As a travel writer, a fear of flying is far from ideal. Raw, sweaty fear is wrapped in distraction and bizarre ritual. I have said the Lord’s prayer every time the plane hoicks itself off the tarmac into the sky since the age of 10, despite a religious absence at Sunday service.
And my heart thumps in my mouth when the jet’s belly hits the rising air, and the stewards and hostesses scurry back to their seats.
