Dearest Rachel –
It’s not like I haven’t been to an airport – or told you about it – since you had to go. In fact, I’ve done a lot of traveling since your departure, and consequently seen a lot of airports: Denver International, Amsterdam/Schiphol, EuroAirport Basel Mulhouse Freiburg, Fort Lauderdale–Hollywood International, Istanbul, Ben Gurion (Tel Aviv), Haneda, Narita. Most of them, I guess I could say I’ve been to twice, since one has to arrive and depart via air to most of these remote places – with the exception of Haneda and Narita, and I guess, since it was the connection between Narita and O’Hare, I could count Denver three times.
So, in some ways, I can’t imagine what I might have to say to you that hasn’t been said before on previous trips. Maybe I’ll just leave that to Video Me, then.
At the same time, I can’t help but be amazed at the fact that you didn’t really enjoy traveling by plane – and, more to the point, that I didn’t realize this until our last year together. To be sure, part of that was because that year, we took our first train trip as an entire family, and you expressed a wish to do that again some time in the near future (which ultimately became “once the Covid restrictions are finally lifted,” and, well… you know the rest, and why that didn’t pan out), adding how little you enjoyed flying, much to my surprise.
Granted, after packing for this particular trip, I can understand why. Compared to our trips to the island, where you would use the car as a massive suitcase for everything and anything we might want and need while away from home and civilization in general, there’s only so much we could bring with us on a flight. And the experience in general isn’t always a reassuring one, despite the statistical realization that, mile for mile, air travel is orders of magnitude safer than any other form of transportation; the folks at the TSA don’t really help to assuage those fears, either, by their very presence constantly reminding every one of us of the possibility of what some nefarious character could do to our flight, and there isn’t much to be done about it on our part but endure the screenings and pat-downs and whatever. And between those screenings and check-ins and everything, it makes the process so long that, unless you’re leaving for a place several time zones away, it really doesn’t feel worth it, compared to, say, driving (or taking the train – if one goes where you want it to).
But there’s the rub; once you start dealing with such distances, then it’s an absolute necessity. Sure, I could drive to Los Angeles – or even take Amtrak, I think – but it would take considerably longer than it would to just hop on a plane, even with the various aggravations of the airport. And of course, there’s the fact that some places can’t be reached by land transportation – you pretty much have to fly, if you’re going to see another continent. All of which you endured, uncomplaining, in order to do and see all the things we hoped to on one trip or another.
It occurs to me now that this might be one more reason you were initially disappointed in the twenty-fifth anniversary present my folks got us. Sure, you also wanted a chance to go back to the island a second time that year – and thought it might be in the offing – but having to fly to go somewhere just didn’t appeal to you, even for a cruise (especially since we’d been to the Caribbean, albeit with Daniel and Ellen that time, a decade previously). Of course, you put on a brave face, and I’d like to think you and I had a great time, but it wasn’t your first choice of destinations, and I think I see a little more as to why. Again, you hid it well – so well that I wasn’t aware of this distaste until several years later.
But yeah, I’ll agree that the flight isn’t generally my favorite part of the journey, either. Still, it’s all part of the process, so I’ve got to deal with it. Since this is being written an hour before I expect Lars to swing by and pick me up, I hope you enjoy my impressions of the place (and that I have more to say there that I haven’t here).
Until I get where I’m going, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 