Antwerp to Tallinn - Grounded: A Down to Earth Journey Around the World - page 17

identical train journey does. What's more, the airplane deposits its CO 2 directly into the upper atmosphere,
where it will do more damage.
Airports, too, have become focal points for environmentalist scorn. The chemicals used to deice planes
in wintertime may contaminate nearby water sources. Also, airports often get built in isolated, exurban
areas—necessitating new highways, new traffic jams, and new sprawl. By contrast, building a downtown
train station can actually revitalize a city neighborhood.
Most travelers ignore the environmental impacts of flying, either out of obliviousness or indifference or
because they refuse to live without the convenience. But awareness is slowly building. Some fliers attempt
to offset their carbon emissions by donating money to organizations that plant trees or engage in other eco-
do-gooder activities. Others limit their carbon footprint simply by vacationing closer to home.
A few brave souls, our spiritual comrades, have vowed to use only surface transport. One British news-
paper recently ran a travel story addressing the fledgling “overland tourism” trend that's resulted. “In the
1960s people chose not to fly because air travel was too expensive,” writes The Independent . “These days,
a growing band of travellers are choosing not to fly because of the environmental cost of their journey.”
Environmentalist or not, you may at some point be forced to confront a world without cheap, regular
airline service. A couple of years back, a mechanical engineering professor at Stanford theorized that air
travel as we know it is going extinct. Consider: While there are realistic alternatives for powering surface
transport (cars and trains can already be run on electricity), no one has yet found an economically viable
way to operate a large fleet of jets without using massive amounts of petroleum.
Experiments are afoot—again, Richard Branson and Virgin Atlantic seem to be in the forefront—but it's
still not clear whether it will be possible to create a biofriendly, sustainable form of jet travel. Gravity is
a tough customer, and it never gives up the fight. To beat it, you need to eat up a whole lot of energy. If
the price of crude oil gets way out of hand—and no one figures out how to power jets with, say, vegetable
grease—flying could eventually turn into a luxury affordable only for the rich, as it was in its early days.
It's not inconceivable that middle-class travelers would literally be grounded. The clock would turn back
to that relatively recent age when trains and ships still ruled the earth.
Which means Rebecca and I are both pioneers and historical reenactors. We're traveling as folks did in
the past, and as they might again one day in the future. Ground-bound, while the rest of the world zips by
thirty-five thousand feet overhead.
WHEN I was packing for this trip, a large segment of my effort centered on how best to erase all traces
of my nationality. Not out of any distaste for America, but rather from a desire to blend in wherever I go.
So: No shorts with white sneakers and tube socks—which, in addition to looking super dorky, is a dead
giveaway that you're North American. Likewise, no baseball caps or recognizable brand logos. Instead, my
wardrobe consists entirely of drab, muted colors and conservative cuts. My clothes were all chosen based
on their ability to deflect attention—much as a Stealth Bomber deflects radar pings.
The first test of my camouflage comes in Cologne. We get off the Thalys here and walk around a bit as
we're waiting to connect with our next train. We're strolling across a large public square outside the sta-
tion when a woman asks me, in German, for the time. I wordlessly angle my watch into her sightline. She
thanks me—once again, in German.
To you, this may seem an inconsequential moment. To me, it is a hugely gratifying accomplishment. I've
been mistaken for European! My disguise is a success. I've slipped off the shackles of national identity and
now tread the road as the anonymous everytraveler.
Sadly, despite my best efforts, there's one element of my carriage that I fear I'll never be able to fully
denature: my big, loose, floppy American walk. Americans, as a rule, walk large. We live in an enormous