Opinion / Robert Bound
Trip off the tongue
If you can get over the fact that some of the most menacing scenes in movie history have conjured weird magic from an innate human fear of corridors (The Shining, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Oldboy), then you might have sprung over the first hurdle in your return to flying somewhere on holiday. “Travel corridors” (or “air bridges”) have been proposed as direct routes between places with low rates of coronavirus. This will allow for relatively easy passage between, for example, northern Europe and the beaches of Mallorca. These alleyways of opportunity have been talked-up by the Portugese and Spanish foreign affairs and tourism ministries and mentioned in dispatches by the UK prime minister.
In terms of a naming strategy, the jetpacks-for-everyone utopianism of “air bridge” is favourable, suggesting a travelator in the clouds that ends directly at a table in the shade at Sa Foradada in Deià or the beach at Cascais. Nice. “Travel corridor”, however, will surely strike fear into the heart of anyone who’s landed at Heathrow Terminal 4 and made the 3,000km expedition through linoleum-floored purgatory to reach the taxi rank (eat your heart out, Mr Kubrick).
The possibility of being beamed across oceans has tickled the imaginations of both Stephen Hawking and the creators of the Japanese animation Doraemon, whose mystical “dokodemo” or “anywhere” door whizzes the eponymous character’s rotund feline form anywhere it desires. Thinking about it, a sort of a magical Tube station that took you directly to Costa Careyes in Mexico or the sun terrace atop St Moritz’s Piz Nair would certainly be something worth topping up the Monocle travelcard for.
In the end, it’s laudable and vital to reopen routes, wheel out the postcard carousels and lay tables with an eye to stemming losses and spreading joy again. But let us in at the branding stage and we’ll happily work out a streamlined solution. Until you call, I’ll be busy outlining my metro map of paradise islands linked by swaying palms.