Travel Advisory

I never thought I would miss going to the airport or being on an airplane. By no means am I some sort of jetsetter or frequent flier, but now that travel is restricted it’s all I want to do. Like any good teenager, once I’m told I can’t do something, it makes me want to do it all the more. I haven’t traveled much in my life, but now that I’m stuck at home I miss an airplane bathroom more than ever. I was sitting in the waiting room at the dentist the other day and while I waited I looked up and saw they had a series of three paintings of an airport planted on the wall. Why anyone would buy art depicting an airport was beyond me. When I think of the worst places you could be I would rank them, DMV, airport, your friend’s improv show. While I studied the paintings, I started thinking about commissioning a painting of a dentist office and hanging it up in my home. But that wasn’t the point, the more I looked at the paintings I realized I missed the airport a little. An airport contains a large amount of characters at any given time. When you walk onto an airplane there is no guarantee as to who you will be sitting next to. It’s like playing the lotto, but you either win a normal person who only goes to the bathroom sparingly, or a crying poopy baby.  Of course, I love the destinations I travel to and the experiences I have there, but there’s something to be said for the travel that gets you there. In these uncertain times, sometimes I wish I was at a busy gate anxiously sweating while awaiting what I think will be my inevitable death.

 I haven’t had great experiences in airports and I usually spend my time in them anxiously walking to and from the bathroom. I’m an anxious flier, and that’s being kind. Years ago, my best friend Maddie moved to Savannah for college. When she decided to stay down there it meant that if I planned on maintaining the friendship, I would have to get on an airplane. One year, our best friend Alex and I decided we would fly down to Maddie and then drive back to Connecticut for Christmas. Once I bought my ticket I found myself in my doctor’s office explaining, “I’m a nervous flier, and I really need something for the flight.” I drove to CVS and picked up a few Xanax for my flight and began packing. The flight from New York to Savannah is approximately two hours. A movie. You can watch one movie and be in Georgia. To me this meant, I could die in approximately two hours. The morning of the flight my mother drove Alex and I to JFK. In the car I nervously shifted back and forth, nervous that I would both miss the flight and make the flight. About thirty minutes before arriving to the airport my mother turned to me and kindly said, “Jesus Christ, would you just take a Xanax already.” When we arrived to JFK I was feeling like a real housewife, medicated and ready for a good time. At some point strolling through the airport I decided I should wear the obnoxious sunhat that I purchased as a joke for the trip. While Alex guided me through the airport I strolled in my sunhat like lady at afternoon tea. When boarding the plane, I refused to take off the hat. I walked onto the airplane struggling with my suitcase as my body bounced off the seats down the aisle. I looked great. A man around my age offered to help me with my luggage, laughing him off I told him I had it. After I struck another passenger he took the suitcase from my hand and placed it in my overhead compartment. If I wasn’t high I would have probably been embarrassed, but because I was high, I knew this man was just trying to flirt with me. Once I settled into my window seat I took off my hat and checked on Alex who was sitting behind me.  When I turned back around I found an older couple sitting next to me. I said hello and went back to my business of trying not to think about being on an airplane. From the minute the plane starts moving to when we first level out in the air, my ass is in my stomach. I say every prayer I know while also promising that I will start going to church the minute we land. If I see someone reading a bible on an airplane I know I’m safe because they did the work for all of us. I tighten my seatbelt like I am going on a roller coaster. I know that in reality this piece of fabric will not save me if something happens, but I don’t care. In my mind the seatbelt digging into my stomach means I am cemented into my seat and nothing will be able to hurt me.

The hat in question.

Once drinks were handed out and tray tables were lowered I began to relax and look for something to watch. This meant watching whatever the couple next to me was viewing on their mini televisions. The husband next to me watched HGTV while I looked on. I would only realize after we landed that multiple times throughout the flight I turned to the older couple and confidently told them, “You know, if you plug in your headphones you can hear it,” while pointing at their screen. I am very sure this couple did have their headphones plugged in. I can only imagine what it was like flying next to me that day. A young woman heavily medicated, turning to you every few minutes or so instructing you to put in headphones that you already had plugged into your ears. I made it to Savannah intact and very relieved the short trip was over.

A flight a few years later would take me to visit Alex in Colombia. I don’t know why my best friends choose to live very far away from me especially with my modest fear of flight, but I choose to look past it. After college Alex would ditch America and live all over the world. This means that every two years I get to vacation somewhere new in the world. Alex always chooses the best beach destinations to live and I thank her for that. If she chose places with cooler temperatures and lack of sun, I don’t think I would be able to continue the friendship. If you do not have a beach, I do not want to come. I do not ski, I do not care about architecture, I want a beach.

My trip to Colombia would land me on two airplanes. One flight to Orlando and then one to my destination, Cartagena. Once again, I found myself in my doctor’s office looking for something to help me get through the flights. I was prescribed something lighter that way I would be able to navigate the airports alone without the risk of me passing out at my gate or conversating with anyone next to me. I found my seat at the back of the airplane. Unfortunately, my overhead compartment was filled with airline snacks so I was forced to move my bag to another compartment. This was an anxiety I had not anticipated. I was now separated from my bag, if we crashed I wouldn’t even know where to begin when trying to locate it. In this scenario of course I survive, I have been training for this. After years of practice I have a method to choosing my seat. I always go closer to the middle and back of the plane and I choose a seat either in the row directly behind the emergency exit or the row behind that. I do not want to sit in the emergency exit seats, I do not want that responsibility. I do not know my fellow passengers and I do not feel it is my duty to save them. If they want to survive they should create their own plan for survival like I have. When it comes to my seat, I know that if I am a row or two behind the emergency row, I can jump over the seats and get myself out.  In the event that the emergency exit seats are sucked out into the abyss, I will be absolutely fine two rows behind. I see no flaws in my logic and I will not be entertaining any. In all the scenarios I run, I am in terrific shape. My fight or flight instinct turns me into an Olympic athlete and I know if forced I can tread water in freezing temperatures all night.

Now separated from my belongings, I tried to relax and await whatever mayhem would be sitting next to me. To my surprise the middle seat remained empty and a weight was lifted off of my shoulders. Then, the people sitting in front of me arrived. A family made up of a mom and teenage daughters, loudly took their seats in front of me stretching between two rows. Within seconds of arriving on the plane the family began handing a bag of Cheetos back and forth over other passenger’s heads and yelling at one another. It was clear they were going to Disney. They made no mention of it, but I just knew. The mother was petrified of flying and made sure everyone on the flight was aware of this. It was obnoxious, and that’s coming from the woman who was currently saving a living will in her notes app. The family could not be drowned out, no matter how loud I turned up whatever noise I was trying to muffle them with. It was only about two hours to Orlando, but with every minute in the presence of this family the emergency exit looked better.  When we landed I stood up anxiously waiting to retrieve my bag from the compartment that seemed miles ahead of me. I calculated the time it would take me to get to the overhead compartment and what passengers I needed to surpass. I watched with eagle eyes as passengers took down their luggage. As passengers began to leave the aircraft I saw the mother that sat in front of me open the compartment that held my suitcase. In slow motion I watched as she confidently took my suitcase and began exiting the airplane. I was stuck behind other passengers leaving, my worst fear was coming true. I knew when I was separated from my bag something awful would happen, but I did not count on a Disney mom stealing my bag. When I finally reached the exit of the plane I told the flight attendant in a tone of hysteria that a woman took my bag. His response was, “Oh.” I looked at him waiting for anything to happen, he continued staring at me. He opened an overhead compartment and took out another bag that had been left behind. He handed it to me asking, “Is it this one?” It wasn’t, but I took it. I don’t know why I was now stealing someone else’s luggage, but I needed to get off of the plane. I can try to blame it on the antihistamine my doctor prescribed but really, I just stole someone’s bag, that’s the cut and dry explanation.  After a few seconds I realized this man would not be of any more help and was creating another barrier between myself and my bag. I got off the plane with my now stolen suitcase and started running past the slow-moving passengers exiting the plane and stretching their limbs. As I ran I pictured myself traveling to Colombia with no bag, no belongings, not even a pair of underwear. How would I go swimming with no bathing suit? I know logically I would be able to buy whatever I needed in Colombia but in my peril, I could not understand this. Not once did I worry about my antidepressants, everyone knows you can’t be depressed on vacation. My flip flops on the other hand, were invaluable. In all my calculations of how this flight and layover could go all wrong I never accounted for this. When I reached the gate, I found the woman standing next to my bag. She looked around confused and was clearly waiting for her daughters, who I now think of as her keepers. I barked at her, “That’s my bag! You took my bag!” It sounded more like a nervous cry than the authoritative yell I was going for. What I really wanted to yell was, “You stupid bitch! You took my God damn bag; do you know what you could have done?” She looked down at the bag in her hand. Her and the flight attendant must have been in cahoots because she just plainly looked at me and said, “Oh.” I grabbed the bag out of her hand and left her with the stolen property I had inherited. It was her problem now. I absolved my guilt by reasoning that I was a victim and because of the trauma that was inflicted upon me, I could not be held responsible. I muttered to myself as I began speed walking through the Orlando airport looking for my next flight, I cursed all of Florida and its residents. I haven’t been back to Florida since, and really why would I?

I arrived in Colombia where within two seconds I learned my shins also had the ability to sweat. When I got to customs I realized I didn’t have Alex’s address. I was stopped by a uniformed officer and told that I wouldn’t be able to enter without an address. It would have been fine if I had a phone that worked outside of the country or WIFI, but I had nothing. I know it was probably something I should have asked before getting on a plane to a different country, but I was new to this whole flying abroad thing. I had no way to contact anyone. I was alone in a foreign country where I did not speak the language. I watched as passengers moved through customs and exited the airport. I knew Alex was waiting right on the other side of the sliding doors. I pictured myself stuck in this airport for the rest of my life, I thought I had already been through the worst of it. I thought the terrible thing had already happened, but being stuck in Colombian customs was worse. After forty-five minutes of me trying to get my phone to connect and stifling an anxiety attack, the officer offered me his phone. I found a hotel address and filled in my form, my passport was stamped and I was allowed through. I found Alex pacing on the other side in the now empty airport, I had never been more comforted by the sight of her. My destination finally reached and my person finally found, I hugged her as she began rolling my suitcase toward the exit. In the cab we drove into the heart of Cartagena while I told her my tale of woe. After laughing at me, cool, calm, and collected as always, she looked at me and asked, “Want to go to the beach?”

My most recent trip was to visit Alex in Vietnam. With each trip and flight, I was putting myself through exposure therapy. When planning the trip, I thought if I could make it through twenty-three straight hours of travel I could go and fly anywhere.  The trip was split up into a seventeen-hour flight to Hong Kong with a short layover and then a two-hour flight to Da Nang. Weeks before my flights I began googling, “blood clots when flying.” It wasn’t long until I reasoned that I would most definitely die from a blood clot in air. I agonized over the thought of being without a cigarette for seventeen hours. I would be living in an anxiety attack for seventeen hours without any nicotine, things were not looking good for me. A week before the flight it was no surprise where I ended up. After filling my prescription, I began making my survival pack. I found my brother’s Patagonia backpack and began filling it with my supplies. From the outside it looked like I was planning a one-woman expedition into the wild. After my experience with Disney mom I knew my carryon also had to act as my, “go bag.” I had two sets of headphones, two books, multiple bottles of water, underwear, and every pain reliever they make. When I boarded the plane, I took my seat two rows behind the emergency exit. I immediately ate two Gas-X pills and an Imodium. The Gas-X was to stop the farts and the Imodium was so I wouldn’t shit my pants. I have found that when traveling to foreign countries it is best to just eat Imodium every single day. Seeing as you can’t flush your toilet paper there, I think I did everyone a favor. In Colombia I made the mistake of drinking something with ice in it and I paid the price for two days. I recently watched an episode of the Real Housewives where they traveled there and they all shit themselves for the duration of the trip. With the access to every prescription pill in the world, for the life of me I couldn’t understand why none of them were taking Imodium.

After constipating myself I settled in. I sat in the aisle seat so I would have access to the bathroom whenever I needed. I also wanted to be able to get up and walk around so I wouldn’t clot. Hours into my trip the woman next to me pulled out a snack, curious I looked over to find her unwrapping a corn cob wrapped in plastic wrap. As she took her first bite I thought, “God, what a brave and interesting snack, let alone bringing it on an airplane.” Before I could finish my inner monologue, my eye was struck with corn juice. That really set the tone for the rest of the flight. I fell asleep a few hours later and woke up in this woman’s lap. I wasn’t fully in her seat but I had draped enough of myself onto her. I called it even and got up and went to the bathroom. After about thirteen hours you start to go nose blind to the smell of the bathroom. I had given up on hygiene by then, at the beginning of the flight I draped toilet paper over the seat and squatted. Now I sat without looking and did squats to stretch my legs in the tiny room. The bathroom had become my private studio apartment. In the middle of the night I walked around the airplane to stretch my legs. I did laps with my neck pillow on and headphones in. That far into the trip I had given up on trying to keep up appearances, I was playing every bit the part of dirty American tourist. On one of my many walks, I found a group of older women by the bathrooms pounding up and down their legs. Curious, I also began punching my legs. I assumed it helped circulation and if it worked for them it worked for me. I was greeted with thumbs up and smiles, gestures that can always transcend language. Every few hours or so I would find a woman by the bathrooms pounding her legs and I would join in, I had found a new community while in air. After a long seventeen hours and three airplane meals later, I landed in Hong Kong. It was dawn when I arrived and I watched the sunrise as I took the shuttle to my next gate. I took a small plane to Da Nang where I sat by myself, massaging my legs which now looked like sausages. I no longer had ankles, just two very long thighs. It would take two days for the swelling to go down. In Da Nang, I paid for my visa and found Alex outside holding a sign with my name. In the Vietnamese version of an Uber, Alex turned and asked, “Want to go to beach?”

I smell in this photo.

On my way home, I had a six-hour layover in Hong Kong and spent most of the day looking for somewhere to lie down. The airport is bigger than any place I have ever been in and after walking seven miles according to my phone I found myself sprawled across three seats while a German family watched me read, The Goldfinch. I spent hours navigating the airport like it was my new neighborhood. I was exhausted from circling the airport, I tried to find a lounge where I could sleep. Each time I eventually arrived at a lounge with chairs resembling recliners I found they were filled with sleeping travelers. After hours of walking I was starving.  As someone who doesn’t eat fish I found it hard to find anything to eat. After downloading an app that would virtually walk me to my destination in the airport, I found a Burger King. It was like finding water in the desert. I ate my burger next to families conversing in all different languages. I was completely alone and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t proud of myself. I had navigated a monumental trip by myself. I flew across the world by myself and survived. To many this doesn’t seem like any big feat, but it was to me. My family didn’t travel and I wasn’t a kid who was used to going on airplanes for their yearly Christmas vacation to the Bahamas. It was a big deal, I was becoming someone who did travel, and maybe I was even beginning to get comfortable with flying.  

By far my favorite part of the Hong Kong airport were the many smoking lounges. I would find myself surrounded by business men of all sorts, crammed into a tiny room with standing ash trays. I was often the only woman and I stood out in my Birkenstocks and overall American-ness. Men would walk over and light my cigarettes and I felt like the prettiest girl in all of the Hong Kong smoking lounges. They were small rooms filled with smoke and metal benches and whenever I came in someone would make sure I had a place to sit. Each time I entered the tinted doors of a lounge I felt like I was walking into the VIP room in the back of a club. I have always found that smoking brings people together. I know it’s a terrible habit, but I have met some of my best friends and favorite characters in smoking sections. I found myself becoming fast friends with Alex’s neighbors in Vietnam. They were all old men who sat outside of their homes smoking and loudly discussing this or that. When I first arrived, I stood outside of her home smoking when her neighbor came up to me. We tried to speak to one another although neither of us spoke each other’s language. He pointed to my cigarette and I showed him my American Marlboros, he took out his pack of Vietnamese cigarettes to show me. Before I could realize what he was doing, he took the cigarette out of my mouth and replaced it with his. After trading cigarettes, we laughed and said goodbye. The next night locked out of Alex’s house I would ask my new friends for help getting us back inside. After breaking the lock, Alex texted her roommates, “MG made friends with the neighbors, they helped us get in.” Smokers unite.

The German family watched me take this.

After my meal I found a convenience store and replenished my emergency stash. Loaded with snacks, water, and Advil I made my way to the gate. While I was reading, a little girl came up to me. She had just turned five and told me all about the birthday party she just had. She showed me some of the new toys she had received for her birthday and I asked her all about her trip. After a few minutes her mother came over and began apologizing for her daughter, we got to chatting and we realized we lived about an hour way from each other in Connecticut. They were visiting her family and her daughter celebrated her fifth birthday there. She pulled up a video on her phone that was higher quality than most American television, I watched as the little girl next to me danced with her cousins and cut a giant birthday cake. We spent the next hour talking and laughing about finding presumably the one other person from Connecticut in Hong Kong. Their section was called to board and the little girl told me she would come visit me on the flight. By the time I boarded, I found the little girl asleep next to her mother. I waved and smiled as I took my seat further back. 

My flight home was quiet and I found myself less anxious. I knew what I was in for and I settled in. I had survived it once and I would again, plus I had made friends. Two older men sat next to me and greeted my politely. I decided I would watch, The Revenant, because I knew this would be the only time I would be stuck somewhere and have the time and patience to watch Leonardo DiCaprio wander around the woods for three hours. The man in the middle picked an older Kung Fu movie and the man next to him promptly fell asleep. Throughout the night I caught the man and I watching each other’s movies. I would look over and find him watching Leo and he would catch me trying to understand his un-subtitled film. I was sure the man who was asleep was dead. He hadn’t gotten up in hours and I only saw him pee twice in the seventeen hours. When he stood up at the end of the flight I was relieved. To this day I think about him and how he didn’t go to the bathroom for hours on end. What kind of bionic bladder did this man have, and how can I train mine? I was clogging myself up and drugging myself to sleep, meanwhile this man treated the long flight like it was a short subway ride home. I arrived back in New York looking haggard and smelling worse. I tried to figure out what time it was while I waited for my suitcase at baggage claim. I looked across the way and found my little friend being held up in the air waving to me with her mom. I waved back to say both hello and goodbye to my new five-year-old friend. I had completed the biggest and longest journey in my life to date. My brother picked me up from the airport and as we drove home I felt both proud of myself and excited to be back at home where I could flush my toilet paper.

They let me back in like this.

Like many I had a trip planned for this past spring. As my tickets and accommodations were refunded, I found myself depressed that I was stuck in my parent’s house for the foreseeable future. In Georgia, Maddie got engaged, picked out her wedding dress, and asked me to be her bridesmaid. These were all events we had expected we would be together for, or at least have the option to be. Now these were all expectations we took for granted. Alex is living across the world in Bali. She made the decision to stay put in Indonesia when COVID started sweeping through the United States. I hope in a year’s time, we will all be able to travel safely to Maddie’s wedding. I would have never thought there would be a time where I would be anxiously anticipating getting on an airplane. Sitting in the dentist office I thought of all the people I had interacted with in airports and planes. The little old lady I befriended in Orlando who sat in her wheelchair with her dog waiting for her flight to Jupiter while I showed her how to navigate her new iPhone. The pilot who gave me a pair of wings on my first flight when I was thirteen. The very sweet and accommodating flight attendants on my flight to Hong Kong who quietly spoke to one another while the passengers slept, every so often walking down the aisle and leaning over to turn off a screen for a sleeping passenger. Maybe I don’t miss air travel, maybe I just miss people. I miss being around strangers. Now I think twice about everywhere I go. I think about the people I will be around, if it’s safe. I sanitize and wash my hands anytime I even think about grazing something the public has touched. I miss meeting new people and having them shove their cigarettes in my mouth. I miss the freedom of washing my face in an airplane bathroom. I’m looking forward to the day where I can be squeezed into close quarters with a stranger again. In the meantime, I’ll continue working on my in-flight survival plans and await the day when I can pick an aisle seat two rows behind the emergency exit.