Airborne

Wouldn't it be great if you could just...drive to Paris?

My first flight was from Atlanta to New York in December of 1968. My family had moved south the summer before, and this was our holiday journey back home. I remember just two things from the experience: my hot meal (which had all the appeal of the Swanson’s TV dinner it so resembled), and the air sickness bag, into which I deposited said meal soon after consumption. “Bumpy” doesn’t begin to describe takeoff, touchdown and just about everything in between.

Over the years I've logged quite a few miles aloft. However, I didn’t focus on the many changes in air travel until I flew to South Dakota on a mission trip four years ago. One of the chaperones was a church friend who revealed he hadn’t flown in decades. He marveled at the smooth ride (not a barf bag in sight), but wondered where all the food was; I remember him staring in disbelief at the small bags of cookies which had to sustain us until we touched down in Rapid City. Through his eyes, I noticed other things—the flight attendants, no longer identical Barbie dolls, but average looking people of all ages (yay!). The individual screens in front of us, where we could choose our entertainment from a library of movies and TV shows. Back in the old days, there were no reminders to turn off our electronic devices—the only ones with those were the pilots. Biggest change of all, of course, is airport security. Back then, no serpentine lines or shoe removal or alarms going off because you left your keys in your pocket going through the metal detector.

I have flown puddle jumpers to Nantucket and 767s to Italy. I have sat next to businesspeople who spend the flight glued to their laptops, which I actually prefer. One 50 hour flight to Costa Rica (or maybe it just felt that long) my seatmate was a missionary, who, learning I was traveling with a church group, regaled me with nonstop tales of his adventures saving the poor souls in several Latin American countries. I try to send out the “I’m lost in thought!” vibe, thus cutting out some of the awkward stranger chatter, but it doesn’t always work.

One thing hasn’t changed: the safety lesson before we ascend. Nowadays it’s shown on video, but it used to be given by a visibly bored stewardess, modeling the oxygen mask and reminding us all of the peril we might face. I am always terrified during these presentations, because what good does the little light on your life vest do when the plane’s gone down in the middle of the Atlantic? Make it easier for the sharks to find you?

Steve and I are planning a trip to Europe next year, and while I can’t wait to see Prague and Budapest, I dread flying there, freezing beneath the flimsy airline blanket all night, dreaming fitfully of emergency exits and sudden evacuations. Oh, well.

At least there'll be complimentary wine. 

TWA jet circa 1960's