Thursday, May 20, 2004
Real--Not Necessarily Ideal
I sat in the fold out jump seat of the Twin Otter and felt strangely at peace as the propellers purred to a roar that made it almost impossible to talk to the person in the seat next to me. As the plane took off, I felt a sudden rush of excitement. Something about this little plane was comforting to me. As I glided in the sky over the tundra, I realized that flying in this plane was somehow more real than the experience of flying in a jet. As I sat with my feet on the faded wood paneling that made the floor of the cabin area, I could see the propellers, hear and feel the rumble of the engine, see the pilots and their gauges ahead of me, and smell…well, in a place where running water is a luxury, the smell was not necessarily pleasant, but it was real. I was not insulated in the quiet, cushioned, climate-contolled cabin of a jet plane. I was sitting in the not-so-comfortable metal and leather seat of plane that allowed my stomach to repeatedly lurch as it dipped and swayed through the air currents of the Alaskan sky.
Although it was not ideal with the odor, noise, and nauseous stomach, it was a very real experience. Perhaps this is one of the reasons I like it out here so much. Everything seems so much more vivid and real. It is unlike our cities and suburbs where we are cut off from the land and insulated inside our homes and cars where we never have to think about where our food will come from. It is also much more intimate here, even in its isolation. The village seemed so familiar as I landed and so did the people I saw along the way to school from the airstrip. In such a small community, you see the same people everyday, tread the same ground, and dwell in a very finite number of buildings. I could never become this intimate and familiar with the people and places of the suburbs and the cities. I'm not saying that life here is ideal, perfect, or easy. But it is real.
It is good to be back; I feel like I've hardly been gone. But...as familiar as it feels, it is no longer home. I hope to find time to blog often here. I'll run-on soon.
I sat in the fold out jump seat of the Twin Otter and felt strangely at peace as the propellers purred to a roar that made it almost impossible to talk to the person in the seat next to me. As the plane took off, I felt a sudden rush of excitement. Something about this little plane was comforting to me. As I glided in the sky over the tundra, I realized that flying in this plane was somehow more real than the experience of flying in a jet. As I sat with my feet on the faded wood paneling that made the floor of the cabin area, I could see the propellers, hear and feel the rumble of the engine, see the pilots and their gauges ahead of me, and smell…well, in a place where running water is a luxury, the smell was not necessarily pleasant, but it was real. I was not insulated in the quiet, cushioned, climate-contolled cabin of a jet plane. I was sitting in the not-so-comfortable metal and leather seat of plane that allowed my stomach to repeatedly lurch as it dipped and swayed through the air currents of the Alaskan sky.
Although it was not ideal with the odor, noise, and nauseous stomach, it was a very real experience. Perhaps this is one of the reasons I like it out here so much. Everything seems so much more vivid and real. It is unlike our cities and suburbs where we are cut off from the land and insulated inside our homes and cars where we never have to think about where our food will come from. It is also much more intimate here, even in its isolation. The village seemed so familiar as I landed and so did the people I saw along the way to school from the airstrip. In such a small community, you see the same people everyday, tread the same ground, and dwell in a very finite number of buildings. I could never become this intimate and familiar with the people and places of the suburbs and the cities. I'm not saying that life here is ideal, perfect, or easy. But it is real.
It is good to be back; I feel like I've hardly been gone. But...as familiar as it feels, it is no longer home. I hope to find time to blog often here. I'll run-on soon.
