Girl in Valencia #1: Once While Travelling

I think I was about 7 when I first took a plane ride. I was nervous yet as excited as a child could be on her virgin flight. My mother took a picture of me in the cabin, beaming with 2 front teeth missing. I still have that picture, hidden somewhere in a box choc-full of photo albums amassed over the years. I was truly exuberant about flying then, and I couldn't remember a time when I boarded the plane without feeling some kind of warm fuzziness in me.

The first time I cried on a plane, was the first time I left home to study abroad. The second time, was when I returned a year later. After that, following one-too-many trips back and forth from my native land to what I now consider my "preferred place of residence", all emotions became diluted in that pressurised air cabin, and a ripple of irritation invariably follows whenever I go through airport scanners and security checkpoints.

These days, I prefer ground travel. Trains and buses, in particular. You glance out your window and see the passing landscape fading into oblivion as you move on. Blink, and you'll miss the gloriously setting sun dipping into the ocean. Sleep, and you'll miss the magnificent snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevada. Concentrate on your book, and you'll miss the sweeping coast of the Costa Blanca appearing right before your eyes.

Then there's the stuff you eat along the way, and people you meet at halfway diners. Sometimes weird, often wonderful-- both the food and the people, I mean. When you're done, you dab the corners of your mouth with a crumpled serviette and push your tray away, say a quick goodbye to your dining companions, and amble towards your bus. Your companions do likewise. No follow-ups needed. We are all but passersby in each other's lives.