grrlTravels

flying is weird

The vomiting didn't even phase me. I heard the unmistakeable sounds and watched the two poor parents in the row in front of me start scrambling. They were clearly surprised and unprepared for such an event. I took a few moments to pity them and send them some peaceful vibes. Then I began mouth breathing. I had to mouth breathe for more than an hour. That didn't phase me much either.

I am never sure that we are meant to be flying. Airports, airports I love. Airports are full of bustling goodness, foodstuffs you don't regularly eat, magazines and candy and t-shirts and crappity souvenirs, the ever popular duty free liquor, perfume and cigarettes. The airport sends you off with a happy wave and attempts to prolong your vacation with last minute indulgences. The airport means you no harm.

But the airplane? I'm not so sure about the airplane. Life is just so strange. Of course there is the tiny sphere of seat/tray table/floor/seat pocket/arm rests/overhead bins that becomes the whole world. The teeth rattling, eardrum filling vibration. And the odd smell of recirculated air, booze, airplane food, and creepy, gas filled toilets.

But it's more than that. It's the dreamy, crushed, inert, hopeful, sad, smothered, veiny, yawning, tedious, exhilarated, hungry, peculiar you that sits crammed in that seat.

I will admit that I was a bit wobbly when I got on the plane. Not drunk, goodness no. You couldn't pay me good money to fly impaired. No, emotionally...strange. Not right. The airport soothed me with the book stall and the donuts and the gazillion toilets. But the plane sent me spiraling. Dislocated, I struggled to be...somewhere. Somewhere recognizable. But there was just the seat leaned into my forehead and awful tiny "cheeseburgers" and lurching. Desperately I took out my book. I read an essay about a woman's beloved dog dying and I began crying. I couldn't stop. I sniffed and sniffed and the tears ran down. I had no tissues. After a bit I stopped caring and I let myself cry it out while trying not to freak out the kind father and his two-year-old son sitting beside me.

The vomiting started. It wasn't surprising. I breathed slowly through my mouth. I put the book away. I stared. I breathed. I willed myself to embrace it all.

We finally, finally, finally landed with a thump. The plane simultaneously thrust us forward and pushed us back. Push, pull. Forward, backward. Up, down. Here, there.

Stumbling into the terminal eventually breaks the spell. Thankfully.

Posted by grrlTravels at October 4, 2007 9:08 PM