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Tullamarine, Australia

Ten hours away from Abu Dhabi, flying over the north west coast of Autralia. The monitors in economy class have all packed up, and the flight attendants are stressing. It is -35 degress outside, about 40 degrees inside. I cannot help but wonder what I am inhaling – coughs and ***** and smelly breaths abound. I cannot for the life of me sleep on a plane – it is incredibly uncomfortable, I feel squashed and sqeeuzed and sweaty. I eat everything that is put in front of me, ending up with an aching stomach. When I think it is breakfast, dinner is served, at breakfast I crave red wine. Flying across timezones totally messes up my body clock! Abu Dhabi airport is a but like Canal Walk – over the top and ostentacious, everything so expensive and glitzy you eventually want to really throw up. Like with most airports, there is not nearly enought places to sit. I end up lying flat on the cool tiled floor – can remember having done this a few times. Within seconds I snore myself awake. The lay-over gives me time to catch up on a few last work things to be done…. The flight from Abu Dhabi to Rome is delayed – of course the immediate panic sets in about my connecting flight to Barcelona from Rome. Eventually we take off – the plane is packed to the brim, a united nations of “moor, jood en mohamedaan” as my Ouma would have said. Screaming children and Muslim men trying to say their prayers in the aisles. We almost never see light on this equally long (seven hour) flight, so have one dinner after the hour. Eventually we get breakfast as light breaks over Italy. By now I have had about eight meals. We arrive in Rome exactly an hour before my connecting flight – I don’t have a boarding pass so am stopped at customs by a very scary man who stops everyone to argue with me. I have to switch on my phone to find the email with my booking (yes yes yes I know – I had the print out somewhere). He duly takes my phone and walks away – the clock ticking and a few hundred people fuming behind me…. All’s well that ends well – he comes back to tell me that I can go through, my name is on the list of a man who is collecting passengers for the connecting flight. We do a half marathon through the airport, only to get to the check-in counter where the very smart and elegant Italian ladies are all talking (at the top of their voices) ignoring me. I eventually start waving my arms around trying out my best Italian (which is worse than my best Xhosa which is non-existent). So now I am on the plane, flying over the Mediterranean. Oh – we should have gone to Sicily, or Sardinia, or Portofino, or Amalfi!!! It is a crisp, clear day, the ocean being its true Med blue. I have legroom. Life is so good…getting ready for the ninth airline meal in 48 hours.

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