What I learned in a year of not flying

Claire Wordley

Claire studied Zoology at the University of Sheffield, and completed a PhD on the impact of agriculture on tropical bats at the University of Leeds. She has since worked at the RSPB and University of Cambridge, and is now juggling freelance writing and activism. Follow her on Twitter @clairefrwordley

When I was a child, I believed I could fly. I would jump off walls, convinced that I had hovered for a moment on the last jump and that if I kept practicing, I would soar into the sky. 

As an adult, I swapped dreams of self-powered flight for jet-fuelled fantasies. I bought flights even when I couldn’t afford to and began a career in tropical biology and conservation, travelling around the world. Even when I had a job without fieldwork, I pushed to attend far-flung conservation conferences. Travelling was part of my identity, and I wasn’t willing to give it up.

At one of those conferences I met my now-boyfriend, who was working in Berlin and invited me to visit from the UK. Soon, we were seeing each other every month or two. I felt twinges of guilt about flying but, I rationalised, it was a drop in the ocean - and the plane was going anyway.

I was good at rationalising. I never owned a car, hadn’t eaten meat for decades, recycled, and worked in conservation; I saw flying as my one little eco-vice. I often flew to study wild animals or spread conservation information. Surely my reasons for flying were reasonable, even important? And if the world was going to hell, wasn’t I allowed see its beauty before it went?

In October 2018, I stopped being believing I could keep flying. The IPCC SR 1.5 report sickened and scared me - the impacts of climate breakdown were closer and more severe than I’d allowed myself to realise. I found myself, on a long-haul flight booked a year previously, reading ‘This Changes Everything’ and sobbing. I was so ashamed that while people were putting their freedom at stake to block oil pipelines, I was complicit in burning that oil. 

On that trip I spent a week scuba diving, something that normally brings me pure joy. I floated in an underwater Garden of Eden full of bright corals and creatures that hadn’t learned to be afraid of people; fish darted round my face, turtles ignored me as they grazed, giant mantas soared overhead. I reflected that they should be more scared of us than they were. My presence in their home was bought with their pain; warmer, more acidic oceans are predicted to kill 70-90% of corals at 1.5°C of global heating, and 99% at 2°C. It suddenly hurt too much to fly anymore.

I’m telling you all of this – even though it is not comfortable to recount – because you might see something of yourself in it. This is not a piece about the ills of aviation. They are well documented; flying releases an order of magnitude more greenhouse gases than train travel, is expected to grow 300-700 times by 2050, and offsetting is problematic. There are also huge geographic and generational equity issues involved. Of course, systemic changes are ultimately needed. But this article is not about that; it is about celebrating the ups and downs of staying grounded and supporting people to join in, in the hope that social change can drive structural change. I hope some of this strikes a chord with people accustomed to taking multiple flights per year, who believe as I once did that we can keep flying forever. 

Staying close to home – greater spotted woodpecker at his nest, Berlin / Alfredo Romero-Muñoz

Befriend other non-fliers

I was surprised how defensive many people were when I said I wanted to do Flight Free 2019. They launched into explanations of why they could never quit even though I only mentioned my own behaviour, and I repeatedly said that it was easier for me than for many others. However, other people started sharing overland ticket-buying tips with me, and I love those people unreservedly. The Super Saver page on Deutsche Bahn, cheap yet luxurious trains and buses with RegioJet – other people can help you find everything you need. They can also keep you committed, allow you to enjoy socialising without everyone discussing their latest jet-setting, and make you feel part of a community whose collective actions are having an impact. 

Travel is different without planes

When I first considered going flight-free I persuaded myself that travelling would be more or less the same, just slower and more expensive. I no longer think that’s true, but I’m now more comfortable with the differences. Some things are far better, like rocking up at a station minutes before a train from one (Schengen zone) country to another with no passport checks, baggage scans, or nauseating Duty-Free perfume section. I enjoy the slightly retro vibes; settling in with a book or laptop, sipping good coffee while watching the changing landscape, admiring historic station architecture. I love that food at train stations is often cheap and good, and that you can get beer in a real glass on some services. It’s great to be able to walk around, and the legroom on many intercity trains far exceeds my needs. Not having to weigh everything or splurge on hold baggage is brilliant – I recently took 30 kg of bags 1,000 km and paid nothing extra.

Other things are harder. Many long-distance trains need booking a few months in advance to get the best prices – and are still not super cheap. I travel less often and less far (which, of course, lowers emissions further still). I have friends in parts of Europe that are quick to fly to but hard to travel to over land, and I still dream of trips to the tropics. Most difficult for me is that my boyfriend is from another continent, and won’t stay here forever – ships from Europe to South America are neither cheap nor fast. A trans-Atlantic boat voyage could be great, but it’s definitely not an easy option.

Small but beautiful – ladybird on a toadstool near Воловець, Ukraine / Claire Wordley

Not flying might change your life in big ways – but that’s not necessarily bad

For people who don’t fly much, there might not be much impact from cutting out plane travel. For me, it knocked my life sideways. Avoiding work flights was relatively easy. But I was living in Cambridge, around 1,000 km from the guy I’d decided was the love of my life. I could fly to him for £20-60 return. Trains were minimum £150 return and would take a full day each way. I discussed with my boss whether I could travel less often, but work remotely for longer each trip. However, contemplating making that journey regularly was too much for me. Two months into Flight Free 2019 I gave notice on my job, and soon afterwards moved to Berlin. While there were other factors involved, not flying was a major influence. It was a huge decision, not least financially, but I can honestly say I am happy with it.

Greetings and partings – statue at St Pancras station, London / MikesPhotos from Needpix.com

Get excited by what’s nearby

Having had the ridiculous good fortune to study animals in the tropics, I wondered whether Europe could really thrill me. OK, I moved countries, so everything here is new to me; but weekends camping in East Germany was not high on my wanderlust list. Yet I was as elated to find wolf scat 60 km from Berlin as I was to find tiger pug marks in India. Nesting storks make me stop and gawp every time. Kayaking at dusk, with bats flitting about our heads, we once came upon a wild boar on the riverbank – as enchanting an experience as any I’ve had, and only an hour and a half away by train. I even delight in fungi, lichens, and leaves. I realised the joy of travel is about mindset. If you see a particular experience as exciting, then it is, no matter how nearby or familiar it is.

Paddling your own kayak – ultra-low carbon travel in Spreewald, Germany / Alfredo Romero-Muñoz

Fall in love with your bike

Bike travel is the antithesis of plane travel; slow, self-powered, unscheduled. I only got back in the saddle in my late twenties, but since then have made up for lost time. It is immensely satisfying to pack everything you need to camp onto a bicycle, pick a distant point on a map, and get there in a few hours under the strength of your own legs. I cannot get enough of the childlike joy of racing bikes up hills, panting and jostling to be the first to the top, or the exhilaration of freewheeling downhill so fast there is a tiny streak of fear. And no spa experience can ever equal the feeling of slipping into a cool lake when you are hot and sweaty from cycling in the sun.

I like to ride my bicycle – red squirrel on the author’s bike in Berlin / Alfredo Romero-Muñoz

There is also everything you see up-close and personal thanks to a silent mode of transport. The goshawk that only noticed us when we were almost beneath her branch, the whirl of house martins we rode slowly through as they tended their nests in a brick barn, the clouds of sparrows fluttering noisily from path to bush as we drew near. And, of course, the serendipitous finds of slow travel. Some of the best places we visited were not those we’d planned to go to, but those we stopped at for a break, or because they looked nice and it was easy to slow down and go in. Which brings me to…

Enjoy the stops

Last autumn, a friend invited me on a last-minute wild camping trip to Ukraine. I was surprised I could get there for about €30, but noted that it was going to take about 18 hours. I broke my journey with an overnight stop in Košice, Slovakia, and was delighted to discover a beautiful little town I’d never have seen otherwise. I arrived in Ukraine fresh and well-rested, after a delicious breakfast and a morning wandering around historic monuments. On the way back, I did some sightseeing in Prague. Seeing how Europe changed from west to east made the journey feel more of an adventure, as well as making the travel far more manageable and enjoyable.

See every leg of the journey as an adventure

Flight-free adventures – camping near Міжгір'я, Ukraine / Claire Wordley

I’ll admit I am a bit of a wuss about buses. While I’ve done my share of overnight road trips, my intermittent bus/car sickness means I always prefer trains. To get to Ukraine I couldn’t avoid taking three long buses, which I was pretty apprehensive about. But by the time we were winding through the Carpathians, I was too absorbed by my surroundings to worry about my stomach. Admittedly, the beer I’d downed at the bus stop might have helped, but as the trip went on I realised the advantage of seeing each mode of transport an experience in itself. At one point, there was no bus to the next section of the trail. We took a bus part-way and then tried to hitchhike, but there were no cars on the road. We ended up hiking about 20 km further than we expected to before we caught a lift, but rather than losing a day on the mountains, I felt we gained a day walking through a forest and marvelling at beautiful villages we wouldn’t have seen from the peaks. Once again, a shift in attitude made all the difference.

Start with a bounded decision

It is better to commit to anything for a set time, and be pleased that you manage it, than to feel daunted by a huge commitment and dispirited if you ‘fall off the bandwagon’. For me, it has been a relief to slow down and reassess how I travel. I still haven’t resolved whether I’ll fly again, for example to visit my family if I move continents. But I can manage these uncertainties better knowing that my pledge is, every time, just for one year – I had no hesitation in signing up to Flight Free 2020. Others may not be able to stop altogether for 12 months but might be able to make bounded decisions like ‘I will only fly to see family this year’. 

Ultimately, changing for one year gives you a chance to see how it works for you. For me, the emotional freedom of not wrestling with my cognitive dissonance has proven more important than that afforded by aeroplanes. And that makes my heart soar.

White stork takes a break from the air in Brodowin, Germany / Alfredo Romero-Muñoz