Flying the Friendly Skies

For me, the thought of having to make another business trip is like having to see a dentist. I’ll go, but I won’t like it. Vacation is a whole other matter. I can endure the drudgery of selecting a week’s wardrobe if it’s for a good cause. Collecting seven pairs of underwear and socks can be a pleasure if you’re daydreaming about tapas in Barcelona or catching a train to Paris. But revisiting somewhere that you know beyond a doubt that you’d never live is a punch in the gut.

I was reading a short travel essay by Paul Theroux the other evening. He pointed out that very little gets written about the tedium of travel. My guess is that’s because people generally don’t want to experience the tedium twice. I know for sure that I intentionally avoid thinking about travel time spent strapped to a seat in a plane. Unfortunately, that’s my primary means of business travel these days. So in between trips, I waste time lying to myself that I’ll never have to do it again. I realize it’s a lie, but it’s consoling.

The anxiety begins to build the week before actual departure. It’s like preparing for prison. I’m never truly convinced that I’ll return home. The thought of encapsulation weighs heavy. Rubbing elbows with a stranger stuck in the center seat is certainly easier than San Quentin, but I still cringe. I’m hardly a germophobe. I’m absolutely comfortable with most any food drop rule. It’s just about being compressed.

After diving into my seat to avoid the exasperated faces following me into what could become our community casket, I sink into anonymity. Once the aisle clears, it’s nothing but profiles, bald spots, and clumps of hair bobbing into view from this perspective. Then the countdown to arrival begins.

Eventually I crawl over my seat-mates’ possessions for a brief escape. I’m always somewhat surprised to see the gaping mouths and varied expressions occupying the seats behind me. My legs are often numb at this point. It takes the momentum of the tilting aisle to get me moving towards a restroom the size of a phone booth. Swaying from headrest to headrest, I make my way forward trying not to let either hand land on a head or a stranger’s face. Once I reach the end of the line, I feel relief only to immediately begin dreading the return trip. Worse yet, I dread the possibility of the seatbelt sign going on and everyone being instructed to return to their respective pods without the benefit of urination.

This is the tedium travel writers try to avoid. They rather start the adventure with scenes of the descent onto a fresh terrain to be explored; or the discovery of what lies beneath endless rows of palm trees; or what they view from the terrace once they’ve retired into a comfortable cotton robe. While in the unwritten Travel & Leisure assignment, the business traveler wrestles their computer case from under their neighbor’s seat and bumps their unsuspecting head on the storage bin above. It feels so good to get out. But the ordeal has just begun.

Going Places

The urge to travel is the strongest when I’m at home.  The TV is most often the enabler.  Looking at places I haven’t been immediately grabs my imagination and makes me want to pack and go.  Train travel is the best.  The ease of just being a rider without the need to know directions is always a relief, but even more so when I’m being hurled forward on tracks.  The certainty of arriving intact is much stronger than when I’m in the air.

The window always frames a cinematic view.  Passing landscapes of undulating hillsides add another rhythm to the gentle sway and thumps that are soon forgotten.  Towers and cranes alongside rusty steel warehouses seem to popup out of nowhere and disappear just as quickly.  The row of parked cars comprised of a few Fiats, a Peugeot, and other random models leaves me wondering what it’s like to work there and how glad I am that I don’t.

Each station arrival introduces a new cast of characters.  An elderly woman dressed in a freshly pressed black jacket, a strand of pearls, and a plain grey dress leaves a powdery scent trailing behind as she struggles to her seat.  She likes the idea of wearing lilacs.  The scent holds the memory of her wedding day and late husband.  For her, traveling is bothersome.  She only does it because her daughter rarely has the time to come see her.


All Rights Reserved, Jeff Griffiths 2017


I can’t decide whether it’s the people or the places that I most enjoy seeing pass by.  Either way, it’s all about the escape.  The rest is entertainment.  Permanence is a source of conflict for me.  Each day is a question mark.  Is this all that there is or will ever be?   Will a change in scenery or in the assortment of nameless faces really make much difference?  Not really.  But it’s always worth it to me.  The thought of being the traveling observer appeals to me.  Just an anonymous man seated beside the window watching others live out their expectations, moving from station to station without a set destination, not knowing when or where to get off.


All Rights Reserved, Jeff Griffiths 2017