Hours piled on hours in an airplane can lend itself to a sense that everything is beyond wierdness. The air is clean and recycled, and time just cycles with no change in climate. This is sense of order that is apreciated, as it seems that ultimately the destination at hand, will be short on these things: controled climates, silence, and a vaccum like atmosphere. Instead Bombay, from every describtion available, is a place of overwhelming sensory excitement; where men bathe before dawn in a sewer clogged river and palace hotels have balconies overlooking mud slums.
The drab greys and blinking chimes of heathrow are beyond pleasant.
September 14, 2007 at 8:38 pm
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September 17, 2007 at 7:38 pm
something about our family is particularly enamored with the high altitude transatlantic/transcontinental experience. perhaps it is the lack of oxygen that helps us think better. i’ve always been convinced that 35,000 feet high is a good place to be.