and nary a MiG to be seen. With the exception of a slight detour over a restricted area just inside the German airspace I’d somehow— ahem—overlooked in my flight planning, the return flight was, technically, eventless.

Isn’t it amazing how technically eventless flights can leave you with memories for a lifetime?

Nick Selby, AOPA 1421960, lives in Munich and writes about flying, travel, and technology.

If you go...

Americans, Brits, and other European citizens need no visa, just a valid passport. The Czech currency is the Koruna (Kcs); U.S. $1 equals Kcs 33.50, and one German mark equals Kcs 18.

Costs

For an overnight, this flight for four people worked out less expensively than taking the train. The airplane rental cost $107 per hour wet; landing fee, $18.50; approach fee, $9; handling and assistance, $17; parking, $4.50; airport tax, $14.

Accommodations

We stayed at the Hotel Atlantic (telephone: +42 02 2481 1084, Na Porici 9) where singles or doubles cost U.S. $107 or U.S. $125, respectively, per night with breakfast.

Contact

Prague Airport: +42 02 2011-1111; Mr. Sovak: +42 02 2011-4383. Munich Flight Information: +49 89 9780-350/1/2; fax 970 1424. Munich WX-Brief: +49 89 1593 8135/6.

Munich Flyers: +49 89 6427-0761.

Closing your flight plan

Flight plans are automatically closed by Prague Tower on your arrival at Prague Ruzyna Airport, so there’s no need to telephone anyone. But on the return to Germany you must remember to close your flight plan by calling Munich Flight Information.

Charts

Jeppesen ( www.jeppesen.com) VFR/GPS Chart Germany ED-5 covers southeastern Germany, the western Czech Republic, and the entire area near Prague’s Ruzyna Airport; Chart ED-6 covers Munich and Augsburg. Buy VFR charts in Munich at Geo Buch, Rosental 6 (telephone +49 89 265-030).

Additional information about flying internationally may be found on AOPA Online ( www.aopa.org/members/pic/intl/). — NS

Listen to the radio

German and Czech ATC are highly competent and professional and speak English; but remember, it’s not their native language, and they’re used to speaking English with other non-native speakers. Americans, they feel, tend to speak colorfully or offhandedly, which makes it difficult for them to understand you—even if you’re saying what you feel are relatively simple things.

What they say to you can sometimes sound convoluted (and there’s the near-universal German tendency to call your Cessna a Chessna), so be on your toes. Halfway down the runway on takeoff from Augsburg, for example, the controller without preamble came back with, "...and if you appreciate, on your way to [checkpoint] Oscar, you may continue with climb, and until passing with three thousand."

Ah. Don’t turn left toward Oscar until you reach 3,000 feet. That I can appreciate.

Speak more slowly than usual, and be as precise as possible. Remember, too, it’s required that you repeat every piece of information given: If they say, "Cleared to land, Runway 7, QNH 1013, wind 100 at 12 knots," that’s what you say back. — NS