Reading high in the sky

I am one of those people who started flying rather late in life, a decision in which my dislike of travelling and, I have to admit, my fear played a role. But once a man has experienced comfort, he forgets his former feelings. I took to flying on my very first flight and never even missed the other modes of transportation. When did the airplane enter our lives? I don’t know the date, and to be perfectly honest I don’t much care. But pilots standing in front of propeller planes, Sabiha Gökçen’s photograph in particular, make the airplane contemporaneous in my mind with the Republic. The sense of rising high undoubtedly holds a certain attraction for man, both physically and spiritually. Looking down from above, looking down one’s nose are quintessentially human inclinations, provided they are only done from an airplane. Otherwise they are attitudes I find ridiculous. I also get a little bored and restless on very long flights. Shall I give an example? I once flew to Tokyo. First I landed in England, at London airport.