Popping over to Charleston for the weekend

[Skyring]

I blame my wretch of a wife. She doesn't think that one flight per day for three weeks is much of a holiday. She likes to go someplace and stay there.

So we compromised in April. We went to London on a ship doing the final third of a world cruise. P&O Aurora, a lovely ship full of elderly British gentlefolk, each more charming than the last. We flew to Hong Kong, had four days of shopping, packed the kids off home to mind the house and took our slow boat from China. Thirteen countries later, we were home again. Had a blast, kissed my wife on top of the Eiffel Tower, drove my rental car around the Arc de Triomphe moments ahead of the Olympic torch relay/riot, made a vow to live to a ripe old age so I can see that Sagrada Famillia cathedral finished, bought a tie in Thailand, had a greasy meal in Greece, bought a guernsey in Guernsey and went hungry in Wales.

But in terms of status credits for WP requal, ummm, no.

So I've seized on another BookCrossing convention as an excuse to visit that delightful Southern heartcity of Charleston (where the Cooper and Ashley rivers join, to form the Atlantic Ocean) and do it on a DONE4 to scrape up the status credits I need to allow me to drink free but insipid coffee in the Canberra Qantas Club any time I want.

Yeah, I know I could have gotten a really great deal if I'd bought my tickets in Colombo or Manila or somewhere. And yes, I know that American Airlines has a better earn and burn deal, but money's not as vital as my time, and driving five long night shifts a week doesn't give me a real lot of quality time for d*ickering over the phone. I gave Flight Centre a miss - my darling TA Tessa P has found another career, and her replacement doesn't understand me - and went straight to Qantas. Found a thorough professional in Donna K, who sorted me out in about half an hour, with flights that worked, went where I wanted, and earnt the points.

OK, I've done better, and this one's only fifteen flights (sixteen sectors), but every day away costs me in accommodation, tucker and expenses, as well as lost income. I'm a taxidriver, and paid holidays don't come with the job. I can take as much time off to travel the world whenever I want, I just don't get paid for it.

More details as the flights happen, but the guts of it is that I leave on Saturday 4 October:
CBR-SYD (a couple of hours in the FLounge, oh bliss!) -AKL.
AKL-HKG-SIN-HKG-LHR
LGW-DUB
DUB-ORD-DCA
CHS-DFW-SEA
SEA-JFK
JFK-LAX-SYD-PER
PER-CBR

I've been inspired by some of the recent TRs here, and I'll see what I can do in the way of photographs. Not too sure about floating around the world on champagne fumes, but I'll give it a whirl.

(Edited to get around whatever censorship program decided that ****ering was a rude word. Good thing I'm not visiting S****horpe.)

 

[sr81]

Great to hear that another AFF is interested in the South. Charleston is a fabulous place and I look forward to the next installment.

 

[Skyring]

This will be my third visit to Charleston. A common feature of all my DONE4s. It is a delightful city and it is easy to imagine the rich seacaptains, their brightly dressed womenfolk, their slaves and all the horsedrawn bustle of the Old South. Fort Sumter is a thin shape out in the harbour, and across the river is Patriots Point, with a fair dinkum aircraft carrier and other ships to serve the flag-waving tourists.

Where I'm at. I've made the bookings, paid the fare, got the big thick wodge of paper tickets:

Hotels.
Auckland: Ventura Inn, Auckland Airport. This with the help of an AFF question. Looks OK, close to airport, cheap-ish wifi, free shuttle. Much as I like Auckland (especially poking around the bookshops in Devenport), not this time.

Singapore: Airside transit hotel. I've staid here before, and it's clean, comfy and convenient. Close to the Qantas lounge and a lot of interesting shops. In fact the whole terminal is a holiday destination in its own right. Ooodles of facilities, and you can work off all that airline food just walking about. The other choice was flying to Tokyo where I know a cheap hotel close to the airport, but I decided against due to the time needed to go through immigration and back in the next day, as well as lugging my bags around. I'd rather minimise the hassle involved in airports, not have it consume several hours of a short stay.

London Gatwick: Yotel. Thanks to QF009 for suggesting this one. Not quite a capsule hotel in the Japanese style, but all I need for a short stay, though I'm wondering how I'll wedge me and my luggage in. The difficult part is the transfer from Heathrow - it's going to take about four hours from getting off the plane from Hong Kong to getting my head down in Gatwick. Still, it's more convenient and cheaper than almost any other option.

Dublin: Cassidys Hotel in the city centre. I'll have an afternoon and evening to look around.

Washington: Staying with a mate in Alexandria. I'll have a day to browse around Washington and Arlington, update a few of the photographs I took on my first big overseas trip way back in 2005. I could spend a week there, but not this time.

Charleston: my mate and I will drive down with a couple of others, through North Carolina, lunch at the incredibly cheesy "South of the Border", pulling into the Comfort Inn for Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. We'll share a room and do BookCrossing things and be heavy consumers of the wifi. He'll drop me at the airport on the way out to catch the late morning flight to DFW (on the all-economy Embraer - I asked for spiced tomato juice last time and was given a glass straight with sachets of salt and pepper to mix to my taste). Maybe he'll let me drive a bit on the way down and I can take full advantage of the speed range listed on the signs: (1-95).

Seattle: Comfort Inn SeaTac. Looks like a pleasant location. I'll have two nights here. And a friend to show me around. Picked an airport hotel because I'll arrive in the evening about six-ish and my onward flight is at 0740.

New York: L Hostels in Harlem. I'm here for one night with an evening flight to Sydney the next day. Not sure that this area is safe for walking around at night, but I figure next morning I can head downtown, take the Staten Island Ferry past Lady Liberty, and just bum around in Manhattan until mid-afternoon. The best room available was a two bunk male room (for $33). As I could only reserve one bed, I guess another chap is already booked in. Hope he doesn't mind snoring.

Perth: YHA Hostel. I've staid here before, on my first DONE4 in 2006, when it had only been open for a few days. I've booked a private double rather than a bunkroom, this time. Also a hire car so I can get to and from the airport and take a look around without being constrained by trains and shuttles.

I don't mind cheap and cheerful hostel bunkrooms, but realistically the comings and goings of other guests doesn't help my sleep. And I'm part of the problem - I get up at all hours and use the internet, or prepare for an early morning departure, or just wander around the city at dawn taking photographs, which must disturb my roomies.

Basic comfort and convenience are my watchwords for accommodation. If I were travelling with my wife, I'd be looking at the B&B or boutique hotel slice of the market, but for myself I aim for a room under $100. All I really need is a bed and wifi. Luxury hotels are well out of my price range - I'd be wasting the facilities on my short stays anyway, and I'm growing to detest the standard rooms in business building-block hotels.

This trip is about the flights and a weekend with my friends on the other side of the world. Anything else is gravy.

 

[Skyring]

I have a number of obsessions in my life. Without a doubt the one that has changed me in my middle years is BookCrossing.com. It's one of those crazy American ideas that only became possible with the Internet - put a registration number on a book and "release it into the wild" on a park bench, at a coffee shop, in a hollow tree, and then track its travels through internet posts from the people who find it. It's like tracking the migrations of birds through rings on their legs, and like wandering albatrosses, BookCrossing books travel the world in unexpected directions.

I found the site, joined up, registered and released a few books, and bounded around the house yelling with excitement when the first email came in telling me that someone had found one of my books, left at a bus stop.

But soon I realised that it wasn't the books, it was the BookCrossers. The site had a set of user forums, allowing registered members to swap stories, trade books - called "controlled releases" - share artwork for the various labels and stickers to identify the books, and just engage in "Chit-Chat".

Almost without exception, serious BookCrossers turned out to be well-read, generous, fun-loving, quirky and thoroughly interesting people. Mostly women. I was at a time in my life when as an online bookseller I had a lot of spare time and a lot of books, and I got sucked right into the community. The friends I made in those early days of 2003 are with me still, one way or another.

At the end of 2003, my wife and I celebrated our twentieth anniversary by retracing our honeymoon, this time with a couple of teenagers in the back seat. It was my first flight in twenty years, Air New Zealand to Auckland and back from Christchurch after we handed in our rental car. I released books all through New Zealand: overlooking a geyser in Rotorua, on the inter-island ferry, under the snout of a glacier, on the overnight cruise boat in Milford Sound. I had a lot of fun on that trip, and I even wrote a book about it, which became a minor BookCrossing classic.

On the way I met some of the New Zealand BookCrossers - people who had registered thousands of books. Extraordinary people. They organised the world's first BookCrossing convention in April 2004, a few hours ahead of the "official" convention in St Louis.

In December 2004 I attended the first Australian convention, and had a blast. I knew then that I'd be doing my best to meet more BookCrossers.

Next month, January 2005, was my first big overseas trip. It happened suddenly, by chance, and changed my life. I loved international travel and I loved meeting BookCrossers, and I loved writing about both.

Since then, I've made at least one round the world trip each year, attended so many BookCrossing conventions I've lost count, and released books in a wide variety of places. A mall in China, every square on the British Monopoly board, in a plastic bag over Niagara Falls, on Omaha Beach.

Some have made amazing journeys, some are yet to be found. But it's a load of fun.

On my "World War Two"trip in 2006 - Pearl Harbour, Hiroshima, Normandy, the old US sub base in Fremantle, a US bomber base in England etc. - I was invited onto a radio talk show in Shrewsbury, where I emerged with a BBC Radio Shropshire bear. Since then, the bear has travelled everywhere with me, on every flight, around the world three times, on every taxidriver shift. I've taken pictures of him in most places I've been, and on business-class flights I get the cabin crew to pose with him. Another minor obsession, but it's amazing the smiles I get from people on seeing a man in his fifties with a toy bear.

This trip will be more of the same. I'll release a book every day, I'll take as many flights as I can, I'll embrace as many BookCrossers as possible, and I'll take photographs of my bear.

And I'll try to report back here, hoping that my travel stories will entertain a few folk.

 

[Skyring]

4 October 2008
Canberra to Sydney
QF872 (cancelled) QF560
Seat 26A (assigned) 27A (actual)
Scheduled: 0645
Boarding: 0650
Pushback: 0715
Takeoff: 0725 (to the north)
Descent: 0800
Landing: 0824 (from the north)
Gate: 0829 (T3 13)

This is it. The start of a world tour of Charleston. I've taken the night off, preferring to put some solid effort into tidying the office instead of driving a cab for twelve hours. My wife wants to turn my office into a family room, saying (with some justification) that as I'm no longer a bookseller, I don't need a room with floor to ceiling books. Fair enough. I'm not the tidiest person in the world, and her threat to hire a rubbish skip while I'm away and tip into it anything she deems to be rubbish has had an effect.

I've cleared away half the junk and secured a promise that she'll hold fire on the skip until I return and I'll tidy away the rest of it then. She's making noises about new curtains and carpets. Women.

Not a lot of sleep, one way or another, and I'm up early for an 0730 departure. For a wonder, I've packed the night before. Instead of dashing around wondering what I've forgotten, this morning I'm calm and controlled. I don’t bother with my usual caffeine slug. I’ve got an hour in the lounge before my flight, and even if the machine espresso is insipid, it’s still better than what I can fix for myself.

There's only one quick return to the house to collect the laptop power supply, eliminating the chance that I might experience the trip instead of writing about it. Hmmm.

Canberra is a grey and drizzly day, in contrast to my bright spirits as we park the car and then stand in the checkin line for twenty minutes. I've got a window seat - 4F, and there will be at least half an hour chatting in the lounge with the wife and daughter, coffee and muffins.

But as soon as we're in the lounge, in between dropping my carryon at a convenient window seat, and getting a cuppa from the self-serve espresso machine, there's an announcement. All passengers holding boarding passes for QF872 report to front desk. The plane is unserviceable, and we're to be squeezed aboard the earlier flight. Leaving now. Or wait several hours.

Stampede for front desk, abandoned coffee left dripping into cup, and we gods of the Qantas Club are allocated seats at the back of QF560, awaiting our immediate grace. Business Class is full of booked passengers, so we unfortunates must take what's left.

Not that I really mind. A quick hop up to Sydney is no hardship in economy. If it were a transpacific flight, I'd seriously consider holding.

Back to the waiting women sipping their coffee. Wife gets up, and I brush past her to take a photo of the plane. She was expecting a fond embrace, and becomes distinctly cold when I turn, holding out my arms for a hug. Not quite a peck on the cheek, but I'm hearing that rubbish skip being rumbled into position. This could prove to be an expensive photograph.

(Pause for real-time check - I'm in the Sydney QFlounge, and they are running the A380 around just outside the windows. Talk about a distraction!)

My assigned seat of 26A is on the far side of a seated couple: middle and aisle. The plane is almost empty, so I grab 27A in an empty row. After about five minutes passengers 27A and 27C arrive, but they take the middle and aisle seats with barely a murmur.

It's drizzle outside, overcast above, and we're delayed while the passengers and crew of my cancelled flight scramble aboard. Even with two planeloads, our bird is only two thirds full.

We take off and spend about an hour stooging around, taking the long way to Sydney. Captain apologises every now and then, blaming air traffic control. No matter. I have a true chance to savour the muesli biscuit and mango juice served as breakfast.

Mild turbulence (outside) keeps the crew in their seats and with the unbroken cloud it's a reasonably tedious flight. I pull out Ringbear, sitting him on the seat top to take a few photographs, and I can feel the smiles from the two rows behind, full of displaced cabin crew.

I catch a glimpse of the harbour beneath after we turn and join the landing pattern, but the cloud is high enough to hide the towers of Sydney. The top of the bridge arch breaking the cloud top like a surfacing whale would be a sight worth seeing, but no, it’s cotton wool all the way in.

I haven’t had a chance to get a good bear photograph. Seatbelt sign on most of the way, and these short flights it’s hard to find a moment when the cabin crew aren’t busy. We land, hit the gate, and I linger. Being near the back of the bus, this is sort of what happens anyway. I’m the last passenger out and I accost the young lady at the door, offering her Ringbear and my camera.

Bless her heart, she understands the deepest desires of middle-aged men, and ushers me into the coughpit, where the copilot is tidying away the paperwork. Just a few seconds of dials and smiles, but it absolutely makes my day, and all the way through the terminal, onto the transfer bus, through emigration and security, I’m the bloke with the watermelon grin.

 

[Skyring]

Pigs in Heaven

4 October 2008
First Lounge, Sydney

A quick walk through T3 to the transfer point. I love that Metropolitan Museum of Art shop full of fascinating stuff, but I'll likely see the real deal next week and can get it cheaper there and not have to lug it around. Must bring something good back for the wife, and the usual block of exotic chocolate may not do it this time.

I usually contrive to arrive for the bus just after the previous one has left, windows full of happy faces smiling back at one anxious one pressed against the glass. This is important, because every moment spent here is one less moment not spent in the FLounge, and there is simply no comparison between the two places.

But I'm in luck this time around, and there's only a few minutes in those padbare seats before we're loaded into the bus, smiling at the cranky person waving his fist and shouting insults. I always like this journey, through the back areas of Qantas. What delights are hidden away in hangars, teams of sweating engineers tinkering with mighty jet engines, belting furiously with hammers and wrenches at balky video systems, or just having a quick fa_ at the back (apologies to any Seppos reading this).

Quick flick through immigration (I've got a priority card for this, but traffic density is low and it confers no benefit) and then there's miles of duty free shops, none of them selling what I really want, which is a set of MacAir international adaptors. In addition, my camera has been sending me low battery signals since Canberra, and I buy a set of rechargeable batteries. And a charger. Sealed in hard plastic.

Isn’t airport security wonderful? They take away your knives and scissors and nail clippers and toothpicks. I’ve got no chance of ripping through the packaging with my freshly clipped nails.

Oh well, I'll deal with this later. I think I have a USB key that will take an edge if I can grind it against something hard for a bit.

Here's the sign for the Qantas lounges. And a discreet door with "First" on it.

My third time in this lounge, and I’m well over my initial sense of wonder. Time to savour the details. That incredible living wall as you walk in – greenery climbing and curving around to the escalators taking you up in the world. The doorman smiles as I pull out my camera, suggests the best place to stand, and moves a floor sign out of the way. Maybe others have been here before, and maybe they have paused for a picture.

It’s the details that make this lounge. The sense of clever design is everywhere. I never thought I’d find an airline lounge to rival Cathay Pacific’s exquisite Wing in Hong Kong, but it is here, now, setting a new standard.

There’s a departure board at the entrance. Not a video screen, but a retro clacking board straight out of the Sixties. My flight isn’t even listed – I’ve got a good two, nearly three hours here.

First things first. I have a private request for the lady on the desk.

“You’re not the first person to ask me that, sir. Let me look after it.”

Breakfast. Or second breakfast, if I count that muesli biscuit and plastic mango juice in seat 27A. First coffee anyway – I didn’t even get to taste the cup I poured in Canberra when they switched my flight, and the turbulence ruled out hot drinks in flight

Here it’s the coffee they drink in Heaven, not something out of an autoespresso. This is the cup of delight, made by a barista smiling out behind a bunch of exotic flowers.

And breakfast to match. I don’t often get perfect eggs and smoked salmon for breakfast. Mushrooms and the ultimate grilled tomato. It’s tender and juicy when I get it in my mouth, but cutting it into bites with my plastic knife is a sweet struggle. I’ll never order steak in this restaurant.

There’s a smiling presence beside me. The young lady from the front counter with my battery recharger, freshly released from its plastic prison. And a nearby power outlet to plug it into.

I look up for a moment, and there’s Qantas’s newest toy, the massive Airbus A380, just pulling into a gate outside the panoramic lounge windows. I’m in planespotter heaven.

I could stretch breakfast out until lunchtime, easy.

But I take the last of my coffee to a workstation near the library. As a BookCrosser and ex-bookseller, I have a duty to release one book each day, and this one’s an easy themed release: The Pursuit of Indulgence. Look for it in the Flounge library.

The library itself is exquisite. All those coffee table books you could never afford? Well, they are here. Sit down with a coffee and leaf through them, sighing with happiness.

I recognize my limitations. If I settled down with these books, I’d surely miss my flight, no matter if it was next week.

There’s free wireless internet and I catch up with emails, pausing to watch now and then as a jet rolls down the runway, soaring up over Botany Bay with amazing grace. Even the A380, the size of an office building, makes it into the air with ridiculous ease.

All too soon my time in heaven is done. I retrieve my recharger, take a last glance around this superb lounge, pose beside my flight on the departure board, and I sink slowly down the escalator, back to the world of normal people.

 

[lovetravellingoz]

I just wanted to say thank you very much for a great read!!!!...and for sharing two of your passions with me.

Thank you.

 

[drron]

Boy can i relate to this.Every time I go bush working I am sure I will come home to an empty study/office.Unfortunately every time i throw out a box of rubbish 2 boxes of good stuff replaces it.
Enjoy your trip.

 

[Skyring]

Smart flying

4 October 2008
Sydney to Auckland
QF43 Boeing B767 VH-QGS
Seat 4A
Bags: Duffle: 24.5kg, Tote: 10.5kg (checked in Canberra)
Scheduled: 1200
Boarding: 1145 (Gate 37)
Pushback: 1220
Takeoff: 1234 (to the north)
Descent: 1747 (Auckland time)
Landing: 1800 (from the east)
Gate: 1813

My gate’s about as far away from the lounge as possible, but I’m not pressed for time. In fact, the exercise is good for me.

Overcast and drizzle in Sydney. Our lady captain informs us, a small whinge in her voice, that higher powers have switched the take off direction from south to north at the last moment, meaning everything’s got to be recalculated.

For my part, I’m feeling no pain. There’s champagne flowing for me, and I’m receiving compliments on behalf of my companion, who wins hearts that I leave cold.

“He’s gorgeous,” says Janelle, purveyor of fizz. “He’s wearing the ribbon from a Lindt Easter bear,” “We have them at Easter.”

This makes sense. I was given Ringbear on Easter Friday in Shrewsbury, two years ago, and the maroon colour of his ribbon is a perfect match for the logo of BBC regional radio.

But we’re a long way from Shropshire today. The overcast extends across the Tasman, and there’s little enjoyment to be had from the view outside.

Instead I select an inflight movie. Get Smart is the obvious choice. My childhood was brightened by this brilliant parody of the James Bond genre. Mel Brooks and Buck Henry made for a sparkling satire, witty wordplay, and a string of catchphrases that smile down the decades.

Max Smart wasn’t. That was his gag. The beautiful Agent 99 was the straightwoman, the brains of the team, diplomatically suggesting the obvious solution to the many problems Max encountered (or created) along the way.

This modern movie has Max as a talented nerd, stealing the heart of a more focused Agent 99. Romance never arose in the original series, or at least not until the end, but here Maxwell Smart wears his heart on his sleeve. And how clever of the screenplay to have drained all the wit and humour from the concept.

No Audio-Visual on Demand entertainment on this flight. Once I began, I had to stick with the film until the end. But at least there was a bit of bubbly along the way.

Here's lunch: Pan-seared Blue Eye with Lime Soy sauce and vegetable fried rice, served with Smoked lamb, buffalo mozzarella and semi-dried tomato appetiser.

And dessert: Ice cream and biscotti

A pleasant flight, a good meal, a great seat. The 767 has a 1-2-2 arrangement in Business, and I had the seat that was both window and aisle.

There was a glimpse of Auckland between clouds as we descended and turned for the airport. Skytower needle above the city, ferries passing the naval base en route for the holiday suburb of Devonport.

It’s Sydney trimmed down to a manageable size. It’s startling green fields when we pass south of the city, cows on the grass, mudflats turning into tarmac and runways.

New Zealand makes me happy. I came here for my honeymon, and I’ve return several times, each holiday blessed with delight. It’s the scenery, the people, the uncluttered land. It’s the perfect country, tucked away at the end of the world’s airline routes.

There’s a magnificent Maori carving welcoming arriving visitors to Aoteroa, the Land of the Long White Cloud. I wish I had more time here, but I’m barely poking my nose outside the airport this trip.

New Zealand immigration and customs can be tough. I declared my bags full of Tim Tams, and the luggage scan on arrival showed them up clearly. But they passed me through. What they are really looking for are dirty boots. Bring a pair of gumboots into Auckland, and you’d best be prepared to scrub them clean in the arrivals hall.

 

[Skyring]

Ventura Inn and Suites, Auckland airport

4/5 October 2008
Ventura Inn, Auckland Airport

Dial 31 on the phone in the “i-Site” room. There’ll be a free shuttle bus along to collect you from outside Door 9 in the international terminal within half an hour. That information took me ten minutes and a $NZ4.20 skinny latte from the nearby coffee shop to acquire.

Mohammed was driving the black bus, and he efficiently loaded up the luggage compartment. My two bright yellow bags amongst all the black nylon.

There’s a special desolation of industrial estates at sundown, and it seemed fitting that the airport inn was located here. It’s the same hotel all over the world in slab concrete sides, every interior space planned to the last millimetre. Cheap, convenient and comfortable for a night between flights.

Checkin was painless enough. I’d given all the details over the website, and it was just a matter of sighting my credit card and signing on a form already preprinted with my details. I organised for my morning shuttle to the airport – six o’clock for an eight thirty flight. They gave me a plastic cardkey, and after a couple of trips up and down in the lift with my luggage, they replaced it with one that actually let me into my room.

I don’t even know why I’m bothering to review this hotel. It’s an airport hotel. It’s the same all over the world. The art prints and bedspreads are the same everywhere. Even the brand names on the instant coffee sachets and plastic milk tubs are universal.

Slot the key into the holder inside the door and the lights turn on. There’s a sighing sound, which may be the airconditioner bumping the atmosphere from inoffensive to bland. A bathroom to my left, basin, bowl and bath, white towels and small bottles of gels. Individually wrapped soaps.

The room itself had a queen and a single. Bedside table with telephone and clock radio. Bed lamps and a master switch for the room light. Facing the beds were, left to right, a small table with two chairs, TV with a working remote, three drawers (top one with Gideon and phone book), desk with chair and internet connection, bar fridge with six tiny tubs of milk, electric jug with tea, coffee, sugar and Milo.

All standard. Clean, tidy, inoffensive, anonymous.

There’s a breakfast area in the lobby, free breakfast from 3am onwards for those early morning departures, a pub and a couple of cafes a block away, and a vending machine on the first floor: cold drinks, chips and chocolate.

Dinner for me was nothing to write home about, so I won’t, but let me just note that the vending machine accepts notes as well as coins.

There was a guest laundry as well, washer and dryer at $NZ2 a pop, soap powder vending machine on the wall and an ironing board. After only one day on the road, I did no more than look in, but if I was a week out, I’d be more enthusiastic. All too often laundry means the hotel charging you fifty dollars for shirt, trousers, socks and jocks. Or wandering around getting lost in dodgy neighbourhoods for the local laundrette.

I noticed a swimming pool as I came in, but I wasn’t dipping.

New Zealand television on a Saturday night was as bland as the room. Football well catered for, but nothing much to my taste, even with a selection of cable channels.

The internet came via an Ethernet connection, and my MacAir doesn’t do anything much besides USB, so I declined the $NZ9.50 day’s worth of internet. I could use the wifi in the lobby, but I didn’t. Instead I prepared a few emails, notes and pictures for uploading in the morning at the guaranteed lounge internet.

I called it a night early on, after setting three different alarms for five AM. Slept soundly on a mattress just a little too soft for discomfort. My room faced the silent carpark, but maybe those looking onto the main road on the wesern side were noisier. All I know is that the alarm woke me, and that was a double blessing, for it meant I’d had a good night’s sleep and I wasn’t going to miss my flight.

Shower and shave, plenty of hot water at a decent pressure, towels white and fluffy.

Breakfast downstairs of drip coffee, individual cereals, toast, muffins, juice, yoghurt. Standard fare, serve yourself and read the Saturday papers from the rack by checkin.

Packed up, not that I’d unpacked, checked that I’d got all my chargers, and was just heading out the door when the phone rang, to remind me of the shuttle leaving in five minutes.

Checkout took maybe ten seconds, and then I was away on the shuttle, concrete hotel fading into the grey of predawn.

This hotel will never make the inflight magazines, and no New Zealand travelogues will feature the bikini models lazing by the carpark pool.

But it was perfect. A night between flights. Restful, cheap, convenient, exquisitely bespoke to the needs of the air traveler, Sydney one day, Hong Kong the next, scenic New Zealand just a glimpse from the plane window and a few twilight carparks.

 

[DTM1]

delightful reading. keep up the updates and continue to enjoy

 

[JohnK]

Very nice trip report. Look forward to following the remainder of your trip....

 

[Skyring]

Cathay over the Pacific: Auckland to Hong Kong

5 October 2008
Auckland to Hong Kong
CX118 Airbus A340-300 B-HXA
Seat: 12K
Bags: 24.4kg, 11.3kg
Scheduled: 0830
Boarding: 0825 (Gate 8)
Pushback: 0853
Takeoff: 0904
Descent: 1415 (Hong Kong time)
Landing: 1454
Gate: 1505 (Gate 61)

It was dark when I left the hotel. The big black shuttle bus blended into the night. Mohammed had ended his shift, and I think Jesus was driving the morning run. He wasn’t a Kiwi, that’s for sure. New Zealanders drive the taxis in Palestine, as part of the taxidriver exchange scheme.

My yellow bags were the brightest thing around. I have a big rolling duffle bag from L L Bean which swallows an enormous amount of kit. And a BookCrossing tote bag which is made of indestructible, especially when I cram it into a solid cube shape with books.

Both are bright yellow, for ease of recognition on a luggage carousel. An added bonus is that it would have to be a bold thief to walk off with something so easily spotted. The downside is that they show the dirt. Both have been around the world four or five times, and though the totebag gets tossed in the washing machine every year, there’s not much I can do about the duffle.

The young man behind the counter goggled slightly at my book of tickets, but quickly and expertly booked me through to Singapore.

“Ah, I’m just going to Singapore to sleep,” I told him. “I’ll be staying airside in the transit hotel. I need boarding passes all the way to Heathrow.”

He checked my itinerary. “You’re going from here to Hong Kong, then to Singapore, then back to Hong Kong and on to London? All in one trip?”

“Well, that’s part of it. But I don’t need my baggage in Singapore. In fact, if I go through immigration to get it, I can’t check it back in until the next morning.”

He looked puzzled, but allowed that as I wasn’t stopping anywhere for more than twenty-four hours, it should be possible. “But the computer won’t let me do it.”

He flicked about on his terminal for a bit, called over his supervisor, looked puzzled. Other passengers were piling up behind.

“You’re not arriving anywhere,” he observed, looking more closely into my travels. It was true, more or less. After London, I was heading to Dublin, then Chicago, then Washington, and I wasn’t spending more than twenty four hours at any stop.

“I wish I could come with you. It’ll be a journey and a half! I just hope your bags are going to be all right.”

He finally worked something out, by transferring his terminal location to Singapore, and checking me in there. More luggage tags, more boarding passes appeared.

“So long as they work out what I’ve done, your bags should get to London.”

I made a mental note to check when I got to Singapore. The last thing I wanted was for my baggage to become separated, being forwarded from terminal to terminal until it finally caught up with me back home in Canberra.

But my man was smiling as I handed him Ringbear for a quick photograph. “My name’s Shawn,” he said, and spelt it out for me, just in case I put him up on Facebook. I hoisted my backpack and headed off towards immigration. Before disappearing airside, I released a book about Mensa puzzles, in recognition of Shawn’s problem-solving skills.

It’s been twelve months since I last visited New Zealand, and in that time the departure tax has been abolished. One more inconvenience gone.

The Qantas lounge has free wifi, but for some reason I can’t connect, until I give up wrestling with it and do something else, involving coffee and a muffin.

There’s plenty of time for my flight, and I browse through the airside shops, full of souvenirs and cheap grog, All-Black polo shirts and toy kiwis. There’s a vintage monoplane suspended from the roof, the first lady to fly solo from England to New Zealand just stepped away from the controls. Unpressurised, barely room to swing a lipstick. They must have bred them tough back in the Sixties.

I’ve got a letter to post, one of those New Zealand reply paid envelopes, and I’ve hung onto it until now to save the cost of the stamp. I should have looked around for a post box last night, but it’s slipped my mind until now. Luckily the airport has foreseen my minor plight, and there’s a green box for me on the way to the gate.

Gate 8. I’ll bet Cathay Pacific pays extra for this lucky number.

“Champagne?” I ask hopefully.

“After takeoff, sir.”

It is a morning flight, after all. First meal on this long sector will be breakfast.

We taxi out, turn onto the runway and lift off, heading northwest for Hong Kong. We’re in my favorite airliner, the graceful four-engined Airbus A340, operated by my favorite airline. I’m ready to be pampered.

Breakfast is served with Cathay Pacific’s usual care and flair. Juice, fruit and croissant to begin with, followed by “Bacon and tomato egg soufflé, venison sausage, new potatoes, roasted Roma tomato and asparagus”, and coffee.

They put a good deal of time and effort into serving meals, getting everything just right. I particularly like the salt and pepper shakers in the form of water-smoothed black and white rocks.

After breakfast the lights are dimmed, and though it’s a daylight flight over the Coral Sea, Papua New Guinea and the Philippines, the window shades come down, and if I take a peek outside, it’s blinding dazzle.

So I check out the movie channels. Audio-Visual on Demand with a wealth of programming. There’s a Chinese movie set in San Francisco. Called Sausalito, it tells the story of a single mother taxidriver and her rocky romance with a genius computer programmer. The movie’s in Chinese, though there are snatches of English, and I concentrate on the subtitles. Of course I’m fascinated, though I must confess that my sex life in the taxi isn’t as saucy as this movie’s. It’s a little over the top, but eventually everything is tied up nicely, and I sigh happily to see a fellow cabbie find love.

There’s enough time for a nap, just enough angle on full recline to feel gravity sliding me down.

Another movie, another meal.

“Apricot-glazed hot smoked salmon with vegetable salad and lime aloli sauce.” There’s a side salad, a choice of fancy bread – my garlic bread is slightly dark on one end – and I get stuck into the champagne. The main is “Grilled beef tenderloin with horopito sauce, roasted baby potatoes and sautéed vegetables.”

And a cheese platter of “Cape Kidnappers, Awa Blue and port wine cheddar” to go with a fresh glass of champagne.

And then we are sliding in over Hong Kong. I’ve got the offside as we curve around, over the New Territories with Red China a brief encounter below, and then it’s islands and milky sea until we land on the right hand runway. A quick taxi to a nearby gate, passing the defunct Boeing 747 of “Ocean Airlines”, as seen in the TV series “Lost”. As we pass directly behind, I notice that the engine cowlings are hollow – this elderly jumbo is going nowhere but the cough heap.

 

[Skyring]

AKL-HKG meals

Juice, fruit and croissant to begin with

followed by “Bacon and tomato egg soufflé, venison sausage, new potatoes, roasted Roma tomato and asparagus”, and coffee.

“Apricot-glazed hot smoked salmon with vegetable salad and lime aloli sauce.” There’s a side salad, a choice of fancy bread – my garlic bread is slightly dark on one end – and I get stuck into the champagne.

The main is “Grilled beef tenderloin with horopito sauce, roasted baby potatoes and sautéed vegetables.”

And a cheese platter of “Cape Kidnappers, Awa Blue and port wine cheddar” to go with a fresh glass of champagne.

 

[Skyring]

5 October 2008
Hong Kong to Singapore
CX711 A330 B-HLB
Seat: 12K
Scheduled: 1615
Boarding: 1550
Pushback: 1617
Takeoff: 1638 (to the south)
Descent: 1920
Landing: 0955
Gate: 2005 (T2 28)

It’s a forty-five minute break in Hong Kong. I’m reasonably close to the Pier, if I want to check email, maybe have a shower, but I choose instead to browse through the shopping. The electronics shops here are superb, and I’m hoping to find a Fisher Space Pen in one of the duty frees that doesn’t have a metal body. I’m also after a belt with a plastic buckle. I strike out on all counts, but it’s still fun to look through the shops.

Hong Kong has those delightful split jetways, allowing premium passengers to stroll down an empty corridor into the front cabin while the churning masses line up for the rear. I’m welcomed at the door by a smiling FA. I’m convinced that Cathay Pacific clones their junior attendants, identical in red tops, dark hair and perfect teeth.

“I like your teddy bear,” says one, passing by with a tray full of preflight drinks. I snag a glass of Billecart-Salmon and relax, watching the ground crew bustling about.

There’s a long taxi to takeoff, and a bit of a queue. Eventually we’re rolling down the runway, Lantau Island with its man-made apartment ranges accelerating to our left and the endless gates of the terminal to the right. Hong Kong is always planespotter heaven, with colourful designs from around the world, garnished with eccentric flowers and dragons from the Chinese regionals.

Dinner is served – more champagne – and I relax, enjoying the flight as evening arrives through the haze.

“Marinated butterfly prawns with peppers and asparagus,” is simply superb.

“Chicken with sweet and sour sauce, steamed jasmine rice and Chinese mixed vegetables,” is good, but perhaps I’m getting picky. I wanted a meal with chopsticks, but none are forthcoming on this flight.

Banana Cheesecake for dessert. I usually keep a watchful eye on dessert, full of calories, fats, sugars, chocolates etc., but this one sneaks past my vigilance.

Service isn’t indifferent – Cathay Pacific doesn’t do indifferent – but there’s no sparkle. Perhaps it’s been a long day for passengers and crew. I’m certainly hitting my limits, but there’s no pain involved. The excellent champagne is gently soothing me towards sleep.

We arrive in Singapore over a jumble of estates and brightly-lit roads, the airport appearing in a surprise as we touch down and roll past an endless series of gates. I count three Singapore Airlines Airbus A380s scattered around the terminal.

I’ve got a reasonable amount of time in Singapore, but I’ll be wanting to sleep.

 

[Keith009]

A beautifully written TR, Skyring. Looking forward to more.

 

[Skyring]

You inspire me, Keith! But I dunno how you manage to produce your own high standard TR, given what seems like an astonishingly high intake of champagne and low amount of spare time.

Me, I fall increasingly behind, just keeping up.

 

[Skyring]

Sleeping airside

5/6 October 2008
Ambassador Transit Hotel, Singapore Airport

Yeah. I flew to Singapore and back just to sleep in the airport. It was more convenient than flying up to Tokyo to stay in a hotel near Narita, in that I wouldn’t have to haul my bags on and off shuttle buses and go through immigration and security. Flying is the fun part, towing baggage through airport terminals less so.

And I’ve got to sleep somewhere.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You can have a perfectly good holiday without leaving Singapore Airport. For a planespotter nerd like me, it’s a paradise. There’s a rooftop observation deck with palms and swimming pool. Free drinks and food in the Qantas lounge. A free cinema. A gymnasium. Endless opportunities for shopping and people watching.

It’s bustling, colourful, exciting.

The signage could be improved. I found a sign saying “Transit Hotel” but I couldn’t find the place itself. Up and down I wandered the mighty building, drawing on last year’s vague memories, looking for landmarks.

It took about half an hour. Up the escalators in the corner of one of the three linked terminals. I gave my name to the sweet young thing manning the counter, and I think she took it as some sort of dinkum Aussie greeting, because when her supervisor pointed me out on a printed guest list, she nodded and asked for my name.

Rooms are available in six hour blocks, with each successive hour a quarter the price of a whole block. I’d need somewhere between ten and twelve hours, depending on how long in the morning I wanted to spend in an airline lounge waiting for my flight back to Hong Kong, so I had reserved two blocks. That cost me $117 Singapore, which I considered a reasonable deal for a night of comfort and privacy airside.

The room was slightly different to the one I’d had the previous year. Twin beds rather than a queensize, and it actually had a window, albeit one looking out onto some interior equipment park two floors below. Otherwise it was about as generic as a hotel room could be. I might as well be back in Auckland.

Flatscreen television and no fridge. Creamer in sachets for my coffee, should I want some, which I didn’t.

I dropped my pack and plugged in the laptop to charge up before heading out to take a look around the shops. I still wanted those MacAir adapters. And maybe some underwear; I’d forgotten to pack a fresh change in my carryon.

Which reminded me. I needed to check on my checked baggage, just in case it was rolling mournfully around a carousel somewhere downstairs. A young lady at an airline service desk looked up my numbers on her computer and assured me, after a little hesitation, that it was in Singapore with me, and checked through to Heathrow.

The airside shops were mostly aimed at millionaires, but I found a Seven-Eleven tucked away in a corner, again after a struggle with the signage. Lots of chocolate and noodles and souvenirs, but yes they had mens undies. All in sizes too small for my comfort. Maybe the lightly built locals were big customers, or maybe all the larger sizes had been snapped up by people like me. I gave up on jocks, and while I could use a change of socks, I knew that I could use the flight socks supplied in my Cathay Pacific amenity kit. At a pinch.

Besides, I was getting tired. An early start, a big timezone difference, and unsatisfactory airliner sleep. I needed to crash.

Back to my room, big drink of the cold water thoughtfully provided in a closed steel jug, clean my teeth and change into my pyjamas. Which, of course, I’d also left in my checked baggage.

Not to worry. It’s just me. I drew the curtains, took a few photographs for the record, carefully avoiding awkward reflections, set three alarms, and drifted into the land of snore.

Again, a very comfortable sleep, but I woke before the alarm this time, the rush of air through the airconditioning giving me an extra half hour of unplanned wakeup.

Not to worry, a leisurely shower and shave, and I even turned on the television. Singapore cable TV, I have to say, is every bit as awful as New Zealand’s. Apart from the Malay subtitles, it’s probably the same shows.

What I’d hoped was a news channel turned out to be the Guinness Book of Records show of bizarrely talented people. Currently in the spotlight was a young man from Sweden – I’m flying over his home even as I write these words – who was going for the world record for spinning a frying pan on one finger.

He was good, very good, but the real marvel was the ability of the host to talk every second of the way through the display. I would have been stuck for words after the first few rotations, but both were going strong several minutes later after the existing record had fallen.

“He’s going slower, now faster; what a showman!” the breezy host enthused. “Oh, it’s all gone wonky and he’s dropped it!”

I’d had more excitement than I could bear. Still a couple of hours before my time ran out and my flight boarded, but I wanted some proper coffee with real milk, and some free wifi, so I loaded up my backpack and headed for the lounge.

 

[QF WP]

Skyring, it's been such a long time since I've been in the TR Forum. An excellent presenation thus far and I'm living vicariously through your travels as mine are never far from home these days...

Perhaps one of these days, I'll get around to finishing a couple of half-finished TR's and do the unstarted ones.

 

[Skyring]

Singapore transit pix

I think it might have been a continent or two ago, but I was working on the Singapore entry and they called my flight before I added the photographs and now the post has past the point where I can. ***grump***

So here ya go!

What ambassador would stay here, I asks? This is the entrance to the T1 airside hotel.

The beds in the room.

The TV, coffeemaking etc.

The bathroom. Standard stuff. I took this shot when I had all my clobber on, which is probably a good thing. Reminds me of the veteran flying lady in the transit bus in Sydney yesterday when we went past the Qantas A380. "It's huge!" she breathed. "Had a girlfriend used to say that," I replied, and she giggled like a schoolgirl.

The original picture has a bit of me naked. Well, all of me naked. I carefully cropped out the shiny ring thing on the left, which is a cup holder for toothbrushes. I couldn't find a cup to fit it. Maybe they had 'em once, but now it's just a kind of useless obstacle about ten centimetres above the benchtop.