The other day, on a flight, I was carelessly counting the many times I’ve traveled by air. I remember clearly the first one (and it wasn’t on a pterodactyl) when I was a child. I fought my brothers to sit over the window and I couldn’t stop watching down the whole trip.
But I didn’t fly much until I started flying with Mango. To put it in round numbers, conservative round numbers, I’ve been on a plane around 500 times since I started this journey.
I can recite from memory the pre-recorded messages of some airlines, I’m an expert to pack for three days (it’s another story when I pack for vacations) and I know how to pass the security measures with the grace of a ballerina.
I hate airports, lines, taxi drives, the waiting room, the words: #delayed, #remotelocation and #non-recliningseat, I don’t like the aircraft meal – if any- jet lags or the English pronunciation of the flight attendants.
When you do something so much, it can become an automatic and common thing.
But not his. Every time I fly,I’m always amazed because: I’m fucking flying! Every flight is different, every trip teaches me something and every time I look through the window I feel very lucky.
That’s how it is with Mango; every shooting is different, every journey teaches me something and every time I look at the monitor I know I’m very lucky.