Getting to my destination. The tedium of travel

In my excitement about going away I had forgotten about the tedium of travel. Once I had packed my bag for the hundredth time (the problem with having the luxury of time to do so), said my goodbyes and entered the terminal it kind of hit me.   

The queues weren’t as long as I had expected but as usual there were a few turkeys that were clogging the line while they searched for passports, travel forms etc.  Because I was flying on a code share flight I had to physically check in and happily present some of the myriad of stupid documents I had to obtain. This is the first time in about 20 years that I have travelled with printed papers.  I’m glad I went to the effort as some are not acceptable on line.  Really?  Covid bureaucracy it is not as some of the papers had nothing to do with covid.  My 12.2kilo bag checked in and boarding passes in hand I set off on the start of my adventure.

First stop was for a gorilla burger from the Blue Lady, a must every time I am at Wellington airport. How could I say to a burger that would always be delicious but with a slab of brisket atop the meat patty it becomes seventh heaven material.  Even the juices dribbling down my hands were worthy of a second slurp and the single serviette of no use at all. 

I hate flying and hate airports even more but an airport does give me an opportunity to people watch or get glimpses into the lives of other travellers. 

The person sitting next to me on the short jaunt to Auckland was a lady I had previously overheard, without too much difficulty I might add, telling someone that she had a new job in a very senior role. To name the role would identify the person and we cant do that but I realised who she was when she opened her laptop and was welcomed on the screen by name. I know who she is, and know her role; senior my foot. I chuckled to myself. 

I chuckled even more when she opened a document on the laptop and spent the whole trip changing a few lines, then changing them back again - my eyesight is on the crappy side but the font size made it easy for me to read the trade secrets she had in front of her.   I’m still chuckling thinking of her being very senior and so important that she had to show us all that she had urgent work to do on her single page document that, in one hour, had many edits only to end up where it started. 

My four hour stop over in a desolate Auckland Airport waiting for leg one to Singapore was quite uneventful. It did feel as though I had arrived in a different country as most of the workers I saw were either Asian or of Pacific Island descent. Quite a contrast to the european faces in Wellington. It was lovely and made me feel as though I had already left NZ. 

Everything was closed when I arrived except for Maccers and a bar, both of which then closed at 11pm and despite the burger I was starving and looking forward to settling in, having my first meal and then buenas noches to all.

The extra I paid for premium economy proved to be some of the best money spent. My seat was in the bulkhead row, so leg room a plenty. It did make me feel tiny tho as the two tall guys either side of me where able to stretch their legs up the wall while mine dangled in the air like grapes, too short to even touch the wall.   

My lack of stature and sitting in the front row created another problem for me too in that I couldn’t see the movie subtitles as I was too far from the screen. At least it narrowed my choices and I settled on a movie I missed at home and glad I had so I had something great to watch on board. ‘Where the Crawdads sing’ was just the ticket. 

No people stories here. To my left a grumpy middle aged guy who had legs that reached all the way up the wall and shoulders that stretched the width of the seat and then some. He said two words “good shot” when I threw my bag into the overhead locker - another height disadvantage there in that I could not reach in to the locker but had to use my bowling skills to get my bag up above. 

Mr man on the right donned mask, neck pillow and blanket as soon as we boarded. He said two words less than the other guy and had legs almost as long. Perfect row companions. 

Pretty boring actually. The highlight of my uneventful flight was a superbly aromatic and tasty green curry that was served for dinner.  Who said airline food was crummy.  Even my trousers enjoyed it and still carry that heavenly green curry scent on then.  

10 hours after boarding and a decent 5 hour sleep, I arrived at Singapore’s Changi airport. It must be close to 15 years since I last stopped off there. 

I had pre-purchased entry to their new Jewel section which apparently has all sorts of entertainment.  After an hour or so walking to the other airport looking for the jewel I found out it is only accessible landside and not from the transit area.  That left me with 10 hours to kill. 10 long hours that never seemed to end. I adopted the most sensible option and that was to buy lounge access for three hours where I had a nap, the best shower, some pretty gross but free food and a free beer.  

The shops held no attraction, the food outlets even less but I did enjoy the sunflower garden and the butterfly garden.   The sunflowers popped out of the smog and said buenos dias  to me; it was 7:30am and the morning mist was as befuddled as I was. 

A few other gardens which I would have loved to see had become smoking lounges and so I did not venture there. It seemed cruel to confine the gorgeous plants in a space frequented by smokers. 

The butterfly garden was cool, with hundreds of the little flappers doing their thing and flying mainly round the highest areas but occasionally doing me the honour of stopping for a photo shoot. 

There wasn’t much to report as far as people watching went but there was a cute wee robot that went round one of the food areas collecting empty food trays or like this one lost amidst the crowd and telling everyone what he was doing. 

I didn’t even feel the thrill of being somewhere different. As usual the terminal was immaculate, everything works like clockwork and people just drift from terminal to terminal and queue to queue.  The shops are all of the designer ilk, not my style and with prices that make me balk. How many trips could I do with THAT handbag?  Food halls abound, and I tried a few but with the exception of an exceptionally good Kuign Aman from the Jamie Oliver deli everything else was not worth writing about.  I think my Kuign Aman making might need some refining after that. 

Every now and there would be neat statues, art installations or just something wow!  I guess that is what makes it one of the best airports in the world. 

With the exception of a few people dressed in non-western dress everyone looked basically the same just with different skin colours. Torn jeans, dirty shoes and sloppy t.shirts seemed the norm. I almost felt overdressed. Every now and then a beautiful Airline staff member would glide through breaking the boredom and as we boarded for India a few men in turbans and a very few (mainly very elderly) women in Saris changed the feel of the place.  

Thank goodness the time was eventually up and we boarded for New Delhi where I found myself seated next to a lovely Indian lady who lives in Sydney. She didn’t have long legs but boy could she talk. Nothing to watch on screen and I needed to stay awake for the six hour flight so sleep would come easy once I got to my destination so thats why you are getting all this drivel. 

I do promise that future blogs will take you on a journey, my journey that will not include ho hum, ordinary or boring stuff but many wows, dribbles, delights and dare I say a few orgasmic moments as I describe the delicacies, the people and the sights I encounter.   Photos that I include will not be those of photographic excellence but snaps of brilliant moments or of things I know a particular person at home will love.