*As told by his mum, Klaudia

Island life is beautiful but sometimes, it aches. Just a few weeks ago, my son Stefan attended a workshop organised by Aurigny with Rob Sweeney. To most people it may have been just a day. To him, it was everything. He came home glowing talking about engines, cockpits, wings, takeoffs. His eyes were shining in a way only pure passion can make them shine. He doesn’t just like planes he loves them.

Flying, for him, isn’t transport. It’s magic. What makes this even more special is that for a long time, flying wasn’t magical to me. I was afraid. Living on Alderney means the sky is part of daily life. But fear doesn’t disappear just because you live on an island. And yet, because of Stefan because of the way he grips my hand excitedly before takeoff, because of the way he watches every landing with wonder instead of worry I have slowly, flight by flight, overcome that fear. He gave me courage without even knowing he was doing it. But our love story isn’t just about planes. It’s about the people waiting on the other side of the water.  

When we first moved to Alderney, Stefan met a little boy who would become his best friend. They grew up side by side school runs, playdates, birthday parties, muddy shoes, giggles that echo through the house. The kind of friendship that becomes woven into childhood itself. Recently, that best friend moved to Guernsey. There’s something quietly heartbreaking about watching your child miss someone.  

The way Stefan still talks about him. The way he asks when we can go. The way he counts sleeps until the next visit. Childhood feels long when you’re in it but as parents we know how quickly it slips through our fingers. And I don’t want distance to steal any more of those shared moments than it already has.  

Our daughter Ellie has her own story too. Her little best friend and a sibling of Stefans’ best friend has been in her life almost since the day she was born just two months between them. They learned to sit, toddle, talk and laugh together. Now that little friend also lives across the water. And while they’re still small, one day they’ll understand that missing feeling more clearly too. Flights between our islands aren’t just journeys. They are reunions. They are hugs at arrivals. They are children running towards each other like no time has passed. A year of free interisland travel wouldn’t just be a prize. It would mean:  

  • Best friends growing up together, not apart  
  • Spontaneous “can we just go today?” visits  
  • Less counting sleeps 

Love is in the air.