Louise O'Neill: air travel - and public speaking - in the time of the Delta variant
Louise O'Neill's first non-Irish dates after the Covid crisis were a different experience than before. Photo: Cathal Noonan
It was January when I received the invitation to the book festivals — the Berlin International Literature Festival and the Festivalletteratura in Mantova, Italy — and I readily accepted.
September 2021 seemed such a long time away, then - I presumed Covid would be behind us. I did not foresee the Delta variant, nor did I anticipate the rising rates of infection and hospitalisations.
I also didn’t anticipate that I would still feel uncomfortable with the idea of travelling abroad, and it was with a slight sense of dread that I looked at my diary at the start of this month, seeing the week of the sixth to the twelfth blocked out. I would fly from Cork to Amsterdam, then catch a connecting flight to Berlin.
Days later, I would take another flight to Venice, then, finally, I would fly home from Bergamo. I hadn’t been on an aeroplane since February 2020 and this itinerary seemed — excuse the pun — foreign to me.
Before anyone in aviation calls for my head on a pike, I’m aware it’s been an incredibly difficult time and they are doing Trojan work to ensure the industry gets back on its feet as quickly (and as safely) as possible.
I will preface this by saying this is only my experience but I did find it rather nerve-wracking.
All flights bar one were completely full; on the flight to Venice, an air steward made the announcement pre take-off that there were “too many people” on board and walked through the cabin checking everyone’s boarding passes.
To make matters worse, upon landing in Berlin, my eyes and nose began streaming like I had a bad case of hay fever, worsening that evening until I was struggling to see.
After the flight to Venice, my right eye became so swollen, I had to see the festival’s trainee doctor and get an antibiotic cream and antihistamines. What was going on? Had I become allergic to aeroplanes?
Then I reminded myself — when has air travel ever been an enjoyable experience? Unless you’re wealthy enough to fly first class, it has always been a necessary evil, something to grit your teeth and endure. It’s worth it, we say, because of what waits for us at the other side.
And so, it was again this week. The last time I had been in Berlin was two days after my grandmother’s funeral in 2019 — another work trip — and I had spent most of that visit hiding out in my hotel room, crying. I had much to make up for.
My first day in the city was free and so I walked and walked and walked, going to Checkpoint Charlie and the Assisi Panorama of the Berlin Wall and the Topography of Terror and the Pergamon Museum. I visited the Hamburger Bahnhof, a modern art museum, and realised it was my first time in a gallery since the start of 2020.
As I stared at an installation made of flesh and wax, a whirling, intoxicating portrayal of a religious festival in honour of St Agatha, I was completely overwhelmed. After 18 months of solitude, its garish colours and brash music were intoxicating, a sensory overload.
In Mantova, a fairy-tale like city with cobbled streets and Renaissance architecture, I hid from the midday sun and ate gelato, the ice-cream dripping onto my hand as I watched young couples holding hands and toddlers running away from their parents.
My event was sold out, a crowd mostly made up of young women fanning themselves under an open-air canopy. There was a ripple of laughter at a joke I made and I almost started. I’m sure people who work in the performing arts will empathise but after a year of Zoom events, I was out of practice at speaking in front of a live audience.
Afterwards, in the signing queue, the young women told me about their favourite books and characters and then, in quiet, quick whispers, they told me their stories — eating disorders and abuse, assault and trauma.
They were so young, I said to my wonderful Italian publisher afterwards, to have experienced such pain. I had forgotten what it was like to be trusted with such stories, forgotten what it was like to be witness to those sorrows. But I had also forgotten what a privilege it was, and how humbling too.
This is a solitary job and most of the time that suits me. But it was good to be reminded that I am not writing into a void, that the work meets readers where they are and sometimes, it might do some good. It might have some meaning, after all.
Given it was the 20th anniversary last Saturday, perhaps it’s not surprising that I spent the last week immersed in 9/11 journalism. I highly recommend the 9/12 podcast on Wondery, which examines the ripple effect the attacks had on American culture, and the book, The Only Place in the Sky: An Oral History of 9/11 by Garrett M. Graff.
If you’re also taking a flight any time soon, you can offset your carbon footprint with Vita Ireland. They will use your donation to support their life-transforming programmes on the ground in African countries. See vita.ie.
