LICR - Reggio Calabria Airport, Italy

World Heritage Sites Air Adventures: Cannoli, Chaos & Co-Pilots
Flight Log #02 – July 27, 2025
Edition Title: To Malta and Back Again: Cannoli, Cannoli… Calabria Ramen?

Today’s episode is powered by… TigerCaffè Fuselage Brew™—the only coffee with enough octane to power both your flight and your postflight existential crisis. Available wherever crop dusters, canines, and Canadian actors rewrite the rules of aviation.

Log Entry by Ryan Reynolds, Guest Co-Pilot
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If you ever wondered how many cannoli, Labradors, and half-baked pilot aspirations you can stuff into a DHC-5 Buffalo, the answer is “never enough, and don’t ask—aviation authorities are still doing the math.” It’s Ryan Reynolds logging in for my final Tiger Shark Squadron flight—still co-piloting, still not spilling a drop of Cropduster’s sacred coffee (seriously, the man treats it like aviation fuel).

We launched out of Catania–Fontanarossa (LICC), and despite my best efforts to hijack the playlist, the dogs had dibs, and “Who Let the Dogs Out” will haunt Italian airspace for years. Our mission: a Mediterranean magnum opus—buzzing past some of the region’s most storied UNESCO wonders, a victory lap over Pantelleria (LICG), and a final swoop back across Sicilian skies toward sunset.

As we soared south, the first stop was a true bucket-list flyover—the trio of Malta’s World Heritage marvels:
• Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum: A subterranean prehistoric necropolis, both eerie and astonishing, carved out over 5,000 years ago. Imagine the world’s greatest ancient hide-and-seek arena—except with more history and mystery, less Wi-Fi.
• City of Valletta: Malta’s fortressed capital, boasting grand Baroque palaces, ancient bastions, and the kind of golden limestone that glows at sunset. Built by the Knights of St. John, it’s like flying over the world’s fanciest stone history book.
• Megalithic Temples of Malta: Some of the oldest freestanding monuments on Earth—think Stonehenge’s Mediterranean cousins, older by centuries and blessed with sea views.

With Malta’s marvels shimmering beneath our wings, we pressed on to Pantelleria—a volcanic gem, dramatic and wind-battered, where the runway seems to hover between lava flow and open sea.

Somewhere over the Mediterranean, Cropduster hands over the stick—with the look of a man who’s either testing my nerve or quietly betting on how fast I’ll turn the Buffalo into a low-flying food truck. And maybe I did okay, because somewhere between airspeed checks and Lani licking the yoke, I decide: if John Travolta can fly a jumbo and Tom Cruise can “do his own stunts,” I want the whole license, the whole hangar, and a better sunglasses collection. Top Gun 3: Top Ramen.

Final approach: LICT (Trapani–Birgi) flashes beneath us—a coastal runway where even the dogs start barking in Italian. We drop the landing gear for Reggio Calabria (LICR), the literal toe of the Italian boot. Crew’s all eyes and tails on the glass, and I announce, “That’s the toe!” with enough conviction to earn honorary Italian citizenship (pending gelato consumption).

Postflight, the Buffalo’s cargo smells like espresso and ambition. In town for the night, Cropduster and I hatch “Ramen Calabrese,” the town’s first pop-up ramen bar: signature dish—‘Stretto Slam’ Ramen. It’s rich pork broth, local chili oil, and a single, heroic slice of Calabrian ‘nduja sausage—spicy enough to curl your mustache and chase away jet lag. Lani and Kai get dog-friendly bowls (hold the pepper).

Before the cannoli crumbs settle, my last act as guest co-pilot is to salute the squadron, the coffee, and the canine mascots (and maybe do a little running jump off the cargo ramp for Instagram). And just before my final wave, the Tiger Shark Squadron goes all-in: they present me with a bottle that carries true squadron honor—the Laphroaig 25 Year Old Cask Strength, revered for its bold sea spray nose, smoked oak, warm honeyed fruit, and a finish of almond, leather, and Islay spice that lingers like a last unscripted joke. Alongside this legendary dram come the Tiger Shark challenge coin, fresh squadron patches—including Lani’s and Kai’s own tactical sets—and, with a grin and a salute, my new call sign: “Redpool.” Subtle? Not a chance. Resonant? Absolutely. It’s the sort of title you carry forward, squadron-certified and story-ready—try to top it, Travolta.

The next log’s in someone else’s hands, but I’m leaving a sticky note on the yoke: “Get your own call sign, Travolta.”

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