The morning just didn't work for me. I had packed my mini-torch into the computer bag – from whence it came – and put the computer bag into the car. Ergo, I could not see in the morning to check the time because the curtains were closed and the room too dark.
I had to either take the risk that it was unspeakably early and get up, or wait for one of the alarms to go off. I waited for an alarm, then bounded out of bed. I had arranged my clothes the previous night, so I figured I was guaranteed to get to the bathroom first – there are, after all, six of us in the room. Success! I smugly snuck into the bathroom with my gear.
Sadly, I was near the end of my shower when I realised I had failed to pick up and bring in my towel. So much for the smug. I turned off the water and drip dried for a while before using the floor mat. It got rid of the worst of the water.
In near darkness, back in the room, I combed my hair and slapped some moisturiser on my face, while County Cork number one made a dash for the bathroom, thus neatly denying me the opportunity to clean my teeth.
I headed down for breakfast instead, only to find that it would not be open for another half an hour. Fine. I checked the e-mail instead. Nothing new or urgent. I signed out and looked in on the news instead. I also chatted to the woman behind the counter, pointed out Tara and Newgrange on the map so she knew where it was for other travellers.
Finally, the breakfast room opened and a crowd formed. The toaster disappeared three slices of bread as I watched. It's one of those conveyor belt jobs, but when the toast eased over the edge, it failed to drop down into the tray. No sign of any of the pieces.
As I had breakfast, various room mates came down; all except the French girl who has, for the past three days, avoided us as much as possible.
Teeth cleaned, gear packed, we trooped downstairs. I directed the girls upstairs at the parking station while I dealt with the fee. That evil sod charged me €24 for the privilege; yesterday it was €12, the day before €9! I think the scabby dog is running a scam, since I had the big backpack with me. Now I have that much less to spend on useful stuff.
The girls directed me to the bus station, which I think took longer than for them to walk, but saved them the energy. Once safely deposited, I took off for the airport. The car was due back at 9.00 am; I got there at about 10.30, having gone to the wrong spot and taken the long way around to the airport.
But, no late charge or nuffink.
Now, I can have coffee, charge up the phone and computer. I've already read the local paper and I have books available to read, music to listen to and games to play on the laptop. Better yet, Mickey d's doesn't close until midnight and opens again at 4.30 am. So it's all good.
29-31 May 2008: First up, some coffee. There's a cafe with power points under the tables, so I happily sat and worked on the family tree. After a couple of hours, I packed up and wandered around, pushing my luggage on a trolley. I watched the planes take off; had a Kilkenny with a plan to come back for a Harp. That didn't happen, the pub closed too early. Now that I think about it, I spent a lot of time wandering around, watching Sky News or Eurosport, watched people. But the one thing I didn't do is read a book. I read newspapers, but no books and I had plenty.
Though the night wore on, I didn't feel tired until about two am. I had a half hour catnap, but the cleaners came around and shifted everybody. Of course, all the good bench seats had already been taken, so it was more wandering, more watching tv and waiting for Starbucks to reopen.
The airport slowly came awake with the arrival of passengers for the early flights. Finally, 4.30 came around and I booked my luggage all the way through to Sydney. Time to check out the duty free! While stuff was cheaper than the shops, it wasn't that much cheaper, so I thought I'd wait for Paris.
The flight to Paris took an hour and a half. No kipping there – the guy in the seat in front of me snored like a Whoopie Cushion. At Paris, duty free took a back seat to finding the departure lounge. The flight from Dublin landed at one end of terminal three; departure was from the far side of terminal one. It required talking to information and getting a train! Once there, I saw that the flight to Kuala Lumpur was boarding. No chance of duty-free.
It took nearly three-quarters of an hour to get on board, most of that standing in line to go through the customs point. I got pulled out of line.
"Madame, (I love it when they say ‘mahdahm’ with a French accent) is this your bag?" The custom's agent asked.
"Yes."
"We must open it to take a look, yes?"
"Okay, where would you like to start?"
"Where ever you like."
So I opened the back part." She stuck her hand in and rummaged around, then indicated the front portion.
I unzipped it.
"You have something in there." She said, "That we cannot see through. A tin, yes?"
A tin. A tin? Oh! I gave her a smile. "Coffee." I pulled out the tin. "Italian coffee bought here in France." I handed it to her and she opened the top, saw the unbroken seal.
"This is good." She gave me the coffee and a genuine smile. "Have a good trip."
So I got to keep my coffee, but I suspect only because it was unopened. Drug couriers use coffee to throw customs dogs off because they can't scent drugs through the aroma of coffee.
The Air Malaysia flight had personal media stations. Since I was wide awake, I saw a few movies: Jumper, The Golden Compass and National Treasure. Then there were the tv programs: CSI, Cold Case, Numbers.
Flying over the Caspian Sea coast was another revelation. The world from 40,000 feet is an amazing sight. Dark rivers etched into pale land, patchwork fields in shades of green, grey and tan, vast tracts of baked ochre desert. The sun set and towns began to sparkle. To say 'jewels in the darkness' sounds a little trite, but flying over India (I waved as we flew over Afghanistan and Kabul) the lights of the towns and cities glowed like intricately engraved silver/grey brooches, glittering under a rising crescent moon.
Towards morning, I watched out the window, saw red clouds. I couldn't work out what caused it. Fires from forest clearing for farmland? The light didn't flicker, but stayed steady. The plane turned and the view was lost to me. About fifteen minutes later, the plane turned again, but the red was gone, replaced by stark black outlines and dark cream. Once I readjusted my thoughts, I realised the sun was rising and this was the pre-dawn light. What I was looking at were storm clouds, outlined by the growing light.
The plane landed in tropical gloom. My eyes suddenly felt gritty from lack of sleep, but I picked up my gear and got off the plane. A shot of Starbucks coffee and I cruised the duty free, purchasing this and that. I had a couple of hours before the flight to Sydney and walked around. If I sat down, I'd probably fall asleep.
Finally, the call went out for the flight. At customs, I explained the coffee so I wouldn't have to unpack everything. They didn't seem all that interested and off I went.
My seat was at the bulkhead in the centre. Yay! In two seats were a husband, wife and baby with a spare between. Surprisingly, the baby didn't cry the whole trip, but slept or entertained himself by staring at the personal media unit… or me. Mine didn't work, but I kept cat napping for a while and finally went to sleep for about three hours.
When I awoke, we were flying over Australia and my excitement grew. No more sleep for me. I spent the last few hours watching the flight board; the one that gives you all the statistics and has a map so you can follow where the plane is.
I didn't see the city from the air, but with enormous relief, the plane touched down. I was up and out of my seat in short order (after the plane came to a complete stop and the seat belt light went out, of course).
Again, I explained the coffee, the chocolates and that I'd been to a medieval village in Wales to customs. We chatted for a while on the initiative to bring back the old breeds of animals – the agent was a member of a medievalist society and was interested in my experience. He finally let me go and I stepped outside into the fragrant, clear and unpolluted night air of Sydney.
After nearly two days without proper sleep, when I got to the hotel I had a shower, some food and fell asleep, not to wake until eight the next morning; ten hours sleep.
The next morning, I took a train home – the final three hours of travel – spent in a kind of fugue state, watching and comparing the countryside to what I'd seen and satisfied, comforted by the eucalypts, the wattles and the bush.
It's good to be home.
No comments:
Post a Comment