It's beautiful.
I was sitting in seat 24K on an Airbus A380 destined for Europe and I was angry at myself because I was crying.
The plane itself was nearly empty and I was one of the only passengers; out of some 509 seats on the airplane, maybe only 30 were occupied, and almost entirely by panicked Italians trying to desperately get home.
The date was July 19, 2020 and it felt like the entire world was teetering on the edge of collapse. The airport I had flown out of, connected to a very large U.S. city, was utterly deserted. I had been dropped off by my very close friend at the airport doors and we were the only car I could see, besides some stray taxis with no passengers.
It was so eerie.
My friend had helped me stack my two suitcases that were packed to the absolute brim on top of a trolly, both of us wearing our masks, and she began to cry as she hugged me goodbye.
“Be safe,” she told me, her voice breaking.
“Don’t worry, this isn’t really goodbye,” I told her. In truth, I had no idea when I would see her again and if this was actually a forever goodbye.
As I then entered and walked through the giant terminal, totally devoid of other humans, a place I knew so well and had been countless times for work and personal travel, anxiety soared inside of me. It was impossible not to think of the millions, or rather, billions of people and all the interconnected business and commerce around the world, profoundly affected by the travel restrictions. Lockdowns had bloomed all over the planet in a desperate attempt to contain a virus that was still not well understood and killing people.
I tried very hard not to think about all the jobs affected, about how crucial travel was to the world economy, about how this might permanently change how we lived our lives forever. I especially tried not to think about my own life and my own choice that I was making: to leave my American job and the USA behind and follow my ultimate dream. And I tried hardest of all not to think about if my N95 mask was not enough, if I would accidentally catch the virus on the plane, if I would die trying to do this.
I was shaking.
But these thoughts quickly evaporated as I didn’t even make it to the check-in counter; suddenly a formidable woman in an airline uniform and face mask marched up to me and stretched out her hand, palm up, firmly saying “STOP,” and then asked for my passport.
NO U.S. PASSPORTS BEYOND THIS POINT.
The words were written on a large sign at the entrance to the check-in line, except there was no line. There was no other person in sight except for me, the woman who had stopped me, and another woman at the counter, peering nervously at me from a distance, also masked.
I held out my European passport. The woman took it and checked it carefully, motioning for me to quickly pull down my mask, which I did. Satisfied, she waved for me to pass, and I went up to the counter, dropping my bags which were both right at the weight limit, having been carefully weighed and re-weighed by me, filled with everything I had decided would be the most important for my immediate needs.
After the bags were checked and my ticket printed, I breezed through security, once again the only passenger in sight. At the gate, I counted a maximum of 20 other people, all of them seemingly Italian and very distressed. But we were not going to Italy.
I was reminded with another pang of how flights had been restricted and cut due to the official travel ban to Europe; my particular flight was one of only three flights available all week to go to Europe, something that was previously unthinkable at such a major airport. Flights to the European continent had been completely shut down since April; the airport was only now tentatively allowing select airlines to provide air service, and only intermittently.
I sat on the bench at the gate and watched the sun set slowly beyond the tarmac when my phone vibrated. It was my little sister calling.
“Can you hear me okay?” I asked her, worried my mask was muffling my voice too much.
She could hear me fine. She was calling me to tell me she loved me and to wish me well, saying she completely believed in me and that it would all work out. It was infinitely comforting to speak to her, the last actual American I spoke to before I would board the plane.
Finally they called us all to gather at the gate, and at last, I stepped on the airplane, with the smallest group of passengers I had ever seen board such a large airplane. I saw that I was the only person seated in my entire row, and that nearly every other row was empty, and I was reminded that I may never have an experience like this again. Trying desperately to ignore the circumstances causing all this, I told myself to enjoy all the space as a rare and luxurious treat, and stretched out.
We took off without incident and a very sympathetic and kind flight attendant brought the drinks cart around. “Can I have two mini bottles of red wine please?” I asked. I mean, how else could you get through this, honestly. The flight attendant obliged with an understanding nod and I thanked her profusely, pouring myself a glass and flipping through the movie selection on the entertainment system.
Of course, Ratatouille was available for viewing. Well, that was a must.
And so I played the movie while slowly sipping my wine, pulling my face mask down only to sneak little swallows with surreptitious glances around me to make sure I wasn’t offending anyone by briefly uncovering my face.
But then the scene came where the little rat, Remy, was running through the walls and ceilings of the apartment building only to come out on the roof and see, for the first time, glittering Paris in all her magnificent glory, the music swelling. I had choked back a sob and felt tears welling in my eyes, immediately causing me to panic.
NO, I told myself sternly. Stop crying. These were droplets! In an airplane with recycled air during a pandemic! Believing I might accidentally kill someone if I was infected, I held my sleeves to my eyes to soak up as much of the tears as I could.
“Paris? All this time I’ve been underneath Paris?” Remy asks in awe as he is faced with the spectacular view, the Eiffel Tower twinkling at him. I’m frantically drying my tears so as not to accidentally cause a mass outbreak of disease.
“Wow, it’s beautiful,” he breathes, and I had to agree, even though it was an animation. It was almost too much for me to bear. After dreaming about Paris my entire life, at the beginning of a devastating worldwide pandemic and with no job, I was also moving to Paris.
And I was terrified.
What to watch on the airplane when it is a catastrophic pandemic and you are trying to blink back your tears while drinking wine and hype yourself up that this huge leap you are taking will all be worth it in the end because you are moving to Paris and this was your dream since you were little:
- Ratatouille
- Before Sunset
- Amélie (I don’t care how cliché you think I am, this is a must-watch)
- Charade
- French Kiss
- Under the Tuscan Sun (it doesn’t take place in France, but the spirit is there)
- Casablanca (because we will always have Paris)
