Air Time
The highs and lows of doing transatlantic air travel with toddlers
After eight hours on board our transatlantic flight (well, nine and a half, if you count the time spent waiting on the tarmac before take-off), I couldn’t stop myself. A combination of gratitude, sympathy and surprise prompted me. The elderly couple seated immediately in front of my two toddlers had been quietly serene throughout the journey, seemingly impervious to the peskiest of provocations. No admonishments, no irate glances, no complaints to the flight staff. How had they managed to remain so composed, the very model of decorum and restraint? I had been pondering this question for some time as I observed their enviable sangfroid, which remained untouched even as their seats were shaken and pulled, as the digital screens in the back of their headrests were clumsily pawed, as grubby little fingers crept over the top of their seats, making occasional attempts at hair grabbing. And the noise? Deafening at times – and of course they were in the eye of the storm. Yet no reaction, none at all. Baffling, almost superhuman – and of course highly admirable. But who were these unflappable saints of travel and – did I dare ask them? – what wisdom might they have to impart to those of us in the more irascible mainstream?
There was a simple explanation, it turned out, for the mystifying calm. After I’d murmured some words of apology about the commotion they’d had to endure, adding my gratitude for their patience and understanding, one of the couple explained that they’d long ago acclimatised themselves to long journeys with their own four children cooped up in the back of an estate car. By contrast with this, they agreed, the past eight hours had all been a breeze. Was this, then, the key to achieving a state of zen-like calm in the midst of toddler-inflicted chaos? Simply add more toddlers. A chastening thought – but one I was led to dwell upon by the generous and warm tone of the couple when they spoke. Dealing happily with life within a large family, I reflected, must indeed require the practised cultivation of a rather admirable stoicism.
Before setting out, we’d asked a few friends what methods might reduce the stress of a long flight with little ones. We received a consistent message in response: headphones, headphones, headphones – and so we came prepared. Experience tells an amended story. Whereas headphones do indeed work well with 3 year olds, with 1 year olds they are no kind of solution. Nothing could be, I suspect (well, maybe a play area, but I won’t hold my breath about an airline offering one of those).
Coming off our second flight, I found myself asking where are the cinematic and literary depictions which accurately capture the grim realities of air travel: the messiness, the rudenesses, the endless queueing, the fraying nerves, the administrative complications, the fatigue, the missing baggage, the terrible food…? There probably are some. But, then, I’ve probably lived the grim realities myself a bit too viscerally to want to experience them again in literature or film.
In truth I had been dreading these flights for weeks. But what the elderly couple may demonstrate, I think, is that, even in the most challenging of airborne circumstances, there can be glimmers of light. I’m not sure the particular glimmer they themselves offered counterbalanced the more challenging features of our own air travel experience. Among the highlowlights, there were the two meals: the first consisting of fifty dollars’ worth of fast food burgers and fries bought at the terminal (fifty dollars!); the second, a meal on the plane which ended in a heap all over my lap (hat tip here to the one year old). Another noteworthy lowlight were the two angry men: the first, who simply wouldn’t accept the verdict of the metal detector, to the considerable chagrin of the endless grumbling queue which formed behind him; the second, a more amusing gentleman, whose incandescent outpourings about being ‘downgraded from first class to coach’ filled the ‘coach’ cabin and the ears of his fellow passengers as he raged on his mobile phone before take-off to his PA. Sod’s law for him, and a tinge of schadenfreude for the rest of us: one of my toddlers sat directly behind him for the next eight hours… I hope whoever was on the end of the inevitable customer service complaint the following day managed to survive the experience.
Still, the whole air travel rigmarole is an experience, isn’t it? A sleepless, uncomfortable and very protracted experience, certainly – but a reassuringly human experience nonetheless. And sometimes, in amidst the craziness, our fellow travellers produce little glimmers. But I won’t be getting blinkered. It’s a little too early to start psyching myself up if I’m going to be ready for next year’s transatlantic journey, but the time for the next ordeal will soon come around. At least there’ll be a bit more humanity to look forward to (as well as endure) when it does.