Flying again

I went earlier this morning to catch my flight to Bristol at Hamburg airport and it was different.

Different from the other hundred times I flew.

I was feeling different, with a latent sign of agitation.

The others seemed to feel different, everyone being very calm, too calm, almost frozen.

There was no joy in the eyes of the hordes of tourists ready to be boarded to Tenerife.

There was no hurry in the strides of usually busy business people.

There was no buzz

Something usual was not there: newspapers.

People were not reading them.

At the Lufthansa gate there were none.

At the news stand there were some, but turned upside down so you could see the last page (or better said: so you could not see the first page).

And then during the mourning minute held at 10:53AM there was sadness in every face, respect for the victims and a sense of belonging.

Yes, that’s what happens when you have to fly just few hours after a plane crashed, few hours after watching on TV what little remains of a large aircraft.

Yes, that’s what happens when you become aware that you could have been on that flight, that your next flight may be the one.

Flying is very safe but when something gets wrong, it makes an impression.

PS: my flight to Bristol was cancelled due to non-specified technical problems: for once I was happy to go back home