Southampton to Jersey

This was my first visit to Jersey and despite—or because of—the weather, I am looking forward to getting there again.

My journey began at Southampton Airport. Once I had checked in, cleared security, and as experienced air travelers say "airside," I really felt my journey had started. I also still had another hour to wait before boarding.

Once I have gotten airside, I find an inner peace with myself. It is almost as if the tribulations of day to day living have been sloughed off like the tired, old skin of a lizard. It seems as if I have abandoned myself to the airport and the airline. Both of them are responsible for me from now on, until I arrive at the other end. They will make decisions on my behalf, over which I have no control. What time do I have to board? What time will take off be? What time will I land? My only decisions in this whole process are to meet the lowest of my needs on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs: Food and drink. That is, if I want to make any of my own decisions at all.

Freya Stark said there were five reasons to travel. One of them is:

• To leave one’s troubles behind.

I had achieved that sitting in the café at Southampton Airport.

Her other four reasons for travel are:

• To acquire learning
• To earn a living
• To practise good manners and
• To meet honourable men

With air travel, I feel that I as the passenger become anonymous, which creates feelings of safety, security, and warmth.

I do not fly as often as I used to, so whenever I do nowadays, there is still a frisson of glamour and excitement attached to the experience. I enjoy those minutes before boarding which, in this case, were very nearly sixty. A quick browse through the duty-free shop, watching passengers, sitting with a newspaper, magazine, or a good book, even finding a lounge or café away from the main concourse and its maelstrom of activity. This time, at Southampton, I did manage to find such a café that overlooked the runway. There I sat and read and enjoyed the company of Johnnie Walker.

Announcements were made that gates for various flights were closing and that there were still some passengers to board. These announcements got increasingly desperate until, eventually, the missing passengers, providing they could hear anything at all, were told they would no longer be allowed through the gates.

The feelings of safety, security, and warmth were suddenly doused with a good splash of proverbial cold water. Having been called to board for my flight, I then had to walk about one hundred yards from the terminal to the airplane across the concrete apron. There was no direct sunlight, just low grey clouds pushed along by an arctic wind that cut through any womb like feelings I had harboured.

In the cabin of the plane, there is the usual bustling activity as passengers search for their seat allocations. When they have found their seats, they then struggle to put any hand luggage they have into the overhead lockers. Looking at the way this struggle unfolds, I am convinced that, as the airlines’ definition of what constitutes "hand luggage" is increasing, the actual overhead locker space decreases.

I find what I think is my seat. Already sitting in the window seat is a lady wearing a white polo neck jumper under another blue jumper. She also has a blue scarf around her head. All of this led me to believe she might be a nun.

We started to chat as other passengers came on board, marking their territory with coats, small bags, and books. The lady was returning home to Jersey after having three weeks chemotherapy at Southampton Hospital. She was looking forward to getting home to her own place. I had recently been going through some difficult times at work and these suddenly became insignificant.

Our conversation was interrupted when a middle-aged couple came along and claimed, rightly or wrongly, that the seats we were in were theirs. The plane was only one third full, but they insisted we had to move. It turns out they were right and my new traveling companion and I were split up. I was placed in a window seat by myself.

After take off into heavy clouds and a darkening sky, those feelings of safety, security, and warmth returned. Our route took us over the western end of the Isle of Wight and past The Needles. I fell asleep soon afterwards.

The juddering of the plane as the undercarriage was dropped woke me up. From my window I could see that we were scudding through the ragged ends of the cloud base. Beneath was the ocean looking dark and whipped by whitecaps. The occasional rocky outcrop was surrounded by a collar of white surf. Flaps were extended, our speed dropped, and we were well and truly on final approach. The landing was soft and our deceleration was abrupt.

This was Jersey Airport and I had arrived.