002: The Worst Part of Flying

I don’t really mind flying. I like watching trashy movies for hours and knowing you’re probably not going to remember them. I like the thrill of takeoff and landing, and a little bit of turbulence can be exciting. I don’t even mind the meals, although that might be more due to having lived off cheap pasta for the last two months more than anything else. Once you get into a comfortable position (knees tucked up and bloated feet resting on the armrest of the person in front is about as good as it got) and indulged in a piccolo bottle of wine (or two) it’s not hard to zone out and know that there is absolutely nothing you can do to get to your destination faster.  

However, the part I hate, more than anything else are the lay over’s.  No longer on a plane but not yet arrived is agony and boring. Sitting a country you never anticipated in your travels, trying to stretch your legs but knowing that the cramps will return once you have to get back on the infernal contraption again. The adrenaline of leaving is gone, you’ve watched the movies that interest you and a distinct aroma of you and the other passengers are become rather apparent.  

My flight from Europe was an agonising twenty nine hours long, including two of these arduous layovers. All I could do was pace up and down, attempting to connect to the Dubai airport wi-fi and remind myself that I would be home in no time. Although I knew that was a lie. I still had another sixteen hours to go.  

Kathleen  x