En Route to Oz

December 19 -- This morning Yoka drove me to the airport. Last night I had casually dropped the comment that fog was one of the few weather phenomena that could seriously delay flights out of London. For those not familiar with the literary term for this, it's "foreshadowing".

Fucking London. I mean, one of the biggest international hubs in Europe in the foggiest city. Great idea.

Anyway, my flight, an expensive and gruelling 20-hr journey from Brussels to London to Melbourne on British Airways was about to get much worse. I was rerouted to a series of Thai Air flights: Brussels to Frankfurt to Bangkok to Sydney to Melbourne. This added a day to my trip. Gah.

Me at the airport:
Are upgrades possible? No
Shorter flight plan? No
Meal coupons? No
Ok. Resigned to what was clearly going to be a like-it-or-lump-it adventure, I proceeded to my 1st security check:

Man: Can you open your bag
Me: Sure (opens bag)
Man: You have a bottle of water in here
Me: Yes. Well, no. It's in a water bottle, but it's Curl-Keeper... for my hair
Man: You can not take it
Me: (imagining my hair 40 hours henceforth without it) That's impossible. Look, it's for my hair (puts some in hair. Smiles pathetically and non-effectively)

Man: It is not the hair product... it's that you have it in a 50cl container
Me: Yes, but it's only 1/3 full
Man: It does not matter
Me: (trying to imagine a world where we are all safer without 50cl bottles)... Uh, ok, can I put it in a different container? Do you have a zip-lock baggie (note: I had once smuggled a large bottle of vodka into a music festival in a zip-lock baggie, so I knew it was I was talking about)
Man: I have to call my supervisor
Me: uhhhhhhh...

Man: (explains imminent security threat posed by me and my frizzy hair in Flemish to supervisor)

Me: (smiles pathetically and non-terroristically)... I really need this for my hair. Can I please have a baggie?

Supervisor: (suspiciously hands me zip-lock baggie)

I pour my precious Curl-Keeper into the baggie and immediately have a clear image of it bursting like a water balloon all over my carry-on luggage. I don't yet know it, but in 30 hours I will be using my carry-on luggage as a pillow.
Me: (Staring intensely into the supervisor's eyes) I'm going to need a 2nd baggie.

I'm handed a 2nd baggie and make it past checkpoint #1. So far so good.

Inside the departures lounge, I buy a 50cl bottle of Dasani water that has, apparently, undergone rigorous airport security clearance protocols and is deemed not a terrorist threat.

I wait for my first flight.

I start to realize that this trip will be the longest of my life. I need a plan. All good plans start with an inventory. Here's mine:

Carry-On:
-- Big feather pillow
-- Food: Mandarin oranges (5), Chocolate, Mixed nuts, Cookies
-- Books: Brave New World, Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy, Last Days of Dogtown, and an Aussie travel mag
-- Curlkeeper
-- Earplugs
-- Toiletries bag with usual toiletries
-- Jetlag pills (HAHAHA)
-- Mobile phone
-- iPod, fully charged
-- Digital camera

My flight is announced with the standard

"... to board most efficiently, we ask that only passengers in rows 10-28..."

The entire lounge darts for the gate. Belgians don't get cueing.

Ok, so my big plan goes something like this:

Stay calm -- always. Roll with the punches and try not to become an exception to any more airport protocols.
No alcohol. I need a clear head, and don't need to be dehydrated. I suspect "no alcohol" will be the 2nd rule I break, following quickly on the heels of "stay calm". But we'll see
Stay hydrated. No alcohol will help. Drinking lots of water will help. Not panicking will help.
Organize my flight papers. Rather than 1 boarding pass, I now have this:

The one on the bottom right is a handwritten piece of paper that basically says "... and then fly her somehow from Sydney to Melbourne, we don't give a shit how you do it". I'm told not to lose this one in particular. I'm told I can "probably exchange it for a boarding pass in Sydney". I intend not to lose it. The suspense is killing me.

"Organize my flight papers" is my trickiest rule as I am notoriously poor at keeping my travel papers together. I have lost boarding passes, e-tickets, and itineraries; I've left my passport at airport Starbucks counters. I consider buying a Kipling passport wallet, but can't do it. I'm sorry, but Kipling is hellishly ugly. All of it.

Sleep. I will sleep as much as possible using any means possible to secure as much legroom as possible.
Eat lightly and often.
Stay clean. At 35,000 feet, the human body starts to decompose in about 12 hours. My flight is 2 days.

Having flown a lot, there are a few things I know that I intend to use to augment my plan. At this point in my trip, I'm not yet aware that I needn't bother hope for the following:

Upgrading from economy class. Upgrading to business class is difficult but not impossble. In Frankfurt I intend to pull my very bestest "hard-done-by passenger" act. I'm hopeful but not overly optimistic.
Accessing the lounges. Barring the ability to secure a free upgrade, I'm determined to obtain access to the BA or Lufthansa lounge once in Bangkok. I'm reserving my "exhausted but charming passenger" schtick for this. It has never failed me.

With my plan and travel wisedom in hand, I settle into my first flight enroute to Frankfurt. I sip orangejuice and fantasize about the mandarin oranges that are stowed in the overhead bin. The only thing separating us is about 180kilos of German men sitting in the aisle and center seats. I give up the thought.

I add "Exercise legs often" to my plan. I've heard of people having strokes on these flights. I don't intend to be one of them.

Lufthansa hands me a Christmas cookie shaped like a star. Lufthansa loves me and wants me to be happy.

Body-odour status: Shower fresh

Stage 2: Frankfurt to Bangkok
The Frankfurt airport is big, smelly and full of helpful yet unpleasant Germans.

I pass the time between flights engaged in my favorite airport activity: giving myself a mini-facial in the dutyfree using testers of products that I can't afford. I spend the rest of the time avoiding sneezers.

At my gate, I know before asking that the Frankfurtian agent will not upgrade me to business class. I ask anyway. I'm not upgraded.

Looking around the boarding lounge, I see that my flight is completely full. I wonder which of these people I will be seated next to... the loud Italians perhaps? Some of the visible Muslims who I saw being 'randomly' selected to participate in a 'random' screening? The screaming Thai kids? I don't want to sit next to any of them.

I need to tell Robin that I will be arriving a day later than planned. I put some coins into an internet kiosk whose keyboard is all mixed up. I spend 80-cents hunting for the "@" key. I write a quick email to Robin, spelling "Sydney" with two "V"s because this keyboard doesn't have an obvious "Y".

I board my flight. The pretty Taiwaneese stewardesses bow politely to welcome us. They are resplendant in pink, purple, and orange -- the same colours as the plane seats. If one of these planes ever blows up mid-air, it will look like confetti. Very festive.

My seatmate turns out to be an interesting looking woman of about 25 with nose piercing, a tattoo, jet black hair and a button on her carry-on that says "fuck all the rules" and another that says "Satan, get in line". I'm relieved not to be seated next to someone heading to Thailand to have sex with kids.

The plane's music system is playing game-show music. I anticipate bubbles. I expect Leisure Suit Larry to throw the switch on the overhead disco lighting. I realize I'm having the kinds of delerious thoughts I'm not supposed to start having for at least another 12 hours.

They announce a flying time of 10 hours to Bangkok.
Ten hours.

Three hours into the flight I fall asleep and am woken up by a lovely purple stewardess who tells me my pillow is blocking the other passengers' ability to watch the feature film Garfield. I grumpily ask if she was waking me up to thank me.

This is the view of the movie that I have:
My seatmate and I chat. She is really interesting and engaging. She nearly convinces me to ditch my next flight and hang out with her for a couple of days in Bangkok.

Many hours later, as I'm trying to get comfortable in a florescent-lit area in the Sydney airport trying to sleep across 2 armrests I recall this conversation and I am certain that I made a mistake in not staying. But that's hours away, and we're about to land in Bangkok.

My next flight departs 3 minutes after this one lands.

Running to my next gate, I take this photo, which is all I get to see of Thailand:

Next leg: Bangkok to Sydney

By some miracle, I make it to my next gate just as they are closing the flight. I'm in yet another Barbie confetti plane. This time in a window seat which in 5 hours will feel like a cage.

Pre-takeoff SMS just received from Robin:

Got your notice of delay. Shame. Seems to me that Bangkok is a good spot for dutyfree champagne. Any poss to pick up a few bottles?

Uhmm, nope.

To this point, my plan is holding out. I haven't panicked once and I've been drinking lots of liquids, only one of which was a small glass of red wine with dinner. So far, so good. I fall asleep and 2 hours later I wake up with jumpy legs.

I don't know if you've ever had jumpy legs, but it's a bit like claustrophobia from the waist down. Awful. I feel like I HAVE to get up, get away, get moving NOW! I climb over my seatmates.

I will now share with you my never-before-disclosed Secret Weapon for securing oodles of space on a longhaul flight...

On a jam-packed flight, the stewards will pile their inflight articles across 3 seats next to the emergency exit near the kitchen, and noone will sit there. To sit in these seats, do the following: Walk up slowly to the Emergency exit, looking at the door, but not making eye contact with the stewards, and don't look at the seats you're trying to secure. Stop at the Emergency exit. When a steward approaches you, make the following sequence of eye movements:
Look at them directly in the eye
Look at the Emergency door handle
Look at the floor
Look at them directly in the eye

They will now have your full attention and will ask if they can help you with anything.

Tell them thank you, but no. Tell them you are just feeling a little claustrophobic and panicky. Politely ask if it would be ok if you just stand here a moment. When they say 'Yes', IMMEDIATELY look at the emergency door handle and then at the floor. Then with just your eyes, look meekly at the emergency door handle.

They will now be staring at you.

Look around and, as though you've just noticed the 3 seats with the inflight articles, politely ask "actually, do you think it would be alright if I just sat here for a little while. I think I just need a little space to breathe".

They will be very happy to get you away from the emergency door handle and VOILA! -- your very own trailer-trash 1st class full bed compartment!

This is the 3rd long-haul flight I've successfully done this on.

Five hours later I return to my crumpled seatmates -- a lovely couple from London. Her shirt is on inside out and backwards, so it seems that things have worked out for everyone.

Body Odour Status: No worse than anyone elses

Sydney Airport

By 2:30am I am sure that I'm not getting any more sleep.

I arrived too late to catch my flight even without the hour wait in the customs line.

I settle in for a night on a row of airport chairs that, despite having hard plastic armrests, are only moderately less comfortable than the Thai Air chairs.

I never want to see another purple chair.

Body Odour Status: Don't ask

My thoughts of having a shower and changing my clothes were dashed immediately as a) the business lounges were all closed and, b) yes, you knew it was coming: the airline lost my luggage.

By this point I've been flying roughly 21 hours, waiting 10 hours and I've still got 3 more hours before I can take a cab over to the Quantas departure terminal to see if I'm actually on a flight to Melbourne. That flight will be about an hour.

I look forward to bathing, wearing a selection from Robin's wardrobe -- which is fabulous -- going for a run, and being with my very fine friend.

In the waiting area, I feel like a younger, poorer version of myself. But I'm living my life in real time and I feel exhausted but very alive and happy.

I look forward to what will come, but am strangely content with what is.

I fear I've gone completely mad.