Seattle highs #1: the Museum of Flight

Leonardo da Vinci was apparently the first human to seriosuly toy with the idea of constructing a a machine that could lift humankind off the ground, and for a short spell of time place us among the creatures of the skies. We know he translated the idea onto parchment, but he didn't become the first human to successfully escape the downward pull of gravity.

The dignified, elegantly clad guide at the Museum of Flight, some kilometres away from our hotel, relayed this and dozens of other interesting glimpses into the astounding story of how humans gradually conquered the atmospheric realm. The Museum itself is located well outside of the Seattle city centre, and forms a practical, symbiotic unity between past and present, between the adjacent airfield utilised to test new flying machines of today, and the imposing structure used to store, and showcase, the scintillating achievements of yesterday.

Getting to the museum was easy as the local bus service can take visitors virtually right to the doorsteps leading to the main entrance. To our great relief we never had to deal with cumbersome, behemoth-like lines of people craning their necks to see what we wanted to see, as there were surprisingly few visitors the day we chose to go and see these wonders of the human imagination.

THE GENTEEL GUIDE LEADS THE WAY

And so it was that we spent the first half hour trudging after our grey-haired, friendly American unimpeded by the throng of people we had anticipated. In his richly sonorous voice, the one-time Boeing employee would lay bare the details of how Leonardo's first sketches proved such an immense inspiration to successive generations of engineers and inventors. The younger members of our party probably understood very little, but, thankfully, the various replicas of enginerial art hang suspened in mid-air, almost a hands-on lesson in themselves, making the mysteries accessible even to our children - despite the obvious language barrier.

"Don't miss our collection of planes from World War II", were the parting words as we prepared to investigate the rest of the museum unaided on this quest to satisfy our awakened curiosity. And in the end we were far from let down. Inside the various buildings comprising the museum are airplanes of seemingly any shape, size amd time period. I was particularly intrigued by the restored model dating from 1928 that had been the very first airplane to navigate the skies carrying people as well as mail across this vast country. Its interior revealed a frugal provision of cosy, almost pleasureable, space accomodating eight people in all.

Entry into the aircraft was strictly prohibited, of course, not because it was guarding some national secret still, but, understandably, due to the risks of both tear and wear caused by tiny hands as well as the less likely spontaneous acts of vandalism. But I could easily imagine what excitement and trepidation the passengers an board must have experienced as the plane soared towards the clouds. Turbulence was a troll ready to strike any time back then as well.

ENTERING THE WAR ZONE

After a short intermission involving the intake of food and drink, our group split into severel small units as we proceeded to view the other remaining halls exhibiting past glories of metal. For reasons too many to mention, my nine-year old son and I meandered slowly into the hall that houses the museum's collection of WW2 planes. "Don't miss it", our guide had gently admonished us, and we were certainly not going to miss this life-.time opportunity to scan these harbingers of death and liberation.

The very first thing that struck me, was that the planes were generally much larger than I had expected them to be. I had never before been in such awe-inspiring proximity to these aviation gems, and I counted myself lucky not to have been part of the mass of people who at one time must have glanced fearfully into the sky, awaiting the deadly unloading of cargo from one of the huge bomber planes. I readily admire the ingenuity that brought about the planes, but deeply deplore the necessary use of such inventions to cause untold harm and terror.

The Museum of Flight definitively proved to be money well spent. And if I can ever go back, I will probably revisit the spot from which I can stare at the 1928 pioneer plane once dominating the then sparsely populated airspace. Maybe, if I hold my breath, I will be able to hear still, small voices of apprehension and delight?