My flights across the Andes, as it turned out, were among the calmest, most serenely beautiful of my life. On the return trip to Santiago, the sun was setting, and the high peaks floated by soundlessly below, lit amber and violet like corals beneath a glass-bottomed boat. “There are no words to describe it,” a flight attendant from Santiago told me later. “Where else do they have mountains like these?” Still, she said, on a flight across the Andes a year earlier she was shaken up so badly that she couldn’t fly over them again for a while. “I was scared for three months,” she said. Another flight attendant insisted that she wasn’t afraid of turbulence at all. “I’m super used to it,” she said, then added, “But we should not lose the fear of turbulence. If you get too much used to it, you can make mistakes. You can be, like, ‘No, it’s nothing,’ and then paff! ”
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