Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away…

Raise your hand if you love being on vacation but hate flying.

I spent most of my childhood getting a kick out of being on a plane, but as I grew older I became more weary. Maybe it’s all these ghastly accidents one reads about on occasion (*knock on wood three times not to tempt fate*).

We’ve been travelling over the past two days, first to London (the flight is about an hour and a half), and then on to Barbados (a terrifying eight hours), and although I always tell myself I’ll be braver this time, it never happens. The moment the plane hits some turbulence (as it often does), the image that comes to my mind is me plunging to my death is a metal monstrosity which (someone had the bad taste to tell me) can fly for a bit.

I’m the first to admit this is a very dramatic way to look at things, but fear has a flair for the dramatic.

This is why, if The Angry Chef and I ever got on a plane to come and visit any of the people reading this, you should feel very special because getting on a plane takes preparation. This is also why I get so upset when we fly somewhere and end up disappointed with the destination (“You got me on a plane for THIS???”)

And then, of course, there is the bathroom. Going to the bathroom when you’re on a plane is a nerve-wrecking experience if you’re afraid to fly. On a shorter flight (say, Geneva to London) this is easily avoided. But on a longer flight, it isn’t.

The thing that always gets me is this: you need to be strategic about your timing because everyone on board will need to use the bathroom after they serve water and/or food. But if there is turbulence, your window of opportunity is minimal because you will have to stay seated with your seat-belt on.Then once the turbulence stops, you’re terrified of getting up because, you fear, the moment you succeed in beating the crowds, the moment you slide the switch that indicates to the outside world that the lavatory is occupied (in red) – that’s when the turbulence will start again.

So next time you see someone going somewhere really nice (say, a nice island in the Caribbean), please don’t roll your eyes when she digs her nails into the arms of her chair during takeoff and landing. Have some sympathy.

This entry was posted in Travels.

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