Bracing Myself
10/04/08 02:59
I'm reasonably tall —
6'2" (1.83 m), with mostly a normal-sized torso but
freakishly long legs. Normally I don't think about
this very much, but preparing for a series of long
flights always brings the long legs into
prominence. The trips next week include one flight
across North America, then across the Atlantic (all
in one day), and then two days later another flight
across Eurasia to Delhi. That one will be the
killer. The way back will be even worse, reversing
the steps without any long layovers to stretch out.
No doubt I will be shorter and crippled by my
return.
These really long flights are generally (but not always) overnighters. You leave in the evening, are served a meal, and then arrive somewhere between early AM and noon. I don't have business class privileges yet, so my poor legs are at the mercy of whomever is in front of me. And if they think they lean back. An aisle seat helps a little, allowing a slight deflection of pressure to one side from leaners. For some reason, North American flights are worst for reclining all the way. If anything, leaning particularly ruins daytime flights, since my laptop won't be able to open sufficiently for me to see the screen. I am left contemplating the smell of the hair of the man (invariably, it is a man) in front of me.
Flights to other places have different peculiarities. To South America, the flights are often very warm, well above "normal" room temperature. But within Brazil, all the flights were super-chilled, with lots of condensation on the interior of the windows. I wanted a sweater after the intercontinental ride. All of these have tended to be busy, active flights, with a lot of moving around. People are chatty and curious. I like them. Flights to South Asia are the same. Flights originating in the U.K., in contrast, tend to have folks that don't like to make eye contact or chat, with an often active dance of carefully ignoring people who are sitting quite nearby. I've even spoken some friendly opener to people and had them pretend I wasn't there a foot or two away.
This week, I try to relieve my travel anxieties by preparing a stack of things I need to bring -- some books to deliver, a novel that is a gift, a novel to read for fun. My earphones. Weight is an issue, and I abhor checking luggage, preferring to have one overhead piece and one for below the seat in front of me. Two bags. This limit always prompts tough choices -- laundry after how many days? one lens or two for the camera? one or two pairs of shoes? do I pack a sportcoat, or wear it? And the toiletries issue is also tough. I no longer use a distinct bag, just opting for a well-worn ziplock. Alternating between semi-formal presentations and semi-rugged field trips makes light travel more difficult.
Perhaps the most stressful packing exercise was last January. I had a tight deadline for a project that had required more work than anticipated. The previous four days had been terrible, long and hard and intense. I worked up until about an hour before my shuttle to the airport before emailing something I feared was incomplete and lacking. Worried about the project and my current time crunch, I ran cursing to the closet, throwing together clothes and gear, my wife tearful and upset for me, unable to help -- only watch. I stuffed and unstuffed, made a stack of things to toss out, then repacked again. I was leaving for weeks, to a country having its coldest winter in decades. Extensive presentations, extensive field trips. Very formal, and very rough. And I did all of my packing in about 45 minutes. With many apologies and a tearful departure, I left with the uncomfortable certainty that I must have forgotten a lot of important things. Of the discomfort ahead en route. And meeting strange people in a strange, distant place as soon as I got off the plane. Straight into meetings.
And as I said goodbye, pausing for an instant, I was more mindful in the end of the things I could not bring with me.
