When The Journey Becomes The Destination

by Ellie Whitaker, The Crossroads Gazette Staff Reporter

My excitement at this week's adventure knew no bounds. Partly because I'm not much of a world traveler, preferring to drive to destinations rather than fly, and partly because this trip took me to Costa Rica.

Since driving wasn't really an option, but I wanted to see my friend, Brooke, in her newfound home, I resigned myself to cramped air travel and long layovers at busy airports. She, however, had other ideas. 

When she caught wind of my travel plans, she refused to let me get on a commercial airliner to come see her in Puerto Maravilla. I received instructions to go meet my new favorite pilot at the local airport and board the private jet he flew in on. 

Telling Brooke no isn't an easy thing to do. I learned that our first week together in college. She is a force of nature, but not in a bad way. She usually just has an idea of how things should happen and the funds to make it happen. Air travel is no different.

So, I didn't argue too much and drove myself to the private hangars at Charlotte International Airport, where I met up with Ezra Chastain once again.

As you know from last week, I've been in Ezra's plane once before, but I didn't get to enjoy the passenger cabin. 

The difference to a commercial airliner is a stark one. 

First off, the seat. It was real, buttery-soft leather in a shade of cream usually reserved for linen pants. It swallowed me up, cushioning every inch of my body. Buttons on the side controlled not just the seat back, but also a foot rest that turned it into a recliner. 

Positioned in front of me was a solid oak table, which was perfect for jotting down thoughts for this article. In between the snacks and meals, of course, which were superb.  

Shortly after we took off, the flight attendant appeared and offered me a snack and a drink. I don't know why I was expecting a Diet Coke and a package of Biscoff cookies, but that was not what I received. She brought me a sparkling tropical juice and a plate of nuts, cheese, and grapes. 

On real dinnerware.

And that was just the beginning.

Realizing I didn’t have a stranger in the seat beside me, or even one anywhere else on the plane, save the flight attendant, I kicked off my shoes and stretched out, drafting notes, reading a few chapters in my book, and just enjoying the space.

At one point, just before Diane—the flight attendant—served lunch, I unbuckled and asked if I could explore the back of the plane. She waved a hand and told me to go for it, so I wandered to the rear of the aircraft and the private suite that took up the entire back half. Up until that point, I had never seen a full-size bed on an aircraft. Or a dresser, but this plane had both. The only thing out of place and keeping it from looking like a posh hotel room was the extra-long seatbelt stretched across the cream bedcovers.

Returning to my seat, I dined on fresh Caesar salad, grilled chicken so tender it fell apart on my fork, and a selection of vegetables roasted to perfection. I chased it down with more of the delightful tropical juice.

Ezra stepped out briefly just before we descended into Golfito to land. We exchanged a few pleasant words and then he was gone again, leaving me to wonder how something so complex could so effortlessly pilot itself in his absence.

Dinner arrived not long after, and I hesitate to even call it that, because it implies something reheated and forgettable. This was neither. Warm, thoughtfully plated, and served with the kind of quiet attentiveness that makes you feel like the only passenger that matters.

As we swept into Costa Rican airspace, I buckled into my seat and watched the deep greens of the jungle, contrasting bright blue waters, and pale beaches grow larger in the window. It was the cap on a flight that already felt like a destination, rather than a means to get to one.

There was one downside to the flight, though. I’ve been ruined for commercial air travel forever.

Want to visit Brooke’s world, meet Ezra, and learn more about what brought her to Costa Rica? Read Ford’s Fight!