Turbulent

"Airline travel is hours of boredom interrupted by moments of stark terror."
-Al Boliska

"Why don't they make the whole plane out of that black box stuff?"
-Steven Wright

"The strength of the turbulence is directly proportional to the temperature of your coffee."
From 'Gunter's Second Law of Air Travel' 

Dubai Airport - or a scene from Star Wars?

I am in the fortunate position of being able to travel. Often. It's something I have always wanted to do for as long as I can remember. Sitting in my primary school classroom flicking through atlases, I would be trying to remember the shape of the countries and continents, memorizing cities and looking at statistics like populations and all the time comparing them to what small part of the planet I was familiar with. Yep - I knew how to have a good time.

I have always been fascinated with the United Kingdom ever since my grade two teacher visited for her Christmas holidays and came back the following year to show her class the 'slides'. She set up our classroom just like a plane, complete with the aisle down the middle and cramped economy-class seating either side of it. As the slides flicked around their carousel she gave a running commentary, all the while serving her second grade passengers with light refreshments of orange juice and candy. Similarly when she visited Japan we were all given an insight into her enviable world of travelling the globe. It seemed teaching would be a fun occupation that would also allow for travel during the holidays.....

A Piazza in Florence, Statue of David in background

I have always been interested in watching people who travel 'on business'. You see these people at the airport, sitting there in their expensive suits busying themselves on their laptops or checking their briefcases. I wonder where they are going and what they are doing. I'm just back from a 'business' trip myself, having attended a conference in Florence, Italy. It was awesome trip and a wonderful time was had. But. But the whole traveling thing might be wearing a bit thin. It's not the destinations, or the discovering, or the learning, or the food, wine, people, sights, sounds, smells or secret side streets to be discovered that are the issue here. I don't think I'll ever tire of doing what I do. It's simply the getting there and the getting back that are grating. I'm just about over it.
Entering the airport en route to wherever, is just like walking through another dimension into Bizzaro World. How can seemingly normal, polite, and (for the most part) considerate people all of sudden morph into rude, arrogant, pushy, smelly, inconsiderate inbreds who have no manners nor concept of personal space? All of this is encountered before a single bag is even checked in. Then the fun really starts. If there's a slow line, I'm on the end of it. If there's a rude customs official, they'll find me. If they stop the belt on the x-ray machine, it's my bag that's in there and if there's a machine that beeps incessantly, I'll walk through it. Actually, that last honor goes to Michelle. I'm the one who gets to wait for her to be searched. Almost always more than once. It's honestly difficult to describe the intensity of my disdain for airports.

So much fun and I'm not even close to getting on the plane. The coughers, the sneezers, the screamers, the guy who puts his chair back while we're still in take-off mode, the hard seat, the broken tv screen and the snorer - are all sitting, conveniently, where i'm sitting. Amazing. Yet, despite all of this. Despite my ill-feelings toward airports and general discomfort once i'm airborne, I consider myself extremely blessed. How, one might ask? Considering the gigantic bitch session above regarding all things to do with air travel? It's simple. Read on.

I scarcely remember a flight I've been on, no matter the level of discomfort, where I haven't uttered the words - "It doesn't matter, as long as we get there safely". Strangely, the more I fly, the more uncomfortable I have become with the whole notion of being airborne. Generally, once the journey begins I find that I don't really think about the fact I'm sitting in a chair 10 kilometres above the ground. This all changes however at the slightest bump or hint of turbulence.
Enter Flight 186 from Florence to Paris last week. A smallish plane seating around 100 passengers, it is always going to be more susceptible to a bit of rough and tumble after take off. The captain noted that things could get a 'little bumpy' as we climbed through the cloud layers. Bumpy? The turbulence I was about to experience was to 'a little bumpy', as a barrel of oil is to 'a little greasy'. We didn't so much pass through the clouds as we were 'flung'. Sideways mostly. The cramp in my hand resulted from the 'this is it - it's all over' grip I had on my seatbelt. I could actually feel my sweaty, clammy face turning a ghostly white colour as I may have (definitely did) let out a few expletives. I think I can be pardoned. See circumstances above. Upon leaving the plane the source of my discomfot became painfully obvious. Gusty, ice-cold Parisian winds, cloudy rain-filled skies and an afternoon temperature of just 6 degrees. Enough said. Even when disembarking from the smoothest flight, I need to fight the urge to be Pope-like. Kissing the ground in equal amounts of sheer joy and relief seems like a natural thing to do. I was in love with the ground on this day.

Pontevecchio Bridge, Florence

The heart slows to almost normal again. I can relax. Bask in the glory that another flight has ended successfully. But then all too soon it's the cheerful, positive, welcoming, 'happy-to-be-alive' customs officials to meet and greet you. Followed by the dreaded luggage carousel. Guess when my bags usually appear? Yep, that's right. Then to rub salt into my air travel wounds, a few weeks ago I literally walked into an all-time low moment. I inadvertently went through the 'Goods To Declare' exit, where I was immediately summoned by the guards to empty my bags and explain myself. Nice.

I write this half thinking that the world is against me. Everyone else out there is sitting and waiting for me to appear so they can set up some kind of 'Truman Show' the moment I appear at the airport. Somebody screams 'Places people - he's coming!'. The cast set out to get in my way. The make-up department go to all kinds of lengths to get the realism just right - although they could probably tone down the body odour just a tad. The fact is, that all this is slightly amusing because it happens to us all. Everyone has been last to collect their bags or worse, not had bags to colect at all! Everyone has met the customs people who are less than polite and we have all had to sit next to the yawner, the screamer or the guy who doesn't know when to shut up.

Another lunch, another treat for the senses

Sometimes I stop for half a moment and wonder why I do it. It's those times when I'm stuck in that longest line at 2am waiting to have my passport stamped by the guy who doesn't care how long my flight was, or how long I have already been standing there. But then I think back to my travels and I look at the photos in this blog and I sit for hours thinking up new adventures or talking over old ones. It's funny how the 'Bizzaro World' always gets forgotten amongst the memories of all the great times.