http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/apr/20/iceland-volcano-world-without-planes
Cities would become foreign again, rather than mere simulacra of each other. Instead of being all-but indistinguishable from Birmingham, Bangalore would become exotic anew. Picture the scene: after years of travelling by foot, taxi, ferry, elephant, rickshaw, space hopper, horse and circus strongman's shoulders, you would arrive over the brow of a hill and survey the majesty of the Bangalore cityscape below, sharing sheepish smiles with your fellow travellers. And then you would return home, laden with gifts from this newly distant city (silks, spices, call-centre headsets) for friends and relatives. They, for their part, would thank you for the presents and curse themselves for never having travelled abroad.
De Botton reckons that we take air travel too much for granted – like a neglected spouse whom we have long since failed to notice is still quite the pip. "How we would admire planes if they were no longer there to frighten and bore us," he writes. "We would stroke their steel dolphin-like bodies in museums, and honour them as symbols of a daunting technical intelligence and a prodigious wealth." Speak for yourself, Alain.
Back in Kew Gardens, there is no sign of Chris Moyles being flown in like an aid package to bereft Blighty any time soon. What bliss! Peace and quiet are things to revel in, even if not for much longer. It's so quiet that I hear an unseen bee, probably on its way to Vince Cable's apiary in nearby Richmond. That's my kind of air travel.
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