I took my first airplane flight alone when I was 5 years old, a 5 hour flight. It was much to my mums dismay, but my parents lived in separate countries and I was an adamant little shit and apparently didn’t shut up about wanting to visit my dad. We didn’t have enough money to pay for 2 tickets, just for 1 child, so off I went! 5 years old, on my own, on a big metal flying machine.
Sending a 5 year old into the world without their parents wasn’t as scary as you’d think, I was happy to go and all went very well until my flight back to London. I was seated first and was happily looking out the window at the airport goings on on the tarmc when two large men in drapes with big hats and beards came and sat next to me (they were hacidic jews with all the garments and in the end were very lovely people). I burst into hysterical tears! I was terrified. Albeit not as terrified as the men who couldn’t figure out who this lone child belonged to or why she was screaming at them that her dad was still in the airport when they asked where her parents were. There was a commotion of confused adults for a while wondering what to do with the lost 5 year old until the air stewardess came and calmed everyone down and moved me to my own row where I couldn’t scare any one else. For the next 25 years I would do this airplane trip and many others, alone and loving everything about it! From the airport to the plane food, I had caught the travel bug!