Window on the World
I know why travelers go for aisle seats on planes; no-brainer. Stretching your legs, getting to the bathroom without bothering your seat mates, quick escape with carry-on at your destination… It can feel claustrophobic, blocked in by sleeping strangers in the middle of the night when you’re sitting by the window.
But the pay-off…! I happen to love flying over the world and looking down at the planet, closest thing to being an astronaut, or a migrating hawk. Like taking a drive and exploring an unfamiliar neighbourhood, but so much better, seeing everything from above. Coasts and contours, islands and inlets, fields and forests. Making geographic features of our beautiful Earth a reality instead of place names on a map. So I always fight to get a window seat, for the best on-board entertainment.
I’ve seen Tower Bridge in London from 30,000 feet. The Loop in Chicago looking like a tiny toy village, lit up by flashes of lightning in a thunderstorm. Mount Rainier’s “scoop of ice cream” right outside the window, and the towering Andes of Chile at dawn, a glorious wall of white. The Pyrenees were dusted with snow on the flight to Ghana last winter, far below, before we reached the Mediterranean, and Morocco…
I was so glad the travel agent put me at a window way behind the wing for a 15-hour flight from JFK New York to Incheon International in Seoul recently. Taking us up over Ontario, along the west edge of Hudson Bay and on to Yellowknife, Alaska, the Aleutians and Japan before touch-down on the Korean Peninsula. Most of it happened at night, unfortunately, but I noted with interest all the lights marking humanity’s footprints, from the glitter and glow of urban areas to the clustered pinpricks marking farms and villages. With a full moon following us most of the way, reflected on whatever water we flew past.
One of the most incredible long-distance flights I ever experienced curved east from Toronto instead of west. I can’t quite recall where we were starting off that birding trip. Kuala Lumpur? Shanghai? To our surprise the flight plan took us up over Haliburton County, Quebec, Labrador and, totally unexpectedly, on over the mountains and glaciers of Greenland. So amazing, to see the great ice cap so clearly, lit up in late afternoon sunlight. Amazing to see it at all! And as the light faded we carried on northeast, across the top of the world.
Tundra, ice, ocean, North Pole? Who knew where we were, as the “track your flight” option stopped providing place names in such a remote part of the planet, and twilight descended. Resigned, I figured earth-gazing was over for a while, and I should get some sleep. But was charged with excitement once more when, to my delight, the sky began lightening again and dawn broke over what had to be Siberia. I remember “Ulaanbaatar” popping up on the flight screen—exotic Mongolia!!—and the unmistakable shape of Lake Baikal far below. Then finding the Yellow River and what must be the Yangtze as we curved south across China’s breadbasket, bringing all those rice fields vividly to life.
These days of political turmoil make flight paths a lot trickier than they were even a decade ago. I noticed how the pilots carefully avoided flying over any territory of Russia or China on this last trip, skimming past the tip of the Kamchatka Peninsula even though doing so added time and mileage. The return flight took us out over ocean all the way to Anchorage, and most of our time after that was in Canadian air space, friendly and safe. But also in darkness, to my disappointment.
Both ways, we crossed the International Date Line, meaning we got where we were going in two days, but returned home in one long, endless one. At least I didn’t have to reset my twelve-hour watch, as the time zones on both ends aligned. Just my sleep cycle, day to night, and back again.
Thank you for sharing. Your excitement is contagious!