| Letters and Diary Non-Fiction posted October 20, 2021 | Chapters: |
...14 15 -16- 17... 
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A celebration of air travel
A chapter in the book Memories of This World
Memories of this world ch. 16
by estory
The colorful brochures of Tahiti, Shangri-La, The Grand Canyon, the Matterhorn, Mount Kilimanjaro and the Pyramids of Egypt, Machu Pichu and Maui are unfolded across our coffee table. Along side them are the brochures of resort hotels we could once only dream about: The Waldorf Astoria, The Chateau Frontenac, The Fountainbleu and the Peninsula. Our airline tickets are a phone call away. Our boarding passes are at our fingertips, right on our computers. We can pack our suitcases and be ready to go to the far flung corners of this incomprehensible world at a moments' notice, all due to the invention of the jet plane that has transformed our world. Remote landscapes and natural wonders, exotic cities and isolated islands that have been nothing more than rumor have come to be within the grasp of our possibilities. These planes can take us through this miracle of physics across oceans and over mountain ranges, beyond deserts and through time zones.
For a week or more, you can leave behind this apartment with that all too familiar bathroom and kitchen, the daily commute, the newspaper and the television set. In the hours before dawn you make your way to the airport and its terminals and hangars, carrying your suitcase like a pilgrim, an explorer, a hobo. As you arrive at this vast, gleaming cathedral of travel your blood begins to tingle. You are a transient, between somewhere and somewhere else, along with all the other mysterious, inscrutable faces you pass on the check in and security lines. You don't know from what kind of home they've come from or what kind of place they are going to, or why. And they have no idea about you either. Such is the mysterious air of travel in an airport.
The destinations printed on the departure boards, along with the departure times and arrival times and the gate numbers, the restless murmur of the crowds of passengers about to disembark, the impatient jostling in the lines, sometimes the pounding footsteps of someone running late, all contribute to the uncertain, untethered atmosphere of the place. You are neither here nor there. Obligations and allegiances have disappeared. As a last call announcement echoes through the gates and lounges, you feel excited and actually lucky to be there.
Soon you will rise above all this on those silver wings. You will recline in your seat, look out of the window, and watch the sparkling water and the gossamer threads of clouds drift by. A stewardess will bring you a sandwich, some chips, a drink and a pillow. The city you have left behind will fade into the distance. The place you are going to will rise before you. Time and space seem to evaporate into thin air.
This is the miracle you have been dreaming about in these past few weeks and months.
The colorful brochures of Tahiti, Shangri-La, The Grand Canyon, the Matterhorn, Mount Kilimanjaro and the Pyramids of Egypt, Machu Pichu and Maui are unfolded across our coffee table. Along side them are the brochures of resort hotels we could once only dream about: The Waldorf Astoria, The Chateau Frontenac, The Fountainbleu and the Peninsula. Our airline tickets are a phone call away. Our boarding passes are at our fingertips, right on our computers. We can pack our suitcases and be ready to go to the far flung corners of this incomprehensible world at a moments' notice, all due to the invention of the jet plane that has transformed our world. Remote landscapes and natural wonders, exotic cities and isolated islands that have been nothing more than rumor have come to be within the grasp of our possibilities. These planes can take us through this miracle of physics across oceans and over mountain ranges, beyond deserts and through time zones.
For a week or more, you can leave behind this apartment with that all too familiar bathroom and kitchen, the daily commute, the newspaper and the television set. In the hours before dawn you make your way to the airport and its terminals and hangars, carrying your suitcase like a pilgrim, an explorer, a hobo. As you arrive at this vast, gleaming cathedral of travel your blood begins to tingle. You are a transient, between somewhere and somewhere else, along with all the other mysterious, inscrutable faces you pass on the check in and security lines. You don't know from what kind of home they've come from or what kind of place they are going to, or why. And they have no idea about you either. Such is the mysterious air of travel in an airport.
The destinations printed on the departure boards, along with the departure times and arrival times and the gate numbers, the restless murmur of the crowds of passengers about to disembark, the impatient jostling in the lines, sometimes the pounding footsteps of someone running late, all contribute to the uncertain, untethered atmosphere of the place. You are neither here nor there. Obligations and allegiances have disappeared. As a last call announcement echoes through the gates and lounges, you feel excited and actually lucky to be there.
Soon you will rise above all this on those silver wings. You will recline in your seat, look out of the window, and watch the sparkling water and the gossamer threads of clouds drift by. A stewardess will bring you a sandwich, some chips, a drink and a pillow. The city you have left behind will fade into the distance. The place you are going to will rise before you. Time and space seem to evaporate into thin air.
This is the miracle you have been dreaming about in these past few weeks and months.
For a week or more, you can leave behind this apartment with that all too familiar bathroom and kitchen, the daily commute, the newspaper and the television set. In the hours before dawn you make your way to the airport and its terminals and hangars, carrying your suitcase like a pilgrim, an explorer, a hobo. As you arrive at this vast, gleaming cathedral of travel your blood begins to tingle. You are a transient, between somewhere and somewhere else, along with all the other mysterious, inscrutable faces you pass on the check in and security lines. You don't know from what kind of home they've come from or what kind of place they are going to, or why. And they have no idea about you either. Such is the mysterious air of travel in an airport.
The destinations printed on the departure boards, along with the departure times and arrival times and the gate numbers, the restless murmur of the crowds of passengers about to disembark, the impatient jostling in the lines, sometimes the pounding footsteps of someone running late, all contribute to the uncertain, untethered atmosphere of the place. You are neither here nor there. Obligations and allegiances have disappeared. As a last call announcement echoes through the gates and lounges, you feel excited and actually lucky to be there.
Soon you will rise above all this on those silver wings. You will recline in your seat, look out of the window, and watch the sparkling water and the gossamer threads of clouds drift by. A stewardess will bring you a sandwich, some chips, a drink and a pillow. The city you have left behind will fade into the distance. The place you are going to will rise before you. Time and space seem to evaporate into thin air.
This is the miracle you have been dreaming about in these past few weeks and months.
I've always loved to travel, and this chapter is a celebration of it; from the anticipation of dreaming of far flung destinations you have never seen before, to the excitement of leaving the familiar and well worn paths of home for the untethered moment of the journey, the mysterious air of the airports and the strangers we fly with. A hundred years ago, international travel was almost unheard of, except for the rich and famous. Our generation has been the first to experience this explosion of possibilities that has come about because of the invention of the jet airplane. Now it is an integral part of our modern experience, as integral as commuting. It really is hard to believe it has not always been so. I am also dedicating this to Ulla, whose time spent as a flight attendant might make this especially relevant. Lets all remember the people in the travel industry who make these moments possible for all of us. estory
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