Today we are commemorating (not, I think, celebrating) the anniversary of the first untethered hot air balloon flight in world history. On November 21, 1783, two brave French adventurers rose into the heavens and were carried about nine miles across Paris in twenty five minutes.
A heroic feat, no doubt, but as I prepare this morning to fly from Izmir to Hamburg with a layover in Istanbul, I’m not sure that this whole manned flight thing is working out very well. Each year air travel is more of an ordeal. The seats are smaller, the planes are more congested, the security prodecures more invasive and time consuming.
I’ve flown several million miles in my life and what I’ve learned was well worth the effort and the expense. I’ve lost track of the number of times that I’ve visited great world cities like London, Paris, Capetown, Istanbul, Singapore and beyond. The ability to travel repeatedly to different parts of the world has meant that I’ve been able to watch countries like Turkey, China, South Africa and Brazil change over time.
Rationally, I suppose I have to concede that air travel is a Good Thing, much as I dread my coming ordeal. But I sometimes wonder whether I wouldn’t have learned more if intercontinental travel still went mostly by sea. In the old days, it took weeks or even months to get from the United States to the rest of the world. Even for wealthy people, a European tour was an important occasion, not the kind of routine schlep it is for businessmen and diplomats today. And having invested so much time and effort to get to a place, you were more likely to try to get the most out of it once you arrived. No sitting around in the hotel room watching Larry King on CNN; you were out making the best of your opportunities.
This morning I’ve been watching the day break over the harbor at Izmir. Fishing boats are passing the narrow entrance of the horseshoe shaped bay into the Aegean; the proud Turkish flag is flying from a naval ship tied up in front of my hotel and used as a museum. Palm trees stand alongside the corniche road that leads into the central city; the hills of Anatolia loom in the background.
In the old days, I don’t think I’d have come all the way to Izmir and stayed less than two days. This city’s rich and sometimes tortured history would have demanded a closer, longer look. As it is, I’ve given a couple of lectures, met some students and faculty, and had a long, interesting session on Turkish-American relations with a group of younger scholars who work in the area.
And now I’m flying out. Three airports, two flights and half a continent from southern Turkey to northern Germany.
I suppose that nine mile flight over Paris felt like an incredible adventure at the time, but these days while it may still take a miracle to get you to your destination on time, travel has mostly turned into a dull and horrible slog.