Flying high

Traveling is great fun. Flying is a step up from that. Or at least it used to be.

Flying, in its early days, was a very glamorous affair. Mainly due to the prohibitive costs which meant only the rich could fly. And the rich are always so very glamorous. A little thing called the Boeing 747 did a lot in democratising air travel. But with flying becoming more affordable we got the follow up issue of congestion. So we ended up with giant colosseums we like to call airports.

The Melbourne airport is expanding yet again, which incidentally caused some delay on my recent return flight from the US. With all the “Construction – Detour” signs the pilot got lost on the approach to the gate. We had to be towed back out towards the runway so that a local could get us a parking spot. But who could blame the poor pilot for getting lost. He is driving a sports field with wings and no reverse gear. Most people can’t parallel park a Mini.

The problem with airports getting bigger is that it is getting harder  to get around them. Before you can take that exciting trip on a machine that so convincingly and gracefully battles gravity to have you soar high above the clouds, you have to get to it. My flights usually leave from gate 54432. San Francisco airport for example has 4 terminals. To make getting around easier they have built a driverless “AirTrain” that connects the terminals and the car park. On the way to Phoenix I boarded the AirTrain – as a train enthusiast I did so with much excitement – to get to Terminal 3, the domestic terminal serving United. The doors closed. I was delirious with anticipation of the train ride. Five seconds later I was standing on the Terminal 3 platform. Turns out it’s not that far. Now I know what premature ejaculation must feel like. However, airport operators’ attempts to make things easier for travellers are regularly spoiled but other entities. I got to the domestic terminal with ease, but getting to the plane is a whole different can of beans. And yes it stinks.

The glamour of flying was finally and completely dulled by 9/11. There is very little glamour in having to strip every time you have to go through a security check point. And I am not sure what they are hoping to find. The 9/11 hijackers didn’t come with their terrorist IDs or their terrorist toolkits. I don’t see how current security searches would have caught those bastards. I am all for security, since I want to help as much as possible to make sure the plane wins the gravity battle, but as with everything one can go too far. We are almost at the point of being strip searched and our possessions are thoroughly irradiated. I fear that if there were any further terrorist activities we would have to take it to the the next level which might be something like this:

“Sir, the burger you ate is not FAA approved. You will have to leave the burger behind. No, the restroom is out of order.”

OR

“Madame, we have detected high levels of methane. According to Department of Homeland security rules you will have to evacuate the aforementioned gas. We appreciate that with the energy crisis your gases are important to you so you can store them in this handy zip lock bag and check it in with your luggage. You can only carry 1000cc, the rest will need to be disposed of. “

I certainly hope those 9/11 bastards are enjoying their 70 Klingon-speaking, forty-something, fat, male virgins since I highly doubt that good looking girls would get to heaven without ever getting laid.

The other unhelpful entity are the airlines. Once I had cleared the security checkpoint I started my long treck to the gate. I stopped for some food. I continued. I stopped by a restroom. I continued up escalators, down corridors. And then I saw it. My gate number. I thought I’d made it. But … no. To get to the actual gate there was one more set of stairs. Finally having made it to the gate I looked out the window and low and behold I was just down the corridor from where I started the AirTrain trip to begin with. Turns out the airline moved the plane from the domestic terminal to the international terminal, and the international terminal is right next to the airport entrance. So there I was, flying on an ‘international’ flight from SFO to Phoenix; a flight which lasted less than the time it took me to get to the flight to begin with.

This brings me to flying. The first time I flew on an airplane I noticed something you don’t usually see in the movies. Or I should say hear. Flying is noisy business. But that doesn’t really bother me much. Flying can also mean a bumpy ride, especially if you are landing in Phoenix. But that doesn’t bother me much either. Actually I find it a lot more comforting than a boring smooth flight. What does bother me is rampant discrimination against tall people. I understand that the airline needs to make money and hence needs to fit as many seats on a plane as possible. But let’s face it, if you leave no legroom at all you fit even more seats. So why not do that? Instead, legroom seems to be based on the size of an ‘average’ person. The problem with that is that people shorter than the average person are quite happy, but people taller than the average person need to stow their feet in the luggage compartment under the seat in front. The airlines have seats with extra leg room, but those cost extra. So if I am tall and I can’t fit into a standard seat, I am forced to pay more than everyone else. If this is not a text book case of discrimination I don’t know what is. Yet this goes on.

The 747 may have introduced flying to a wide audience, but more recently there has been a new push to make flying even more affordable –  the no-frills airlines. That has put the final nail in the glamour of flight. Not long ago I flew with Tiger airways on a domestic flight. I’m very glad it was a domestic flight as I am not sure I would have survived an international flight under those conditions. Whilst in many cases sitting for me in an airplane seat is highly uncomfortable, flying Tiger airways is just impossible. The seating arrangement is based on the size of tall midgets. I was not able to fit into the seat at all and had to throw myself in. This resulted in my knees digging deep into the seat in front. So much for no-frills. The person in front of me got a free lower back massage, whilst me being able to actually fit into the seat is indeed a needless, no good frill.

Just getting to the Tiger Airlines plane was adventurous. I arrived at the main airport building. The helpful sings in the main building indicated that Tiger had it’s own terminal and that I should just follow the arrows. So I did. This took me back to the entrance. Then I started walking down the street. I continued to walk down the street. I started to get worried since I was heading back towards town. But then, there is was. A big metal shed with Tiger written in large print – Terminal 4. I checked in and found myself somewhere to sit since two hours before the flight it was already announced that the plane was going to be 1.5 hours late. Many hours later, when it was time to board the plane we started the pilgrimage to the gate. After walking quite some distance through a metal cage walkway passing by the goods shed we got to the ‘gate’. The ‘gate’ was a small metal door which led out to the tarmac from which we climbed into the plane. In other words the ‘gate’ was literally a small gate.

After throwing myself into the seat (remember this is Tiger) I overheard the staff talking about what one would consider a serious problem. The door wouldn’t close. Finally the captain got pissed off, got up, went to the door, slammed it shut and got us under way.  And he wasted no time. I’ve never seen a plane speeding during taxiing. We were already accelerating for take off during the final turn to the runway. The rest of the flight was anything but smooth. Any time a course correction needed to be made, the passengers were flying within the plane. As the plane  was landing, the captain was determined to get the first turnoff for the gate. The deceleration was so hard I thought my eyes will just pop out. I wasn’t really worried about anything else popping out since the rest of me was so tightly imprisoned in the small seat that I was practically one with the fuselage. Safe to say I won’t be flying with Tiger again.

It is said that it is not the destination that is important, but the journey there. Well if I have to sit in a cramped seat for hours on end I sure hope the damn destination is worth it. Since the journey there is anything but pleasant. So does that mean I will avoid flying? Hell no. That roar of pure power. The acceleration that pins you to the seat. Soaring high above the clouds in the glow of the sun. Looking up at the beautiful blue sky, that much closer to outer space. I’m at FLY-CON 1 at all times, ready to go at a moment’s notice.