The simple pleasures

Dr Fahim Chand | Monday July 14, 2025 09:51

This new fluidity jolted the neurons from their stupor, prompting them to chart an itinerary for the moments ahead. Progress was occasionally interrupted when someone else’s cognitive or muscular machinery lagged behind, demanding extra time to engage.

Overhead compartments yawned open as passengers retrieved their belongings, and the crowd slowly inched toward the exit. For eleven hours, we had shared a cramped, reluctant camaraderie, but now the unspoken pact was dissolving. I thanked the stewards for a smooth flight as we finally stepped off the plane. A quiet sigh of relief escaped me as I emerged into space wide enough to stretch fully, rediscovering the simple pleasure of walking without obstruction. My legs reacquainted themselves with their purpose as I made my way toward the terminal, savoring the gentle freedom before the next leg of the journey.

I stole a glance at Shabana as she glided ahead, cabin bag in tow. As ever, she managed to outpace me, and I marveled at what peculiar physiological wizardry allowed her, despite being shorter to make me perpetually scurry after her like an overeager bellhop. Summoning my reserves, I surged forward to draw level just as we entered the terminal.

We’d traversed shinier airports, cathedrals of steel and glass sprung fully formed from the imaginations of star architects, but this one, a touch dowdy, possessed a homey sort of warmth. Well, as warm as any building stuffed to the rafters with a billion harried travelers could be.

We navigated instinctively toward our usual haunt, rounding a corner to find the familiar sign: Wagamama. A modest queue had already formed in front of the maître d’s station. Names were dutifully scribbled onto the waiting list, and before long we were ushered to a table we’d practically consider our own.

We hardly needed menus. Two firecracker prawn curries were dispatched to the kitchen without preamble, our appetites primed into a frenzy. It was Shabana who had first unearthed this incendiary Japanese delight with a riot of flavours that crescendoed, true to its name, with unapologetic firecracker chilies.

My Asian lineage had trained my taste buds to tango confidently with spice, but Wagamama’s interpretation still managed to sear a polite blister onto my palate. Between swigs of water to douse the capsaicin inferno, I savoured every mouthful of this pyrotechnic feast. Sated and suffused with feel good serotonin coursing through my veins, I felt prepared to face the next eleven airborne hours to OR Tambo and home to Botswana.

At this point, with my stomach content and my spirits buoyant, I couldn’t have cared less what culinary roulette awaited on the plane, some mysteries are best left unopened until the trolley arrives. There’s something ancient in our hunger to roam, a migratory itch older than maps or machines. Once, we moved to survive; now, we fly because we can.

Sailboats and trains shrank the world, and planes all but folded it in half. Today, we chase novelty: a whiff of foreign spices, an unfamiliar skyline at dawn, the exciting disorientation of elsewhere. Flying defies gravity and the old tyranny of distance. But what about the experience itself? Many travellers don’t realise how much it affects our bodies, or how to make the best of it. Fortunately, cabin crew are well-versed in helping passengers stay comfortable.

At 35,000 feet, the dry cabin air dehydrates nasal passages and mutes your sense of smell, making food taste surprisingly bland.

To compensate, airlines quietly ramp up salt and sugar, sometimes by as much as 30%, so your pasta actually tastes like pasta instead of damp cardboard. If you’re watching your sodium or sugar intake, be cautious.

Crew often recommend salads as a lighter option. Drink plenty of water, as cabin air is drier than the Kalahari, and limit alcohol and caffeine, which worsen dehydration.

Interestingly, the most popular in-flight meal is the humble chicken curry, flavorful enough to withstand altitude’s sensory sabotage. So when your tray arrives, know it’s been engineered to wage a high-altitude battle against your numbed palate.

Afterwards, Shabana and I nursed our coffees and relaxed comfortably. She tapped into the world through Wi-Fi’s invisible threads, while I was content to simply watch it unfold. Airports are perfect theaters for people-watching. Who are all these travelers? Where are they headed, and what stories do they carry home? Eventually, we drifted toward the boarding gates and found our seats for the long flight back.

No one ever raves about the in-flight meal, but everyone remembers the relief when the wheels finally touch African soil. As the engines roared to life, I thought: in the end, it’s not the food or the flight we recall, it’s the feeling of arriving where you truly belong.