The Romance of Air Travel

Legend has it that, in the early days of commercial air travel, this mode of transportation was considered glamorous and exciting. In 1939 the first transatlantic service, the Yankee Clipper was launched, flying up to 30 passengers from New York to London. There were sleeping quarters and a honeymoon suite. Travelers passed the time playing bridge or writing letters at comfortable tables while waiting for the stewards to serve a six-course meal. And they dressed well.

How things have changed. I flew from Detroit to LA on NWA. The airplane left more than two hours late, due to mechanical difficulties. There was no meal service, but the stewardesses sold snacks to those with ready cash. At least the ticket was free, as I'd cashed in frequent flier mile to acquire it.


I was certain that I'd miss my Qantas connection, but I didn't, as it left an hour and a half late. I spent that time waiting in a large hall with few seats but much confusion, as there were no signs at the gates delineating which flights left from which gate. People milled around, hoping their flight would be called, but uncertain when or where to board.

At some point my flight was called, and I had to fight my way through the crowd to get into line to get onto a bus. The bus was packed full, and then taken out onto the field, not to a waiting airplane, but to a barn with a large zig-zagging cattle ramp. There we were left to stand for another half hour, as more and more busloads of people were disgorged into the rapidly-filling space. Then, suddenly, there was movement, and we slowly boarded.


Qantas makes the sardine-packing industry look like rank amateurs. Our airplane was a 747 configured to maximize profit while minimizing leg room. I had gotten stuck with a middle seat, and my knees were pushed solidly and painfully against the seat in front of me. And there I was stuck for thirteen hours. The video on demand made the trip more tolerable, but it was late, and I was sleepy, and it was hard to sleep.


When I finally arrived in Brisbane, I suspected I might miss that connection. There was only an hour left now between flights, and I had immigration to clear, suitcases to collect, and a train to catch to the domestic terminal. The immigration folks were unmoved by my plight; they told those of us with connections that we would just have to wait in the long line - no special favors. Once I got through, I went to get my suitcases, but they didn't come.

When the apparatus stopped disgorging luggage, I was directed to the luggage services desk; there I was told to try and make the flight, and file a lost luggage reports in Perth.

So I tried. In retrospect, I realize there was no way I could have made that 9:30 a.m. flight, and suspect the luggage folks were just trying to decrease their workload. Still, I found the train, got my ticket, boarded it, and arrived at the domestic terminal much too late. Luckilly, I'd already been rebooked on a direct flight in four hours (others weren't as lucky, and had to take flights through Sydney or Melbourne, arriving late at night.....); so I sat, read, dozed and filed a missing luggage report.

And then, before I knew it, I was on my way to Perth. The flight left on time (I'd begun to wonder if that ever happened any more) and arrived on time. I didn't get my window seat, and was jostled by every single beverage cart and flight attendant passing by. But Tom was there to great me at the airport, and Rene drove us home to Freo. That night I shared a lovely meal and fine Aussie wine with Christobel.

It was good to be in the real world again.