a dysfunctional shadow is white
The only time I’ve ever been remotely scared flying in an airplane was a little over ten years ago.
Our airliner was flying into Nice, France, from Paris, and the weather was abominable. The clouds were grey and as thick and opaque as clam chowder just outside the window, and the turbulence on the final approach was unlike anything I’d felt. We’d plunge suddenly for what felt like hundreds of feet before stopping the descent abruptly and racing back upwards. It went on and on…endless cycles of up and down, unpredictable and sudden, for what seemed like forever. People were pasty-faced and ill all around me, and more than a few airsickness bags were used. I even started to feel a little queasy, and all I could do was to stare out the window and hope for the ground to appear beneath us, signifying that landing was imminent. Time dragged on. The engines would rev sporadically, pushing us back in our seats for a moment before relenting, and the pitching up and down went on and on. The windows are either side of the plane were still walls of grey mist, no sky, no ground…nothing. My brothers looked miserable, as did my mom. People were complaining audibly by this point, and in an effort as much to make myself feel better as a feeble attempt to reassure my family, I quoted some inane statistic about the safety of air travel and got a few words into my explanation of ILS and glideslope and landing procedures before my voice tapered off. The rest of the family gave me death-stares before re-focusing on their own misery. I turned away and looked outside again as the plane heaved around in every axis imaginable. I looked up to try to catch a glimpse of sky–no luck. I looked down and the consistency of the clouds was exactly the same. Suddenly, as I was looking down, ground appeared not twenty feet below us. Before I had a chance to turn around and tell the family, the main landing gear hit the runway with a resounding thump that shuddered through the airframe. The nose rotated downwards, touched the ground, and the pilot kicked in the thrust reversers. We slowed to a crawl as the most palpable sense of relief I’ve ever experienced permeated the air in the cabin. Some people clapped, but most just sighed great sighs. We taxied to the terminal. I don’t think I’ve ever seen people disembark more quickly than they did that day.
When I think about my response to the experience, though, it wasn’t even one of fear. It was more just intense discomfort from the inability to situate myself relative to my surroundings outside the plane, and the unexpected movements as the pilot kept us on course for the runway. As soon as the nausea lifted my enthusiasm for flight returned to full strength.
Man has wanted to fly for thousands of years, and it would seem like in ages past we’ve had the desire more collectively than just the small percentage of folks nowadays who actually enjoy the experience, if prose and poetry from the last few centuries are any indication. I think it was just a fantasy, though, and in the fantasy the intrinsic risk and danger are gone, because it’s a perfect thing, an expression of an ideal. But I still have a hard time grasping peoples’ fear of it.
What’s your response to flying? Fear? Joy? Mild displeasure and inconvenience? Utter and abject terror? Thrill beyond the dreams of Icarus? I’ve been pretty interested in this subject lately.
Okay. First off, I remember that flight; I was puking my guts out. I must have used two or three bags. I remember they had to get me more bags. I honestly don’t understand how everyone else wasn’t. Paul and I have talked about this flight before. He claims he slept through the whole thing but I don’t believe him. And it wasn’t just a grey and cloudy day. It was pouring sheets of rain and lightning was everywhere. It was a nasty thunderstorm. And yes, the approach to the runway is all over water.
Flying in a big plane is a rush, namely the takeoff and landing because that’s the only part that’s different from the humming of the engines at 30,000′. I still remember flying in the Boeing 777. Sitting in the chair when it was parked in the terminal, missing home already on my way to Lyon. The plane was mostly full and suddenly the noisy rushing wind of the vents stopped, the lights dimmed, and everyone quieted a bit. Then then the hum of the starter resonated through the cabin as the planes massive engines started. Then, when they ignited it made the noise of igniting a cloud of natural gas or some other flammible liquid with that deep pop. That made me feel safe.
Riding in a small plane easily tossed around = no fun and sickening.
Most breathtaking experiences are a) ascending through a think cloud ceiling then coming through and seeing the sun and the bouncy cloud tops, and b) the sight of a far away thunderstorm at night: huge size and power with the occasional lighting bolt lighting up the whole thunderhead.
at this point, i’ve been on a plane enough times (both domestic and trans-atlantic) that it’s not really anything super exciting for me. i don’t mind flying, though when possible i prefer to drive just because of the hassle inherent in flying (baggage check, security, cost, etc).
i do love being able to see the world from way up above, especially flying over land on a clear day, or seeing the coastline near copenhagen from above. great stuff.
turbulence i’m not such a fan of, so i’m not huge on the puddle jumper planes, but other than that, whatever gets me there is cool.
The bigger the plane, the better I fly. I’m a little too tall for most planes, so if I’ve got the exit row, I usually am able to relax a bit more.
Of course, I’m scared of heights too, so I actually prefer it to be cloudy (but not stormy).
The worst flight I’ve been on so far was ok until we started our descent into O’Hare. The winds were so bad that we kept starting to land then pulling back. The pilot came over the intercom and told us we would have to spiral the plane down in order to land, and thats what we did. The plane was violently rocking about, and we could see the ground at a sharp angle as we came down…and at the last second, he leveled it out. I was never so happy to get off a plane.
Ah yes… I love it when you’re sitting at the gate and the lights in the plane dim as they power down the APU and fire up the engines. So cool.
I still want to fly on a 777 just to feel 200,000 collective pounds of thrust pushing me back in my seat on takeoff. That’s gotta be a rush.
As a fellow 6-footer, the exit row is definetely the place to be. I’m a fan of the way the tray tables fold out of the armrests instead of flipping down in front of you, too.
You seem to be a definite point-A-to-point-B type of flyer (nothing wrong with that in the least :)
Umm… I like flying.
Okay, that gif is cruel and unusual punishment for those of us who are cat-less. Augh. My cute-o-meter is pegged for the rest of the day.