“What is that smell?” one of the passengers asked.
By the time I heard the question, I had already noticed it.
Strong winds brought our plane into Copenhagen. It felt like a roller coaster—rising and falling without warning.
Stomachs lifted and dropped in unison, mine included. I was desperately waiting to land, but one passenger couldn’t wait any longer.
Vomit.
That was the smell. The one we all recognized, but wished we could ignore. And in that moment, something unexpected came to mind—a story about my great-grandfather. During the war, when Russian soldiers were looting in Hungary, they tried to take his boots. Fear took over, and he threw up on them. Just like that, the boots were no longer worth taking. The soldiers left them behind. Strange, what the body does when there’s no time to think. Sometimes, we vomit. Not quite the welcome I expected in Copenhagen.
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