June 16th. On the plane.
As we reached cruising speed, the flight attendants walked through the cabin spraying pesticides, to fumigate the cabin.
My phone is off, and I neglected to purchase a watch, as I thought I might do before departure, so I have little idea of the time, but we are more than three-quarters done with the crossing, I think. As I pace the cabin – I am not very good at all this sitting – I am amazed, at how the whole plane of people shuts their windows – while Africa rolls by beneath – and sleeps or watches television. The complete triumph over the screen is not only over landscape but also over the book: no one on the plane is reading either. I feel I have been very sheltered – that I have been in this other world, where all that matters is God as revealed through nature, people, and books. But everyone else looks so much happier than I feel – all asleep, or glazed in silence. I feel myself chafing at the containment of long flight: I feel like a caged animal. I take no interest in the dishes brought out for my food; it all looks fake to me; I lose my appetite; I wither. All I want is to burst out again.
Early evening. We have landed. The sun is setting; all I can say is that outside it looks just like an airport. Very flat. A lot of pavement.
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