STYLE AND TRAVEL
Club class
Julia Hollander leaves her hair shirt at the departure gate Iwant to tell you about my vow of celibacy. For three years I have abstained from that most compulsive of desires — air travel. I have turned down luxury writing gigs abroad, a visit to a long-lost friend in Australia, a holiday in the US. At four times the price, I have spent two whole days on a train to Vienna rather than join my family for two hours on a filthy plane.
People find it hard to comprehend. I say — carbon footprint; I say — conscience; they say — convenience. At the outset, I thought I could persuade them to join me — if we all stop flying, I urged, we can radically reduce our greenhouse gas emissions. Forget changing the light-bulbs or shopping at the farmers’ mar ket — this is the most positive thing we can do to try to avert terrifying climate change.
Passions flew. Friends accused me of invading moral realms that were strictly personal and private. Even the most conscientious and well-informed started ranting about Rights and Freedoms. I became tearful. When one long-haul addict scoffed that volcanoes rather than aeroplanes were to blame for global warming, I lost my rag — ‘I hope your children will be the first to starve to death!’ I realised I had to be patient — it would take time to persuade people that temperance was good for them. I had to accept that my con viction was by no means the norm. I needed to be calm and rational, stop preaching and start reading up on the facts. Soon enough, people would appreciate my carbon-conscious company.
One example of this new approach was when I informed a neighbour that the new draught-proofing would do little to reduce her carbon footprint: no more than one tonne of CO2 a year, whereas if she stopped taking her family on meditation courses to India, they could save nearly 40. A year later she is still not speaking to me.
I don’t seem able to avoid offending people. I try convincing them that abstinence is a positive experience — I remind them of the old-fashioned romance of train travel, the g l a m our of yachting holidays. But they always suspect a subtext of austerity and deprivation. The only time my air-travel celibacy becomes acceptable is when I assume the role of confessor to the penitent. Shame-faced, they arrive on the doorstep — ‘I know it’s pathetic, but we’re holidaying in the Bahamas this year; I wish we had the strength to say no’; or, ‘I just can’t cope with another holiday like last summer’s washout in Cornwall — the kids were a complete nightmare.’ Sometimes I am offered a pledge: ‘This is the last time — you are my witness, Julia. I’ve bought a couple of £1 flights to Ibiza, but after that no more. I promise.’ Then I discover on the grapevine that this friend has forgotten to tell me about several more bargain breaks.
I hate fielding everyone’s guilt. It reminds me that what I am doing is lonely, and somehow (in their eyes) deeply sad. I object to my status as the local hair-shirter. What good is it, anyhow? I meant it to be a group effort, but after all this time I am still one vestal virgin among thousands of revellers. From what I can see, our government is positively encouraging the party: its grand plan is to expand the air industry by 100 per cent in ten years. And who will be jumping on those extra jets? Everyone I know.
Enough. I have made up my mind: after three years of solitary sustainability, I need to be normal again, have the same carbon footprint as everybody else. Air travel is cheap; it’s convenient; it’s de rigueur. I am off to rejoin the high life, until the fuel runs out or some killjoy politician decides to penalise us. If you want to know the details, next week I am flying to a gorgeous castle in deepest Tuscany. Then there’s the weekend in Ibiza — I’m not missing out on my fair share of that. And a few long-haul flights to catch up on lapsed friendships. Hurrah. It will be such a relief. I shall be free again; just another sinner in the orgy of the skies. I willingly abandon myself to airport queues and the risk of lost baggage. I shall revel in the thrill of getting somewhere fast, leaving behind me a glorious trail of noxious gases. Hell, if the world is going to burn, then at least I won’t be on my own.
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