Wondering about window seats A STORY WORTH TELLING
“Man must rise above the Earth, to the top of the atmosphere and beyond, for only thus will he fully understand the world in which he lives.”
— Socrates
I wonder about things.
For instance, how Socrates conjured up “rising above the Earth to the top of the atmosphere” 400 years before Christ and way before Transportation Security Administration checkpoints, photo IDs and
lost luggage? Was he sipping some of that fabled undiluted red wine commonly consumed at the ancient Greek symposiums— social gatherings for drinking, philosophy and poetry?
Whatever the backstory, the noted philosopher nailed the feeling. Even today, top-of-the-atmosphere window-seat views from any commercial flight foster a remarkably unique understanding of the world in which we live.
Window-seat views are my second favorite, however. My first choice for years was the pilot’s seat. But I’ve missed that view the last couple of decades, and trying to book it through a travel agent gets tricky.
Window seats transform humdrum travel into awe-inspiring experiences by offering breathtaking living maps of miniature cities and patchwork landscapes dotted with lakes and ponds. These are unparalleled views of majestic mountains, endless oceans and intricate ribbons of rivers that make the journey as memorable as the destination. Which makes me wonder about something else. Why would someone book a window seat, then lower the shade and slip into deep slumber or tinyscreen hypnosis?
Seeking answers, I began my own research.
Sitting for hours packed like sardines with strangers has never been my idea of fun. Therefore, I make every effort to get acquainted with my seatmates early in every flight, such as collecting opinions from passengers like Darlene going to San Diego.
“When I can’t get a window seat, I’m sad.
Window seats are my visual adventures,” she said.
I wondered if she was hinting that I should give my window seat to her? Didn’t matter. I wasn’t about to budge.
Daphne on the way to Daytona seemed somewhat irritated.
“People asking me to lower my window shade are crazy. I’m like, ‘If you want control over the window, buy a seat with one, dude!’” she said.
Mary, bound for Minneapolis, explained, “I like to look down at cities and wonder what it would be like, living in places I may never get to visit.”
I really related because I’ve looked down on places including the Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls and the Great Salt Lake.
I’ve seen Iceland, Greenland, parts of Eastern Europe and the Swiss Alps from a window seat. And I always think about visiting a few of those spots someday.
Well, maybe everywhere except Iceland. I don’t even like winter in East Texas.
On a winter’s night flight to Europe once, a young student named Elaine shared that she couldn’t sleep like all her classmates. She was too excited. As we talked about window seats, an orange line slowly marked the horizon, separating the black sky from the Earth. Mere moments later, a magnificent sunrise unveiled Amsterdam and the Netherlands below.
“Why would anyone want to sleep through that?” Elaine asked.
Sunrises and sunsets were my favorite view from the pilot’s seat.
Take-offs around dusk, watching the sun set during climbout and panoramic views of landmarks fading into the night, spotted with patches of twinkling cities connected by trails of car lights.
I’ll never forget one August sunrise departure out of San Francisco, seeing the Golden Gate Bridge towers protruding through a layer of fog blanketing the Bay Area.
Getting Mark’s take on the topic was a great “pilot’s seat” observation on our way to Chicago.
“After 12 years of military flying and another 27 as a commercial pilot, I had the best office view in the world,” he said.
“Equally different and mesmerizing with every f light.”
Greg, going to Las Vegas, may have said it best of all: “Just think, throughout recorded civilization, we are among the first privileged to buy a seat with a view above the clouds.”
And now I’m wondering — what would Socrates have thought about a seat with a literal view above the clouds, unaltered by a decanter of his best 400 B.C. Greek undiluted red wine?
Contact Aldridge at leonaldridge@gmail. com. Other Aldridge columns are archived at leonaldridge.com.
