Of course, the boarding was late - the boarding pass says boarding at 17:55, but at 18:15, the booming voice over the loudspeaker unemotionally informs us that there has been "a slight delay and that boarding will commence at approximately six thirty" - of course.
It's ten to seven and now I've boarded the plane and have settled myself semi-comfortably in the small cattle-class seat the same colour as my shirt and in the direct air flow of the HEATING SYSTEM.
As I sit on the plane before take-opff, I am filled with a vain hope that my aisle mates won't be joining me - when two blonde British women, one around 25, the other mazbe a decade older sit either side of me - and with them goes the hope of lying down across all 3 seats - and I'm STILL near a crying baby - the SAME crying baby. I then pull out pictures of Anna and me and I smile and I sigh and I softly crz - 5 months - it isn't forever, but it's long. Shortly after take-off the lady to my left quickly starts up a conversation as she notices my anxiety at the bumping, swaying take-off. Turns out she's Welsh and heading home for Christmas, after being in AUstralia for 10 months. My first single serving friend.
4 hours in I've watched a movie and eaten the bad pre-packaged meal. I listen to music and look at photos of Anna and all I can do is weep - I'm barely gone and I miss her so much. I brush my hair into my face to try and hide the tears from my row-mates.
I look out the window at a thunder storm which would usuallz bring me happiness - but now, as I watch the sharp glows of lightning appear in the giant clouds, I am only scared.
We got off the plane in Bangkok at the gate we were to depart from, but they forced us to take the walk across the terminal, up the stairs, and back again rather than just letting us through direct. I am now past anxiety of the length of my trip and just want to get where I'm going.
On the plane to London I'm sitting in a new seat (in row 69, if y'know what I mean) with new single serving friends. One man to my right was Scott - he had dreadlocks and rings in his hair. To the left was Walter, and older Jewish gnetleman from Northern London - he had recently been staying at his brother's house on the Central Coast who had been living there for 50 years. Scott, who had just spent time in South East Asia, was cutting his trip short because of the sudden death of his best friend Sol and had to return to London.
"I'm so sorry" I said.
"Don't be," he said, "it's a celebration of life - it's a time to remember and be happy." It's nice to meet someone with a positive outlook.
"You should get dreads he said, looking at my curls, "they'd suit you." Not the first and not the last to say so, and hell, maybe I should.
"Now you've got a friend in the UK, in Oxford." he said with a genuinely happy tooth-filled smile, "and I'll put you up if you come up."
"Thanks," I said, "I might take you up on that."
We spoke of our loves back home or far away and how lucky we were to have these loves - he said putting his hand over his heart, "it makes you feel special. When I met Snowy. I just had to be with her." The exact words I used to describe how I felt about Anna - I just had to be with her, "take her with you to Canada." he said, and I had already considered buying her a ticket. "I have a little piece of her with me always" I said, thumbing the small ring around my neck, "So do I" he said, pulling out a small, rose quartz heart, " she had an identical one." And I smiled broadly with him, simply beautiful.
As I write, Scott looks over my shoulder to see what I've written and apparently my handwriting isn't as illegible as I thought. "Would you like to read the whole thing?" I asked. Scott looks touched and touches his heart, "Really? I'd be honoured..." He begins to read the fledging beginnings of this rough manuscript, "Is it strange reading what someone's written about you?" I ask, "Is it weird sitting there, knowing someone is writing about you?" He gets to the part about his smile, "No," he says, "it's beautiful. And touching." And he smiles again, that great, big smile.
He finishes reading and puts his hand over his heart, "Thank you for letting me read this." he says sincerely. "That's alright," I said, "I want it to be publishes, so I might as well have an audience now."
"I expect a copy, even if it isn't published!"
"Deal." and I smile.
"You've got a lot going on," he said, standing for the bathroom, "and it's amazing how you can put it into words."
"Thank you so much." I say.
"No," he says, "thank you."
I ask for a rum and coke - white Bacardi rum - and the glass comes back half filled up with rum and they hand me a small can of coke, "Hell, that's huge!"
"I'll have one of those!" Scott says to the stuardess, laughing. A strong one, a good one.
Walter was a friendly old man, who talked to anyone who would li9sten, and the stories he told of growing up in East End and of the 1950s - 70s Australia - Sydney, Perth, etc. - amazing. He is 86 and still travelling the long yards, with the heart of a 20 year old - a bostrous fellow.
Near the end of the flight to London and it feels like a week since I've been off a plane, though I know it's only been barely a day. I kiss the ring around my neck and think of Anna. I exchange emails with Scott an although I am admittedly nervous about it - trust issues, etc.; paranoia - I feel alright. Mum would think I am too trusting, and that's probably true, but you only live once. I pull out pictures of Anna and smile sadly. Scott peers over my shoulder and we meet eyes and he smiles, his eyes look watery, as if he's about to cry, "I know how you're feeling" he says, and moves his hand to his heart, his, by now, signature move.
I got off the plane in London and it was an immediate mad rush from the boarding pod to the shuttle bus to the next terminal - we were at 4 and I needed 5 - which was 18 mins away by bus. Stepping from the terminal to the bus I got my first taste of European winter, 1°C outside, I could feel it in my bones, but it was still refreshing. Going through passport control at Heathrow was like cattle going to the slaughter, or what I imagine it was like being forced through to a concentration camp by the Nazis. People shouting at you, like you were a prisoner, as you fearfully joined the giant line;
"No liquids in your luggage except for in these plastic bags!"
"Take off your coats before you get to security control!"
"No belt!"
"No shoes!"
"Nothing in your pockets!"
I followed their orders and proceeded to step through the metal detector which, of course, goes off. I then proceed to have the most uncomfortable experience of my life as a small, bald, Middle-Eastern man with a soul patch pats down every inch of me. To be frank, it was like being raped and I was tempted to say, "Aren't you going to buy me dinner first?" But I didn't.
In the line through security, I met a couple of Austrians - Manuel and Katie - who had just finished a 4 and a half month sejour in Sydney were coming home to Vienna. We discussed the ridiculousness of the security and moved on to have coffee and hot chocolate at a nearby cafe. 3 Pounds - a 9 Australian Dollar hot chocolate, but it was great after the flights.
We proceeded to deal with "typical European" service of a waitress there who had such an attitude I felt like just leaving without paying.
Within the half hour my gate number finally appeared on the board and I moved off to it., "Hey, you were our last Australian!" Katie bellows through the airport.
"Yeah, I guess I was!" I yelled back as I went down the escalator.
While on the plane to Berlin, I marked out some sites I wanted to see on the map. I couldn't find the road my hostel was on, but I just imagined it was too small or insignificant for the map I had (I was right). Landing in Berlin, it's cloudy with sparse showers and 2°C. I have finally reached my first destination.
- from the Journal, 9th and 10th Dec.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment