Vliegen/vliegangst (deel 1)

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Op vrijdag 20 augustus 2004 18:40 schreef LosingMyReligion het volgende:
niet altijd

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Op vrijdag 20 augustus 2004 14:59 schreef LosingMyReligion het volgende:
ik werd trouwens wel erg gecontroleerd op heahtrow

alarm ging af (camera in zak)

ik moest in de jezus-aan-het-kruis houding gaan staan

zwaar gefouilleerd, onderkant schoenen checken!

maja toen vonden ze niks en mocht ik doorlopen! Erg slecht! Ze lieten me niet opnieuw door het poortje lopen, als ik een mes IN mijn schoen had gehad had ik gewoon door kunnen lopen!

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Op dinsdag 16 augustus 2005 14:29 schreef PiperMaru het volgende:
*schop*

Ik heb er ook last van. Niet tot het punt dat ik vliegen vermijd, elke keer zeg ik tegen mezelf dat ik me niet moet aanstellen en boek ik gewoon weer een vliegreis. Maar als het dan zo ver is.. misselijk van angst, trillen, zweten. Puur de angst om neer te storten. Bij elk klein beweginkje van het vliegtuig zit ik op het puntje van m'n stoel. Het liefst nam ik gewoon een slaappil en sliep ik de hele vlucht.

Moet binnenkort weer vliegen... kort vluchtje, maar toch. En dan storten er in de week daarvoor lekker twee vliegtuigen neer

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Op woensdag 17 augustus 2005 01:10 schreef Intrepidity het volgende:

(zelf overigens geen last van vliegangst, alleen altijd enorm last van me oren )

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Fear of flying. We all know what it is. At least, we all think we know what it is. But I can assure you, that you can only tell what it is if you suffer from it. I suffered from fear of flying, but I conquered it. I conquered, but I will never be cured.

Let’s start off with my very first flight, when I was aged sixteen. One day, my father came home and he told us he had bought a new car, a Volkswagen. Because the company where he had bought the car was celebrating their jubilee, my father got a free trip for two to the Volkswagen factory and museum in Germany. Because both my mother and brother were not interested, I told my father that I would accompany him to Germany, so he signed us up for the trip.

The day before the trip, my father advised me to go to bed early since we would be leaving to Amsterdam at five o’clock in the morning. ‘Amsterdam?’ I replied, ‘I thought we were going to Germany?’ Then he told me that we were indeed going to Germany. By plane. At that moment, I thought the end of the world was near. Or, to be more specific, the end of my life. With my head down, I went upstairs. I got into my bed, but I couldn’t sleep. My mind was filled with questions. How could my father do this to me? How could he put my life in the hands of a pilot? And his life? What about my mother and my brother if something happened to us? Eventually, I fell asleep. I had a terrible nightmare about crashing airplanes, failing parachutes and drunken pilots.

So, at 5 o’clock a.m. I stood in front of the Volkswagen-dealer where my father had bought his new car and sold our lives. When I looked around me, all I saw were proud Volkswagen-buyers and life-sellers. Why were they smiling? Why was my father smiling? We were transported to Schiphol Airport in a Volkswagen van. From that moment on, I decided to boycott Volkswagen for the rest of my life. That is, if I survived the flight, of course. We arrived at the airport, checked in and walked through a tunnel. I expected to see light at the end of that tunnel, but I actually saw darkness. Darkness they use to call ‘airplane’.

Seated between two men I didn’t know, the countdown of my life had begun. I fastened my seatbelt, unfolded the puke bag and held my head between my knees. The man at my left asked me whether I wanted to sit next to the window. I shook my head. The man sitting to my right, asked whether I wanted a piece of chewing gum. Again, I shook my head. A flight attendant asked me if I wanted a glass of water. Once more, I shook my head. After forty minutes of sitting in this rather shameful pose, the plane landed safely in Braunschweig, Germany.

Okay, we flew safely from The Netherlands to Germany. But that only implied that the plane had to crash on the way back. The entire day I tried to convince my father that we were all going to die at the end of that day, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He preferred listened to the president of the Volkswagen company. After we had visited the Volkswagen factory and museum, we went back to the Airport of Braunschweig. I asked my father whether he could lend me some money for a taxi to Amsterdam, but unfortunately he couldn’t. Or, I think, he didn’t want to. Or, to use his exact words, I had to choose between flying or walking. Since I was not wearing my favourite hiking shoes and I was not in the mood for a three-hundred-mile walk, I decided to sign my own death certificate by getting on that plane again.

Again, I was seated between the same two men, to their great amusement. Funny remarks about crashing planes, failing parachutes and drunken pilots filled my mind while I fastened my seatbelt, unfolded the puke bag and held my head between my knees. Forty minutes of being laughed at later, the plane landed safely in Amsterdam. At that very moment I decided never, ever to get on a plane again.

Seven years later, a friend of mine asked me whether I would like to go to Egypt with her. I told her that I would love to go to Egypt with her, but that I had sworn to myself never, ever to get on a plane again. After a monologue on the safest way of travelling, the speeding tickets that the mailman has to deliver to me every month and the fact that I ride on a motorbike, which appears to be the most unsafe way of travelling, I found myself booking a trip to Egypt that very same day. After I signed the booking confirmation, I started to feel sick right away.

The following three months, I just couldn’t let go of the idea that I had to get on an airplane again. It crossed my mind at least once a day. I read almost every book about fear of flying and I talked as much as possible to people who love to fly, in order to convince myself that flying really is the safest way of travelling. The problem was, the more I thought about it, the worse my fear got.

We would be flying to Egypt three days after my birthday. Usually, none of my friends are able to come on the day I celebrate my birthday, because none of them live close to me. But that birthday, all my friends were present, at the same time. I was convinced that it could impossibly be a coincidence, and that it had to be an omen. This certainly had to mean that something dreadful was about to happen. The day after I celebrated my birthday with my friends, I invited my parents and my brother for dinner at a restaurant. When we were sitting there, I suddenly felt the way Jesus must have felt during His last supper. This was it. The day before, I had the chance to say goodbye to all of my friends and in the restaurant, it was my time to say farewell to my family.

The day before we went to Egypt, my friend and I checked our departure time on the internet, just for sure. Suddenly, we saw that the destination belonging to our flight number was Turkey instead of Egypt. My friend went berserk, I had never felt so relieved before in my life. My friend immediately called the air company. They told her that the plane would go to Egypt and then stop in Turkey. My friend had never felt so relieved before in her life. I went berserk.

The next morning, we went to the airport, checked in and walked through a tunnel. I knew that there was no light at the end of that tunnel. As soon as I sat down, I fastened my seatbelt, unfolded the puke bag and held my head between my knees, but the plane didn’t take off. Suddenly, a voice came out of the speakers. It was Satan. At least, I thought it was Satan, because the voice told us there were some problems with the freight and they had to get rid of one thousand litres of fuel. One thousand litres?! How in the world could we possibly reach Egypt if they drained off one thousand litres of fuel?! Eventually, after I had bitten off all my nails, the plane took off.

The next six hours felt like six years. A shaking airplane, screaming children, an over-excited friend and cheerful Disney cartoons made the flight a real drama. Six hours sitting with my head bowed between my knees, looking in a puke bag and thinking the end was coming near soon, very soon. Six hours of being laughed at by my friend, the people behind me, the people in front of me, the people next to me, the people passing by on their way to the toilet, the cabin crew. The worst moment was when the television screens came out of the ceiling. I thought something terrible had happened and that the oxygen masks were coming down. So I yelled ‘Oh my God! The oxygen masks are coming down!’. For a moment, the reactions of the other passengers made me feel like a very popular stand up comedian. But I was not amused, not at all…

Of course, the plane landed safely in Egypt and I was so proud of myself. Every day I spent in the Arabic country, my heroic deed crossed my mind. I had got on a plane and I had survived the flight! On my way back to Holland, I even had the guts to unfasten my seatbelt for a couple of minutes! At that moment, I realised that I had conquered my deepest fear.
And my Volkswagen Polo reminds me of my victory every day …

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Op zondag 28 augustus 2005 23:57 schreef vanhoof het volgende:
Vliegen is absoluut niet zo veilig als de grote miljardenbusiness je wil doen geloven hoor ! Hoe kan je nou een vorm van transport veilig vinden waar zowat iedere week een fatale crash plaatsvindt ?
Dat men nou zou zeggen dat scheepvaart een veilige vorme van transport is kan ik nog aannemen maar Luchtvaart ? Vergeet daarbij niet dat de statistieken hieromtrent gewoonweg niet kloppen ....de gemiddelde westerling zit gemiddeldongeveer 1000 uren per jaar in een auto en gemiddeld 1u30 in een vliegtuig dus als iedere Europeaan 1000 x meer in een vliegtuig zou zitten als nu ?? Dan zou de situatie er wel heel anders uitgaan zien !

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Op maandag 29 augustus 2005 16:26 schreef vanhoof het volgende:
Hoezo fel overdreven ? Als je de incidenten bekijkt bij Airdisaster.com dan telt ieder jaar minimum 30 tot 40 zware tot zeer zware incidenten.Min 30 per jaar is dat dan geen bijna 1 per week ? De meeste worden zelfs nog niet vermeld opdat het enkel maar doodsangsten betrof onder de passagiers.
Hoe men het ook wil laten uitschijnen (vooral omwille van het geld )vliegen is altijd al een gevaarlijke sport geweest en zal dat ook blijven......Trouwens waar rook is ...is vuur en het is niet voor niets dat bijna de helft van de bevolking bang is........ om te vliegen !

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Op maandag 29 augustus 2005 23:38 schreef vanhoof het volgende:
Je vergeet één ding en dat is dat ieder technisch mankement fataal kan zijn en dit in grote tegenstelling met bv een boot trein of auto.Vliegen lijkt niet alleen annatuurlijk maar is het ook.Weet je trouwens dat de enige natuurlijke vorm van transport gebeurd aan 5 km/u en dat is wandelen en af en toe wat lopen (20 km/u).Het zijn de enige snelheden waar het menselijke brein is voor gemaakt.

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Op donderdag 3 november 2005 12:55 schreef sararaats het volgende:
ik heb nooit last van vliegangst gehad. ik heb voor ik naar Zuid-Afrika vloog een luchtdoop gemaakt met school dus ik was al wat gewend aan een vliegtuig.

ik heb wel 1 keer doodsangsten uitgeslagen. we vlogen terug van Johannesburg naar Londen Heathrow (en dan naar Brussel). volgens mij lag er een steentje op de vertrekbaan. het vliegtuig deed heel vreemd. toen dacht ik: nu ben ik eraan.