As we landed at OR Tambo airport, I craned my head to see out of my little porthole window. Blinds to be open during landing. The taxi from the runway to the building seemed to take forever. But for me, the thrill of being at an airport/on a plane/at an air show gives me a rush that I'm not able to put into words.
We passed the outlying hangers and buildings that us mere citizens never get to explore. Actually, come to think of it, there is a lot at the airport that we'll never experience. That's okay, my cup runneth over as a simple yet excitable traveler. Anyway, there they were Virgin planes. And I'm NOT talking about Richard Branson and co. I'm talking about sparkling white giants, waiting in eager anticipation for their branding, interiors and to eventually fluff out their tail feathers.
I couldn't tell who they belonged to or what they were to become. And, I was reminded of something my grandfather said: A plane taking off reminded him of a homesick angel going back to heaven. A bit saccharine perhaps, but with angels and virgins, we've got a theme going chaps!
As twee as the picture my grandfather painted may be, there is something magical, awe-inspiring and thrilling about planes. The speed, the way you're thrust back into your seat as they accelerate and rise. And I dare all of you to admit that you don't hold your breath, just a little bit. And as for those ne'er-sayers who so predictably state that something of that size shouldn't be in the sky, I say that you're missing the point Jack.
Feel the pressure and don't forget to take a look outside your window and notice those virgin planes, like all virgins, they deserve your respect.
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