A lot of people that I know, particularly in my family, would rather drive, citing lack of control as a problem. It is true that when I fly, I have to leave when there is a flight available. My entire trip is at the behest of the airline pilot (and of course, the weather), and nothing I can do will ever get me there earlier or later. While this lack of control might bother some people, for me it removes any responsibility for the trip. Because, really, if I can procrastinate on something, I will (for example, I'm writing this blog even though I need to go grocery shopping, do some translation work, and eat...).
Besides the lack of responsibility, while I am travelling by plane (or train, even), I am left to do what I want. It used to be nice to drive because I could blast my music and have a little rock-and-roll party while travelling. But now that I have an iPod, I can do that while standing in line for customs (which I did, and I will talk more about in a minute). I spend more time deciding what books to bring with me than I do on clothing for the trip. I have often forgotten to bring my toothbrush on trips, but I never forget to fully charge my DS. For me, an eight hour plane ride (and leaving from here, the five hour train journey), is eight hours (plus five for the train) in which I can read and play video games without feeling bad about avoiding work.
In short: unadulterated freetime. And as a man who sets his own schedule, it's a luxury I am often, ironically, lacking. See, when I have time off from my thesis, I pack it full of translation work looking to make financial ends meet. Once I finish work, I get back on the thesis horse, and whip that pony until it collapses just past the finish line. Repeat. But on the plane and train, I can reasonably play Mario Kart (as reasonably as a 31-year-old man can play a game system for children) and read science fiction novels (as anyone familiar with my GoodReads account knows, I did, in fact, finish Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, quite happily).
That said, I can see why people hate flying. Even though I like flying, the noise of the trip can grate on my nerves, particularly on long flights. I know that some people will play white noise to help them sleep, but a constant low hum, like someone is vacuuming in the apartment next to yours for eight straight hours, tends to put my nerves on edge. I don't find constant white noise soothing; instead, it's like someone is sanding on my eardrums with a cheese grater made of jersey knit. Sure, it's soft, but rub anything on anything for long enough, and it gets annoying.
And, if you fly alone like I do, the Russian Roulette game of seat neighbors can be pretty obnoxious. I've gotten pretty lucky, and in more than one flight, I've been the only one in my row. But, just as often, my row neighbor, as he was in my Heathrow - Ohare flight, is a massive, vile person. There are a lot of ways that people can be vile, and in this case, his vileness was not his own fault, but it still doesn't change the fact that he was vile. I can take talkers (headphones) or even fat people (I don't take up much room, as is). But what I can't take is someone who smells.
I've never understood how they could have a smoking section on an airplane. It's a circular system, sealed and with limited oxygen. No matter how far away you get from someone smoking, you are eventually going to breathe the same air. Even in first class, beyond that magic curtain that separates the airline royalty from us plebeians. The same is true of someone who, riddled with a stomach bug, keeps crop dusting (thanks Kiernan) the entire coach class. Granted, his illness was not his fault, and it did keep him in the bathroom for long stretches of time, including when we ate - all good things. But when he came back, the sour smell of vomit, and the downright choking odor of...well...backdoor vomit was hard to take. Couple that with his size, causing him to back into our row of two, pointing his still smoking gun at me, and I suddenly could sympathize with other people's hatred of flying.
I was rewarded, I feel, for my calm sense of endurance by getting my own row of two on the ride back, blessedly with arm rests that went up, so I could curl into a little ball and lose myself in Mario Vs. Donkey Kong: Mini-Mario Madness. Again, though, most blessings come with an asterisk: my seat was the last in the row and shared a wall with the toilet. Luckily, only one person used that closet to dispose of what I could only assume was a dead badger, judging from the smells. For most of the ride, that bathroom was too far away for people to think about.
Another thing that helped was the harsh turbulence we experienced on the flight, which left a few scant minutes for people to get up and move around. We were moving, of course; every time the plane suddenly dropped a few feet, or felt like it was snatched from the air by a curious Godzilla, I felt my heart stop and my stomach drop, as I am sure most everyone else did. But no one dropped much out of their seats. And since I was alone in my row, I was okay with that.
A big complaint that people have with travelling is the lines: lines for security, lines for customs, lines to get on the plane, etc. There is a lot of pre-boarding time spent in the airport, but I feel that, if prepared, these lines aren't too big a deal. For one, don't try to smuggle things past security. It's no surprise that you aren't allowed to bring liquids with you past security, so don't go and buy a six-dollar gallon of Coke to drink at the gate. And don't pack your $40 bottle of hair product in the carry-on. In fact, why do people pack for an entire trip in a carry-on when the flight goes overseas? More than likely, international travelers have packed a bag. What could you possibly need on the plane that takes up an entire suitcase? I get that airlines sometimes lose bags, but there is nothing that you can't buy at your destination; while it might suck to have to shell out for a cheap toothbrush while my bags are located, I find that preferable to cramming a huge suitcase into the overhead bin, sometimes miles from my seat, causing me to fight upstream to get my bag once the plane lands.
Generally, being well-prepared, I have gotten through all the lines, security and customs, fairly quickly. I have all my forms ready, my laptops slides in and out of my bag easily, and I smile at everyone. This time, though, landing in Heathrow, I was faced with an massive line for customs, using every queue line, and stretching up the stairs and down the hallway, this line took two hours to get through. TWO HOURS! But, again, it was something I had to do (and the flight go in early, as is), so I put in my headphones and had a little rock-and-roll party featuring Tom Waits, The Black Keys, and The Cold War Kids. I have to admit, though, that waiting two hours to jump through the same hoops (I know that four months is a long time, but I a student. Yes. Aberystwyth. Yes, in Wales. Research PhD. English Literature. I am going to take the train from here. Yes. From Euston...etc.) I jump through each time I arrive was a little annoying.
In the end, though, it was a small price to pay for a huge metal bird to get me safely across an expanse of water to a different continent. Sadly, it'll be another four months until I get the chance to ignore some random strange next to me for eight hours as I watch three movies I never got a chance to see in theaters (though, on my Chicago-bound flight, the TVs were in the ceiling, and only played Monte Carlo...), play Golden Eye, or read whatever novel I'm currently enjoying.
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