Ode to the flight attendant

One of my favourite aspects of flying is watching the va et vient of flight attendants. Mostly because they are my barometers for whether or not everything is going well (“only start panicking if the flight attendants look worried”), but also because I admire how they exude the firm, yet loving demeanor of a mother.

Trans-Atlantic flights tend to leave Canada in the evening so that you arrive in Europe in the morning. The efficiency with which the attendants feed you dinner and get you ready for sleep (whether you like it or not) reminds me of long ago school days when my mother rushed me through the evening routine so that I’d get to bed early and be fit for school in the morning.

Attendants, like your mother, even let you watch a little TV before bed. But then sure enough, the lights begin to dim, they begin to move a little more quietly. One last cup of water is distributed, she gently encourages you to pull the blind on your window and then, quite suddenly, the lights will be assertively turned all the way down and you must finally attempt to sleep. Even though you really want to stay up and read. Or watch TV. Or just because you want to make sure that you don’t miss something exciting.

You nod off, drifting in and out of sleep. Maybe you get up to pee and sure enough, the attendant is awake and there if you need her, but quietly reading or playing a soundless game of angry birds so as not to disturb the rest of the house.

And soon, louder noises are eventually heard, as plates and utensils are being herded. The smell of coffee brewing. Then the gentle (but firm, always firm) rousing begins. As hesitant as you were to fall asleep in the first place, now the prospect of waking seems too cruel. But the flight attendants know best. They know how to keep you in the cycle of your day, to make it easier for you to function once you’ve been catapulted into the world once more. They make the rounds, this time encouraging you to open the blinds and let some light in. Breakfast is efficient, as is the clean-up and then before you know it, you’re standing at the door, squinting at the sun, bag slung over your shoulder and a flight attendant is wishing you a good day as she waves you through the door.

All that’s missing is a kiss to the forehead.

Missed the Italy posts? Click through to read about my stops on the Adriatic coast, and in Milan, Turin, Cinque Terre and Rome.