Just recently as I was gazing out the window of a plane at 35,000 feet, mesmerised by the snow-capped peaks below, it dawned on me how different my husband and I are in our attitude to travel. Now in his defence, he does have to travel a lot more than I do and often has to meet work deadlines en route, but all things considered, we do take a very different approach to travel and he acts the same whether travelling for business or pleasure.

It begins at the airport as soon as we step inside the terminal. My husband, who is not usually one to rush, suddenly changes into a possessed man on a mission, which means that everything has to be done at triple the speed, including check in, clearing immigration, getting to the gate, and especially boarding the plane, lest we miss out on that prime overhead bin space. I end up doing a half skip and run in an attempt to keep up with him, my carry on bag zig-zagging all over the place and my handbag slipping off my shoulder as I see the back of his head disappear around yet another corner. The same procedure occurs in reverse at the destination. It’s imperative we get off the plane in record-breaking time, clear customs, pick up our bags and exit the terminal before the person in row 45 has exited the plane.

I love to sit at the window and watch the cotton-wool fluffiness of the clouds; the tiny ships like small dots in the vast expanse of ocean; the patchwork quilt of dry brown desert interrupted by blocks of verdant lushness; the reflection of the sun on the metal of the aeroplane. I can spend hours lost in the thoughts each scene evokes.

Then turning away from the window there are the faces of the others travelling to the same destination; a collection of life’s stories compounded into one small space for this particular moment in time, yet barely a story shared.

When we travel these days we have become so disconnected from the actual journey and from those who are journeying with us. Our eyes are focussed on screens which seem to capture our attention so much more than even the pages of a book.

I remember a time when it was considered impolite not to engage in conversation with the person next to you. Now we just sit in suspended animation with plugs in our ears, engrossed in whatever Hollywood has determined we must see, or else we frantically type emails so they are ready to send as soon as the inflight wi-fi is turned on, so we can meet our deadlines. We are contactable even at 30,000 feet and I don’t know if that’s a good thing …

As I type, my husband has just left on yet another trans-Pacific flight. I can guarantee that the minute he got on the plane— that’s after sprinting through the procedures outlined above— his noise-cancelling headphones would have been out of his bag and stuck into his ears, as he simultaneously scrolled through the list of new-release movies. He would have been ready to roll even before the flight safety announcements were over. He may or may not have acknowledged the person seated next to him.