L U N A T A L K with Eva Moon

Flying to Phoenix

February 1, 2009 on 11:06 am | | In General Musing, Travel

I am not a frequent flyer. Maybe a few times a year. The gaps are just long enough that each flight brings fresh humiliation and deprivation but not quite long enough that the memories of previous humiliations and deprivations have faded.

Think about your life right now. Whatever aches, pains, irritations plague you now, in ten years you will long for these days. In a way it’s a comfort. If my future self thinks things were pretty good ten years ago, who am I to say she’s wrong?

It’s the same way with air travel only it happens a lot faster.

This time I managed to dress metal-free, having experienced the public full body search that follows the criminal negligence of wearing a barrette. But I should know by now that no matter how prepared I am, the airlines are ever vigilant for new ways to challenge their enemies. I mean, customers.

US Air has ceased all complimentary services. All of them. Well, not all. You still get a seat, a seat belt, reasonable quantities of air and nine square inches of space in the overhead bin. But should you want a Coke? Two bucks. That flimsy Styrofoam thimble of brown swill that passes for coffee? Peel off another dollar. They’re charging for water. Water. You thought you missed those tiny bags of peanuts? Just wait. There will be a credit card slot on the lavatory door next time. Mark my words.

Just for the record, I do know that these are relatively minor things compared to the near miraculous feat of whisking people safely from place to place. And even landing them safely on bodies of water in dire emergencies. In 1976 I spent a summer in the Soviet Union. I survived domestic Aeroflot flights where the fight attendants had to use their fists to hammer the sagging bulkheads back into place, where cabin compression occurred in a single, ear-stabbing burst, and passengers loudly and openly prayed on take off and landing.

The flight from Seattle to Phoenix was an uneventful 2 hours 45 minutes. It’s a testament to my overall faith in the safety of air travel that I can afford myself the pleasures of snark.

One thing I’ve discovered about traveling from Seattle: You collect sunglasses.

It NEVER EVER occurs to me that the sun is shining somewhere else until I get there and squint, mole-like at the scary bright sky monster. So, every landing involves a hasty stop at a drug store to buy cheap shades. I have dozens of them. Now I have dozens+1.

Fresh from the compressed darkness of a Seattle winter, Arizona sunshine pulls your body outward in all directions. It feels so vastly open you almost fear you’ll fall off the ground and spin helplessly into the sky. I have managed to keep my footing on the earth. But only just.

See more like that one:

• South and East
• Patchwork
• Snarkfree Sailing
• South and West
• Trading cactus for coffee