Sleeping on planes

I don't know when this started happening, but I almost always drift off to sleep when my airplane taxis for takeoff.

This used to happen with trains; I always thought it was because back in high school, I commuted into Chicago for youth symphony rehearsals and the combination of short weekend sleep and a commute that ended downtown trained me to have a Pavlovian response, but now for whatever reason, it's that last moment before we're airborne.

Even when I'm not tired, once the plane goes into its final turn and accelerates down the runway, I get drowsy, and if I'm in the window seat, I cock my head into the wall and let sleep overtake me until, usually, the ding announcing we've hit cruising altitude.

I don't think it's entirely about this, but there's something about that transition from ground to sky, feeling that sudden lift, that seems linked to that moment of letting go, releasing into a comfortable sort of fogginess.

I think of all this today because I took my last flight before my return to the states today, a hop from Milan to Oradea, Romania. From here on it's busses and trains until the trip ends, but this one flight had the exact same effect as usual. I'd been stressing mildly about this leg of the trip - I usually have my half-dozen "polite tourist who's trying" phrases (hello, excuse me, thank you, please, do you speak English, sorry) in place, but hadn't gotten them ironed out in time for this one. My connections for the next week or so are on Eastern European busses, which tend not to be listed online, or if they are there's conflicting info. I know I can make things work - thousands of American tourists have done the same before me, and I did my research before I cobbled these days together - but it's basically a solid week of "Well, I'll figure it out when I get there."

Still. There was something a bit relieving about that physical habit returning at the moment of takeoff, watching the landscape of Lombardy recede as my eyelids sank, and feeling that same sense of release, of trust, of knowing that the plane's never rattled apart in the air before, so it probably won't now. (And even if it does: what are you gonna do about it, chumpo? Worry?)

So here I am, in Oradea, about to take a few far-too-fast days to explore Romania and Serbia before meeting my friend Kate for a few days in the coastal Balkans. I feel lucky. I feel underprepared. I feel peaceful. I feel curious. And I'm excited to see what I find.

Many catch-up posts on Italy yet to come: more on Florence, more on Cinque Terre, more on Milan, which I loved to a thoroughly surprising degree. And maybe by 2020 I'll have caught up to myself? Til then: keep being kind to yourselves, keep breathing and releasing, and keep exploooooring!