I have a thing for Zeppelins. They make a shiver run down my spine. They are like cloudships, like the Queen Mary of an age that lasted far to short.
Zeppelins combine flying with majesty. A jet or a vintage passenger airplane like the Tante Ju simply cannot compare. Only a Zeppelin, a classic Zeppelin, shimmers and beams like that in the light o the sun, casts a shadow on the landscape and swimms through the clouds like a surrealist whale in a magnificent work of art.
It is also a reminder of a time with less need for speed. It was alright to take days to get from one continent to the other. Also, I always have the picture of the bridge/cockpit of a Zeppelin in my mind’s eye. The scene of a breathtaking view on a beautiful landscape with the sun just setting or rising (and preferably a fleet of Zeppelins for added feel, awe and show-off-value).
The reality actually looked something more like this:
I am completely aware of this. I am not that romantic. Obviously, it is not a place where you can stand proudly like Grand Moff Tarkin does on the bridge of the Death Star.