And the fear of flying I hadn’t anticipated
I’m nearly at my row when the intercom crackles. The pilot tells us that we are still waiting for two passengers before pulling away from the gate. I find my seat, 88C.
Some hours ago at check-in, the airline representative advised me that they’d changed my seat to allow a family to sit together. I’d been moved to the only other aisle seat available. Just my luck. I’ve been filled with indecision about whether to make this trip.
I reluctantly decide not to argue and hope this is not just the first of a series of potential hassles along the way. At least it’s an aisle seat, I tell myself, and I don’t have to climb over people to get out.
After three years without even a single Australian domestic flight, I somehow thought it was a good idea to travel overseas. To Italy. Alone. For five weeks.
Waiting for departure, I have time to Google the seating plan for my flight. According to some pundits, one of the worst seats is, you guessed it, 88C, the final row, aisle seat.
I read an article that enumerates my seat’s faults:
reduced incline
alongside a bank of toilets
three metres from the grand staircase up to 1st class (a tease for those of us in steerage).
I stop reading. There’s no turning back now.
I’m at my row now and I see it’s empty. OOOH, three glorious seats for the long 14-hour leg from Melbourne, Australia, to Dubai in the United Arab Emirates. Minutes later, my bubble bursts as the missing pair, a thirtyish couple, traverse the aisle to claim 88A and B. Damn.
In this confined space I’m worried about being close to strangers but glad for the mask so they can’t see my anxiety.
I’ve never experienced a fear of flying so I tell myself to ‘calm down and just breathe’.
My row companions are Aussie-born Greeks who have been visiting Melbourne for the first time since relocating permanently to Athens five years ago. They’ve built a community of distant cousins, other ex-pats and workmates. They are keen to be home in Greece, in their apartment and their bed.
As I listen to them conversing amongst themselves and with other passengers and the multilingual staff, I admire their ability to move freely between languages. Soon I’ll need to test my Italian.
We chat easily about our respective journeys. They tell me how the pandemic has strengthened their relationship, learning to live and work in a 1-bedroom apartment 24/7. They are considerate when needing to get past me and unperturbed when their menu choice is no longer available from the food trolley. Their calmness and openness soothe me, and my anxiety drifts away within a few hours of being airborne.
Finally, I feel like my fearless pre-pandemic self. And I am sure now — I’m ready to travel again. Andiamo!
How has your re-entry into travel gone? I’d love to hear how the rest of the world is getting on with it.