Come fly with me
It will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me that I find flying troublesome on many levels. But each time I do it I learn something new. Today I came home from a quick turnaround trip to Adelaide, which at 3 - 3 1/2 hours (depending on direction) is the shortest city flight you can do from Perth.
One of the things I learned a few years ago is that the window seat is not my friend. The aisle not only gives you intermittant extra leg room, but mediates that horrible feeling of being trapped behind large and/or sleeping strangers who have their food trays down and the drinks cart is blocking the aisle and you really (probably, almost certainly, like yesterday) need to go to the loo but you just CAN'T GET OUT!!!!
Where was I? Ah yes, aisle seat, right hand side so the left leg gets to stretch.
I also learned something important about the mythical Exit row seats. I never really gave them much thought; I don't know the secret handshake required to be assigned to that row, so apart from a vague acknowledgement that I could probably cope with the responsibility if necessary I didn't consider it an option. It was fortunate then that I paid attention to the safety demo on the flight out, for I learned that if you're in the roomy Exit rows, you can't have any hand luggage with you.
8-0
At the best of times I am surgically attached to my handbag. On a plane it's the source of comfort and entertainment, of boiled sweets for takeoff and landing, pain relief on demand, and the most critical of all: constant access to tissues. So, when I checked in for my return flight to Perth and found myself in the Exit row (right side, aisle) I did the hitherto unthinkable and changed my seat to the row behind.
I fortunately forgot my plan to sacrifice all my points to upgrade to Business Class for the return flight, for in stark contrast to the full-to-the-gills outgoing flight, the plane back to Perth was only half full. After takeoff I took over a whole row and indeed if I'd really put in the effort I could have had the rows in front and behind and across the aisle as well: 12 seats or more. I would have been mighty pissed if I'd wasted points on Business Class for this flight, although from my lofty position in front of the curtain I probably wouldn't have realised what I'd missed. But I didn't--so I wasn't--and all was well. It was rather like spending time on a lumpy couch, so the leg came through in reasonable order. The movie was Up which didn't really suit the tiny grainy screens.
The flight out was very bumpy coming out of Perth, very bumpy coming into Adelaide, and pretty much very bumpy the whole time in between. It was quick though, which was good, and the 13-ish girl who shared our row managed not to barf (her word, repeatedly) as she would normally, apparently. She was an interesting shade of eucalypt for much of the trip, but was otherwise quite pleasant company. Her annoying brother in the row behind managed to fall asleep; her mother came forward just the once to check on her and assure maximum embarrassment. We made sure she had plenty of sick bags and tried to be supportive. She was off to her cousin's wedding and hoped her noble sacrifice would be suitably appreciated. She gave us a cheery wave at the end, which was nice.
A brief word here on the Qantas online booking system: Aarrrrgghh. On the bright side it didn't constitute a horrible experience to ruin a fun holiday. It was just a horrible experience which, oddly enough, lessened the impact through lack of contrast. I have a love-hate relationship with flying; hopefully it's finally becoming a more manageable ok-meh relationship.
Husband was due to fly back on Monday but this morning discovered that he'd booked a flight for last Monday instead. Oops. Fortunately he found out this morning and not at the airport. He'll be flying in on Tuesday morning instead. The ticket is non-refundable, but I get frequent flyer points for using the credit card, so all was not lost.
The gourmet shop at Adelaide airport opened at 6:30AM (are you listening, Perth airport?) and I was rather sad to miss the opportunity to have a coffee there, for it smelled fabulous. The Lovely Chap at the counter tempted me, but I don't think caffeine and planes mix unless you're the pilot or cabin crew. I did buy some crocodile pate. Why? Because it seemed like a good idea at the time. They even had frog cakes for sale, but I doubted my ability to transport one unharmed and it was a bit early in the day for an arterial blockade.
They've removed the fibreglass pandas from the runway, but I did see a giant teddy bear in a sleigh while we were taxiing. I think I did. Probably. I'm pretty tired.
Perth airport was, well, Perthy and airporty. It was a long and lonely wait for luggage, and a let's-call-it-hilarious process to catch a taxi. Nice driver, although he told me that the Christmas day forecast was 45 degrees. Like wikipedia on wheels.
I think we've all had enough for now. I may or may not be avoiding the actual subject of the visit, we'll see.
One of the things I learned a few years ago is that the window seat is not my friend. The aisle not only gives you intermittant extra leg room, but mediates that horrible feeling of being trapped behind large and/or sleeping strangers who have their food trays down and the drinks cart is blocking the aisle and you really (probably, almost certainly, like yesterday) need to go to the loo but you just CAN'T GET OUT!!!!
Where was I? Ah yes, aisle seat, right hand side so the left leg gets to stretch.
I also learned something important about the mythical Exit row seats. I never really gave them much thought; I don't know the secret handshake required to be assigned to that row, so apart from a vague acknowledgement that I could probably cope with the responsibility if necessary I didn't consider it an option. It was fortunate then that I paid attention to the safety demo on the flight out, for I learned that if you're in the roomy Exit rows, you can't have any hand luggage with you.
8-0
At the best of times I am surgically attached to my handbag. On a plane it's the source of comfort and entertainment, of boiled sweets for takeoff and landing, pain relief on demand, and the most critical of all: constant access to tissues. So, when I checked in for my return flight to Perth and found myself in the Exit row (right side, aisle) I did the hitherto unthinkable and changed my seat to the row behind.
I fortunately forgot my plan to sacrifice all my points to upgrade to Business Class for the return flight, for in stark contrast to the full-to-the-gills outgoing flight, the plane back to Perth was only half full. After takeoff I took over a whole row and indeed if I'd really put in the effort I could have had the rows in front and behind and across the aisle as well: 12 seats or more. I would have been mighty pissed if I'd wasted points on Business Class for this flight, although from my lofty position in front of the curtain I probably wouldn't have realised what I'd missed. But I didn't--so I wasn't--and all was well. It was rather like spending time on a lumpy couch, so the leg came through in reasonable order. The movie was Up which didn't really suit the tiny grainy screens.
The flight out was very bumpy coming out of Perth, very bumpy coming into Adelaide, and pretty much very bumpy the whole time in between. It was quick though, which was good, and the 13-ish girl who shared our row managed not to barf (her word, repeatedly) as she would normally, apparently. She was an interesting shade of eucalypt for much of the trip, but was otherwise quite pleasant company. Her annoying brother in the row behind managed to fall asleep; her mother came forward just the once to check on her and assure maximum embarrassment. We made sure she had plenty of sick bags and tried to be supportive. She was off to her cousin's wedding and hoped her noble sacrifice would be suitably appreciated. She gave us a cheery wave at the end, which was nice.
A brief word here on the Qantas online booking system: Aarrrrgghh. On the bright side it didn't constitute a horrible experience to ruin a fun holiday. It was just a horrible experience which, oddly enough, lessened the impact through lack of contrast. I have a love-hate relationship with flying; hopefully it's finally becoming a more manageable ok-meh relationship.
Husband was due to fly back on Monday but this morning discovered that he'd booked a flight for last Monday instead. Oops. Fortunately he found out this morning and not at the airport. He'll be flying in on Tuesday morning instead. The ticket is non-refundable, but I get frequent flyer points for using the credit card, so all was not lost.
The gourmet shop at Adelaide airport opened at 6:30AM (are you listening, Perth airport?) and I was rather sad to miss the opportunity to have a coffee there, for it smelled fabulous. The Lovely Chap at the counter tempted me, but I don't think caffeine and planes mix unless you're the pilot or cabin crew. I did buy some crocodile pate. Why? Because it seemed like a good idea at the time. They even had frog cakes for sale, but I doubted my ability to transport one unharmed and it was a bit early in the day for an arterial blockade.
They've removed the fibreglass pandas from the runway, but I did see a giant teddy bear in a sleigh while we were taxiing. I think I did. Probably. I'm pretty tired.
Perth airport was, well, Perthy and airporty. It was a long and lonely wait for luggage, and a let's-call-it-hilarious process to catch a taxi. Nice driver, although he told me that the Christmas day forecast was 45 degrees. Like wikipedia on wheels.
I think we've all had enough for now. I may or may not be avoiding the actual subject of the visit, we'll see.