I love to travel.
Like that's any news.
But nowadays, I'm having a tougher and tougher time enjoying the part which involves the actual journey. I am beginning to hate to fly.
Say what now? The 'airport atmosphere of goodbyes, greetings and possibility of adventure' used to be right up there in my top 5 atmospheres I love, right alongside 'sitting on a summer cottage porch somewhere in the Finnish archipelago on an early morning in july sipping on that first cup of coffee', 'walking on a Mexico City sidewalk on my way to book club when the restaurants and cafes are just opening with a Starbucks latte in my hand', 'sitting in a nice restaurant while enjoying that first glass of a nice dry Pinot Blanc and holding hubby's hand', and 'cracking the spine of a really good, yet elusive book once I've really gotten into it'. (Unnerving that 2 out of 5 involve coffee, and 1 out of five wine, and only 1 out of 5 people. Hermit? Me?)
Yesterday, as I was getting ready to leave Jozi behind and reacquaint myself with the best lattes since Starbucks, there was a medical emergency on the plane. This came about as we were getting ready to take off, and required for the door to be reopened and for the paramedics to drive up to the plane and take a look. Now, as I had been sandwiched seated between the window and a very pregnant woman (I'm sure she should not have been flying in her filled-to-the-brim condition, but hey, this is Africa, and sometimes rules are more of guidelines and exceptions can always be made, especially by paying cash) I couldn't really see what the emergency was all about (however, I'm pretty confident it was no stroke or some such thing as the preggo in the aisle seat went right back to her needlework [since when do they allow needles and scissors on planes anyway?], after peering towards the front of the plane through her prescription sunglasses following the captain's announcement concerning the delay).
What would a normal person's response be to such a situation?
How can I help?
Oh my, I hope it's not serious?
What was my reaction?
"Fok, now I'm going to have to sit in this fokken narrow-ass seat, in this fokken tiny plane, even fokken longer. Fok. Major fok."
Later, when the guy sitting in front of me, who, based on his smell was on his last leg of the journey that had undoubtedly been very, very long (and involved either live chickens, or a dead goat), leaned his seat back I almost ripped his head off. Had they not moved the needle-working on-the-brink-of-multiplication lady with massive amounts of hand luggage she had thought would fit under the seat into business class, I might really have hurt somebody.
But the joke is on me. In the next few months I'll spend a combined time of around 65 hours on different planes. And those are the trips I already know of.
Maybe I should just learn to relax. And count my blessings.
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1 year ago