By sunset we took off for hang glider trips over The Hague to the North Sea coast. We started in the dark and rose to the light, seeing landscapes and human life diminish along with our daily concerns at the air force base where my friend R was also a private glider pilot and I came as his passenger. At evenings without military flights, hang gliding was allowed and we used the opportunities. This flying felt like utter paradise, there, high up in the air. But we could not step out of the cockpit. Well, we could, but death was eagerly awaiting on the ground. Paradise and hell were just one handle away from each other.
This thought often occurred to me again when I traveled continents for my holidays and ninety foreign projects. Travel is hard work and I fear nervous airports with their long queues and missed connections. I fear hotel rooms without my personal energy at lonely evenings and weekends. I fear jetlegs that grow longer with aging. I fear food poisonings. I fear plotting taxi drivers. I fear pickpockets in rushy cities. I fear long, hot hours in the traffic. I fear for accidents that take a 1,4 million deaths each year. I fear the police in countries where they tell me: ‘Stay away from the government, and most of all from the police.’
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