Across the Pond

Feb 8. 2013 (Continued)

Britney and I continued to chat as the plane climbed to 38,000 feet. We compared stories about our families, our universities, things we did outside of school, and why we picked Prague to study abroad. As the pressure in the cabin changed and the sound from outside the plane grew louder, our conversation eventually slowed and we turned our attention to the in-flight entertainment.

Each of the chairs on the 777 had touch screen monitors on the back of them. They came equipped with dozens of newly released movies, recent episodes of both American and British TV shows, along with games—such as Trivia, Checkers, and Battleship.

The best feature on the touch screen monitor was the virtual map. It showed a small plane icon over a map of our route and allowed the user to zoom in and out to view cities. In the corner of the map was our ground speed (in Kilometers/hour), our altitude (again in Kilometers), our distance to destination (in both time and kilometers), as well as the air temperature outside the plane (in Celsius.) We activated the virtual map on the monitor of the empty seat between us.

Across the aisle from me, a single mom was travelling with two children. The oldest child looked to be around 18 months (she could sit up on her own, but didn’t do as well standing.) The youngest looked to be a new born and spent most of the flight sleeping in her arms.

Within 20 minutes after takeoff, the flight crew came through to serve drinks. I ordered a cranberry juice (as I do every time I fly.) The flight attendant asked me, “I assume you want ice with that?” It was a subtle reminder that I was out of the US. For months people have warned me I wouldn’t see still water or ice cubes again—at least not without paying extra—until I returned.

Around an hour into the flight I plugged in to watch a movie.  While the flight had lists of literally dozens of new releases, I settled on Argo. Not only had I wanted to see the film while it was in theaters, but it was also two hours long, which meant it would end around the time I’d hoped to go bed. The flight crew had provided everyone with a pillow, blanket, and headset when we boarded. The headphones they gave us seemed a little over sized and clunky. I decided instead to use my ear buds. I plugged them into the jack on the side of the touch screen and started the movie. As the previews started, my headphones remained silent. I touched the screen to make the controls appear and turned up the volume to maximum. Still silence. Tapping the side of the screen I noticed an icon above the port my ear buds were plugged into. It was a red X over a small diagram of headphones. That was when I realized another audio port on my arm rest that read “headphones.”

This was off to a good start.

While the movie seemed slow and predictable, with only a few small laughs and no real suspense, the story was a bit terrifying. As I watched the footage of the US embassy being over taken by Iranian protestors, I realized how terrifying it must been to have no idea what is being said to you, about you, or around you. (***At the time I originally wrote this, I didn’t realized how relevant it would become to my trip.***)

About halfway through the film, dinner was served. It had a small salad with balsamic vinegar dressing, some pasta with a spicy tomato sauce, a roll, and a slice of carrot cake. While I traditionally have a practice of avoiding green vegetables, the salad tasted fantastic. The pasta was also really good and I used the roll to dab up the remaining tomato sauce. The carrot cake (which again is not one of my favorite foods) turned out to be the best part of the meal. I would joke that the cheese cake frosting must have been laced with cocaine, but the cake itself was fantastically sweet.

When the film ended, I went back to use the lavatory, which I learned from a male flight attendant was called the “Wash Room.” Back at my seat, I opened the overhead compartment and rummaged through my bag. I pulled out my travel pillow and my copy of Dave Barry’s Only Travel Guide You’ll Ever Need. I chuckled at a few of the jokes about customs, passports, and contraband goods but quickly became tired. Soon the flight attendants came back through the flight. This time they weren’t serving drinks or delivering meals; they were offering tea.

Tea! From British Airways! On a flight to London! British tea! My first truly cultural experience!

When the flight attendant arrived at my row with her teapot and tray and asked,”Care for a spot of tea?” I grinned and said yes.

She stared at me blankly.

“Oh,” I said and picked up the teacup that was on my now empty meal tray. I held it out to her. She didn’t do anything, but just sort of cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and held it closer to the nozzle of the tea pot.

“Just put it on the tray,” she barked. I did so.

She poured the cup and then gestured the tray towards me. I took the cup back. The flight attendant behind her handed me a cup of milk and a sugar. I stirred them both in and took a sip. It was fantastic! It really didn’t have much flavor, and yet it was so rich. If I were to compare it to an American tea I would say it was closest to black tea, but not quite as bitter.

Almost as soon as I’d finished, the male flight attendant came by and took my tray. Checking the map I saw that we were just over Quebec. According to my watch, it was just after 9:30 in Colorado. I decided it was time to get some sleep. That was when the small child seated behind me started screaming.

I normally have a lot of empathy for children on planes. I remember being frustrated when I was little by plane rides. I also have a lot of empathy for their parents who are surly embarrassed by their child’s behavior. In this case, I lost my empathy for both of them.

As the young girl (perhaps 3 years old) screamed, “I want to get up! Let me go!” the mother did just that. The child then began moving up and down the aisle visiting with passengers and occasionally letting out a scream. When she asked me if I was thirsty and told me I should drink some water, I politely played along. Her play however woke up both sleeping children across the aisle from me who also began to scream. The mother behind me seemed completely oblivious to her daughter running about the cabin. It was only when one of the flight attendants asked her to get her child that she finally did. This resulted in more screaming of “Let me go!”

I decided that since sleep was unavailable, I would try my luck at the trivia game on the touch screen. The format was basically that of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” There were fifteen questions, each with four possible answers. The first game I played, I missed the first question. The second game I played, I missed the first question. It wasn’t till my sixth attempt that I made it past the first question (Which American President was assassinated in a theater?) and lost on the third question (Which British General was instrumental in the 1944 battle of the bridge?) It was through this experience I learned that I know very little about British pop-culture and history.

The young girl behind me was still belting out cries of “let me go!” when I gave up on trivia. Britney had remarkably fallen asleep. Checking the map, we were just starting to leave land and fly over the ocean. I’d heard that most international flights go up and over the top, but we appeared to being going straight from Denver to London.

To drown out the screaming, I popped a Benadryl in my mouth and unfolded my blanket. I looked at the map and got my watch reset to align with the “Local time in Destination” that it showed (4:41am). As I plugged my headphones back into my armrest and selected a playlist of music called “A Relaxed Mind,” slow instrumental music began to tinker into my ears. Gradually I began to drift off. I felt my arms and legs get heavy. My thinking became less logical, although I was still aware that I was on a plane. Suddenly my brain lit up with the thought of, “Oh wait, I forgot to pack…” but before I could muster the energy to write it down, I drifted off. By the time I woke up, I couldn’t remember what it was I forgot.

As I drifted off, I remember asking myself (for the n-teenth time) “What am I doing here?” I reminded myself that I am not the adventurous type. Somewhere in my head, a voice rebutted this argument. “Yes you are,” it said. “In the past, you’ve let fear get the better of you. You’re here, because you finally said ‘no’ to the fear.”

I also remember dreaming, but I don’t remember exactly what I dreamed. I do remember the lights in the cabin suddenly switching on. The sudden flash jolted me awake, as it appeared to do to everyone else as well. The captain came over the intercom and announced that we were just over 90 minutes outside of London and that the crew would be coming through the cabin to serve breakfast. Checking my watch, it was just after 7am. That meant I’d gotten a solid 2 hours of sleep.

Breakfast consisted of a cranberry muffin, some dehydrated oatmeal which I guess could be compared to a granola bar, a “smoothie” type drink made by Danon (picture one of those Danimal drinkable yogurts.) Breakfast was also served with Tea.

I mostly read as we began our descent. It was very foggy as we landed, and there was hardly a view out of either window across from me. The altitude reading on the interactive map read 17m (80ft) before we were able to see anything. When the wheels touched down, the plane lurched a little.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Britain! Local time is a quarter to ten,” the flight attendant explained along with the fact we should follow the purple signs to our connecting flights.

“We made it,” Britney said.

“We did,” I agreed. As I said the words and turned to look out the window I began to chuckle. I had made it. I’d said “no” to the fear and now I was in London!