Wednesday, 15 May, 2019
You know those cool dreams where you can fly? It’s never cool for me. I have no desire to be able to fly, actually fly using my arms, or getting on a plane. That’s me. I first flew in 1967. I was a new Canadian immigrant and I wanted to go back to London. This desire got stronger when my parents announced they were relocating to Los Angeles. I was 20 so I wasn’t going to be allowed in without yet another emigration application. I was just getting used to Toronto, I had a boyfriend, and my heart was still in London.
So I saved money every week for a charter flight. I had never flown before but somehow knew I wouldn’t like it. And I didn’t. There were only narrow-bodied planes in those days, no seatback videos, or tablets or mobile phones, but at least they were jets. I was incredibly relieved to land and dreaded the flight back. When that day came, we were delayed, only to be told that our plane was out of service and we would be going home on a jet propeller plane, 13 hours of flight. I wanted to leave the airport but I hung in there. The flight was bumpy, very long, and had a refuelling stop in Gander, Newfoundland, which I remember as very foresty and the greenest sight ever from the sky.
I’ve flown a lot since then. I’ve also attended Fear of Flying classes. I cope – sometimes better than other times. Nothing takes away my fear completely. There’s no 100% guarantee of a safe landing no matter how prepared or educated or reassured you may be – and that’s that. And on the 15th of May I was flying to Toronto – an eight hour flight with British Airways (not Air Canada, who had become my lucky charm over the years – they never crash!)
We were all packed for our very expensive flight – prices have pretty much doubled in the past several years – and we felt remarkably calm. I amused myself with watching Krish’s packing. My own carry-on case was considered ‘a mess.’ Well, I felt OK with it.
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