I love flying.
The very first time I got onto a plane may not have been early enough to call it “too early” (after all, some manage to be born aboard), but just about the time when I was old enough to remember it. As far as my mom recalls my age, I was five. And (oh yes, I have just started a sentence with “and” – so?), as far as I personally remember, I vigilantly hated every minute that passed between the departure gate and the arrival hall.
Back then, flying from Moscow to Sochi involved boarding from the ground. Standing on the ladder, I thought I would forever go deaf from the all-encompassing roar of the warming turbines. It throbbed nearly un-muted right through all the might of the squeeze of my little hands on my pulsating ears and kept bothering me all through the flight. In addition, I was as thirsty as a reformed alcoholic at someone’s wedding with open bar – except, at that age (although, this holds true even at my current one), I was much more into plain fresh water, no amount of which helped the least bit to relieve the feeling of dryness in my mouth and throat. That I felt interchangeably too hot and too cold was just that famous cherry on top. It took a few hours well into Sochi for that unbelievable thirst to let go.
From then on, however, it all could definitely only get better. Thus, nowadays, two decades later I can definitely say that I love flying. The short and the long, the tiring, the on and off-schedule, the comfortable and not really, with varying quality of food and service – flying, when other means of transportation are either too long to afford or too expensive to bear, takes me to the places, where everything is different. From climate to culture, from food to the perception of time and customs – the number of nuances that seem to change over a few kilometers is so vast, that experiencing each unmatched bouquet as if opens new dimensions within, plays a different note and melody on the strings of the soul.
Soon enough, despite the growing carbon footprint, new destinations as a category become a sort of a drug. Itchy feet itch all year round, even when it’s wonderful at home, and at the very least all holidays, when possible, are spent chasing the fix. The rest of the year is spent dancing and learning, socializing and planning grand things, occasionally sorting thousands of pictures, and getting occasional mild doses of geographical novelty in the form of short weekend trips somewhere nearby. Living in the very heart of Europe definitely helps – buses, trains and cheap air carriers are enticing to hop on and take off, but even without them there is always hitchhiking, or finally getting that driver’s license. All else being equal, by the measure of time I still must say that for longer distances I prefer airborne solutions (for the lack of a functioning model for teleportation – sigh…), although I will not decline any reasonable (or, in some cases, worryingly questionable) means of getting from point A to point B, especially given that I have at least as many points B as there are countries in the world – and then some.
Enjoy, if it’s worth it, this blog, enjoy traveling, even if simply to another state, city, or a new place in town, and most definitely enjoy the main thing that makes absolutely everything possible – life.