Is this seat taken?

So my bags are packed and I’m almost ready to go… just waiting on that darn visa, which will hopefully be in my possession tomorrow morning. Lucky for me, Mr Spencer (aka D) has taught me some French, will be sure to get me out of any tricky situation – “Quell amusement! J’aime du sport advonteur!” which translated means “What fun! I love adventure sports”. Brilliant.

I’ve only just started getting used to the idea of travelling solo – and this will be my first international trip by my lonesome. Although a single girl jetting off on her ace to France sounds like something out of Marion Keyes novel – I’ve learnt that this is never how things actually turn out.

Take flying for example… Darryl Bristow-Bovey had a chapter in his book ‘The Naked Bachelor’ about flying and the attractive stranger (Note that I actually mention that I read about this concept in his book – very un-Darryl Bristow-Bovey-like behaviour!).
Every time I fly alone, I take my seat and watch the passengers as they file through the aisles looking for their row. And every time – with endless optimism – I see one or two attractive strangers and believe, even if it’s only for a split second, that one of them will be sitting next to me. Then I see him – the overweight 60-something alcoholic with BO whose eyes light up as he shuffles through the aisle and squeezes in next to me.

This has been my pattern for every flight I’ve ever been on – with the exception of one trip…

It was last year - I had just been on a media trip from Joburg to CT on the Blue Train and was flying back home. I was feeling a little disorientated after the motion of the train – and I’m not a great flyer at the best of times, so I knew that I wasn’t going to be in a good place at several thousand feet above sea level.

So I took my seat… and then I saw them moving through the aisles. It was a group of models flying from CT to JHB and then onto Zanzibar for a photo shoot. Next to me was the most gorgeous male model I had ever seen – he was American with dark hair and dark eyes and a ‘fall-over-and-die-from-the-sheer-fabulousness-of-it-all’ body. Across the aisle from me was another model that made the one right next to me look like an average Joe.

Finally… my day had come.

And then we took off… and I started to feel distinctly dodgy. It was at this precise moment that the beautiful man next to me decided to try and make conversation. All I could think was “Don’t throw up over the beautiful man… don’t throw up over the beautiful man” – which isn’t exactly conducive to witty and suggestive banter. I had no choice but to put on my iPod, close my eyes, and pretend I was far, far away from the intensely unfair reality of my situation.

I somehow managed to get through the flight without upchucking over the American model – but I know for sure, that was the only ‘attractive stranger on a plane’ experience I’ll ever have. That kind of thing could never happen twice. So wish me luck for my 12 hours of being squished by a skanky, snoring, drunken old man en route to Paris – but at least there’s a pain au chocolat and the Eiffel Tower waiting for me on the other side!