Did I say I’d be sleeping on an A380? Hmm. About that..
Even getting on it took a while. The gate lounge opened so I grabbed my bags and walked up to the security checkpoint, started emptying my pockets. The guy asked to see my boarding pass then told me to go away again for an hour. No idea if that meant they had two flights using that same gate lounge or whether some passengers could go into it an hour earlier than others.
I used the hour to interact with water, both ingestion and disposal.
This time the security check was permitted, quick and painless, and I sat typing emails on my phone waiting to board. Opposite me a man had leopard print leggings on, with padded camo gaiters or leg warmers. They’re not a practical design for gaiters but look padded and water resistant which is not traditional for leg warmers. It was an interesting look with his flip flops and socks.
I caught the eye of a pretty woman, around 30, stood by a wall looking alert and impatient. My seat juddered, a man flopping down into the one next to it then leaning forwards, invading my space. He stood again and joined the queue of three people waiting to board, none of them boarding. A few minutes later people in wheelchairs are allowed to board, each of them wearing a bright yellow circular sticker, around 5 inches in diameter. Even without six distinct points they’re immediately evocative, a public label declaring their wearers are different.
Everybody else boards by group. I miss mine because I’m filling in the landing card before we even take off. I worry whether a ‘yes’ to an environmental protection question will cause me problems in Sydney: I wrote online about walking up a river, it’d be hard to deny it to Australian border staff.
When I do board I find my seat is right next to that attractive woman. She’s extremely polite and accommodating, makes space in the overhead bin for my bag so that I can sit down. We’re on the middle bank of seats, four of them, a man on one aisle, an empty seat and then me. She has the other aisle seat beside me, sits reading her book as we take off.
I had nobody in front or behind so reclined my seat and tried to sleep. I did manage a few minutes slumber, enough to miss dinner, but not enough to count as a sleep. She did have dinner then slept, earplugs and eye mask. This stopped me standing and moving around all flight so I was sore when we reached Sydney. The cabin crew flatter me, think I’m with the attractive lady, look for me to make a decision for her regarding breakfast.
At Sydney my honesty caused me problems. Yes, I had been walking in a river in Vietnam. Yes, I’d cleaned my shoes since. Twice. “Please join that queue” from three different people, three different queues. I must have looked fraught by the end, as I stood in the final queue a border official walked up to me.
“Returning or visiting?” then on my response an assurance, “Wont be long now, have a great visit.”
A dog scampers past, back, jumps up on the trolley of the woman in front of me, gets a verbal “Well done!” and a bag taken from the trolley. It’s put onto another one further up the queue, gets jumped on again. The bag is hidden and the dog scampers past again, this time not jumping up at anything. Finally we’re allow to stop queuing and I enter Australia.
If flights can be infuriating they still can’t match car hire for raw soul destroying loss of autonomy. Car hire at the airport, except that they had no counter, no shuttle bus, no signs anywhere. I tracked down an internet connection, found the booking, dug out the ‘voucher’ (which is just a web page. Stop misusing terms like that!) It said I had to call for a pick-up, a freephone number or one for international calls. A lady on the information desk generously rang the freephone number for me, handing me the receiver on connection. They told me I was early but to follow the green signs and someone would pick me up, or I could ring again in 90 minutes. I said to pick me up now, I’d rather wait at their office.
The green signs were clear led to a small outdoor carpark with a constant stream of taxis and other vehicles pulling in, picking up passengers and moving off again. None of them had the car hire company’s branding. After 20 minutes I guessed she’d decided to make me wait until 10.30 anyway (my car hire booking stating 11am because of the fun I’d had in Morocco. 10.30am came but no pick up. I didn’t want to walk back to the terminal in case I missed them so invested £6 in an international call to their office. “Which airport are you at?” got a terse and tired answer which seemed to suffice but also led to new information: Apparently I’d been given pick-up directions for the domestic flights terminal. For pick-up directions at the International Terminal I needed to follow the yellow signs instead. He promised a branded vehicle would be there in 15 minutes.
The first three of those minutes were spent finding a different open air carpark. The next thirty of them were spent grumpily looking at every single vehicle entering it, around one every 15-20 seconds, and seeing no car hire branding on any of them. I decided to return to the terminal, find out how much car hire would cost from the companies with desks there; it would probably be cheaper than calling these clowns again. Just as I was leaving the parking area I saw on the road approaching it a van with my car hire company’s branding on it so decided to gamble and walk back. It was a slim lady coming to collect me.
The car itself is weird, as it has back seats. I’m not used to this. It also doesn’t have automatic headlights but does have a reversing camera.
By then the lack of sleep was really hitting me so I decided to head to the hotel, see if they’d give me a bed. Satnav via my phone, an offline map, the risk of traffic and roadworks better than the cost of roaming data. I have it configured to avoid toll roads where possible which will be why 25 minutes after turning on the engine I could see the opera house, from the bridge, which charges a toll. Sigh. The view from the bridge was extremely shite though, all the way across. I was disappointed.
The hotel found me a room. I dropped my bags and found a shopping centre. Woolworths in Australia is still a brand, and is a general purpose supermarket. 9 litres of water proved a cumbersome and painful burden for the walk back to the hotel, but I suspect I’ll be glad of it in the days to come. I stopped for lunch before walking back, choosing a classic Australian brand. In my defence the other choices were no better, I didn’t fancy Nandos and trying to drive somewhere would have led to me sleeping at the wheel. I had the $14 lunch discount burger and an ice cream.
To get to the shopping centre I’d walked through a university campus, a hospital, a carpark, an actual park. Twice I’d approached 20 year old women, my “Excuse me” being ignored without even a look but my, “Do you know which way I should go for…” getting useful directions both times. The 20 year old man I’d also approached was listening and engaged from the “Excuse me”. When you’re on a university campus (or in a shopping centre trying to work out which direction to go to find the right floor and exit to get back to one) 20 year olds are far more likely to know the answer than random old people. I have no scientific backing for this, just the anecdotal evidence that a random old person was having to ask for directions.
After South East Asia it’s nice to be in a country where everything feels normal. I’m sure that over the next few days the oddities will stand out but the people are kind of normal, the accents just another regional variation, the shops and streets entirely familiar.
They also drive on the left hand side of the road but that’s true of 5 of the 7 countries I’ve been in so far on this trip. This is also the fourth country of the trip to use dollars as their official currency, but none of the four have agreed on whose dollars to use.
Although I only walked 6km today that’s on top of 11km (at the airport) yesterday, far too many hours unable to stretch or move properly and the knee killing shuffling in airport queues. My knees are in pain and distress.
I want to include a map of today’s drive but none of the online mapping tools make it quick or easy – they all want to show directions that take into account traffic, roadworks and other factors, instead of letting me go “Get from A to B, and yeah, I passed through C and D on the way”. Bah.
Tonight’s hotel is one that I chose. Spot the difference.
Ok, I cheated. The difference is what I can see and walk into when I open the patio doors behind those curtains.
It’s not even a hotel. I didn’t actually realise this when I booked it but I’m staying at the Graduate School of Management of Macquarie University. The bit that they do describe as Hotel and Executive Conference Centre. You can tell it’s for executives because they have a small lounge in which there’s free coffee, snacks and soft drinks (e.g. cans of coke) available all the time.
The room’s phone is a full scale business IP turret.
Anyway I managed to stay awake until 9.30pm, just a post-lunch nap to put my night’s sleep at risk, so time to get an early night, make sure I’m awake for tomorrow. Even the direct route is a 4 1/2 drive and that’s going to be just the average for the next six days. On the plus side, I’m going to Gracelands!