The seats leave the floor. The picture does the rest.

You are in a flying theatre: a row of hanging seats in front of a curved screen about 20 metres across. It is not a plane and it is not a wheel. Once the belts lock, the film runs about eight minutes. Before that there is a pre-show. Treat both as part of the load.

Pre-show

The lobby reel is the safety talk. Bags, phones, who should walk out. I watched people talk through it and then freeze when the row lifted. If a child is under the height mark, this is the last easy exit. Hats that will fly, come off. If a buckle needs help, say so before we rise.

Seats and air

The row climbs, then it leans with the camera. No spin. Dives load the gut. Turns load one side. Wind is on a cue. Fog sits low. Scent is piped — resin, salt, sometimes a sweet note on a holiday cut. Guests who hate surprise air should know that in the lobby, not in the dark.

What it actually feels like

Dense, not long. The first minutes do most of the work while the dome still feels bigger than the room. After that it is coastline, pass, city — depending on the cut. Your inner ear does the overtime. Ferry-fine people still tap out here. That is hardware, not nerve.

If looking down already bothers you, do not sit. Walk the plaza instead. The inlet is still there on solid boards.

When the doors open

Stand a minute. Corridor light is ordinary; your stomach may not be. Water helps. A second load in the same hour usually does not. Then you are back on the pier and the gulls are louder than the track.

Nina Kowalski · Former flying-theatre crew, Canada Place