Trans-Tasman Disaster!

SuePa said:
BookCrossing sounds like me, but I have a lot of ebooks. Are these accepted? I searched the BookCrossing site, but couldn't find and answer.
Click to expand...
This thread has been so informative
I just checked out BookCrossing - I had never heard of it
…as a bibliophile I love the concept and regularly give away books to share the love…
As a child my mother gave me a bookmark ‘when you finish a good book its like farewelling a great friend.’
Thanks @Skyring

.. but I digress… on with the tale
 
MARTINE said:
This thread has been so informative
I just checked out BookCrossing - I had never heard of it
…as a bibliophile I love the concept and regularly give away books to share the love…
As a child my mother gave me a bookmark ‘when you finish a good book its like farewelling a great friend.’
Thanks @Skyring

.. but I digress… on with the tale
Click to expand...
This - when you finish a good book its like farewelling a great friend.’
 
SuePa said:
BookCrossing sounds like me, but I have a lot of ebooks. Are these accepted? I searched the BookCrossing site, but couldn't find and answer.
Click to expand...
I remember discussing this question at the Amsterdam convention in 2010. e-books were just starting to become a thing but of course there's nothing to label and leave, short of dropping your Kindle on a park bench or something.
 
Sunday was the final day of the gathering. A brunch at ten, some would be leaving early, say our farewells, promise to meet again at local groups, in Finland next April, and/or Adelaide next November.

My Auckland flight to Sydney and then to Canberra was leaving at 1725. So long as I caught the noon ferry off the island I'd be okay. I could even get a later one and still be reasonably confident.

So I went to bed with a tummy full of red wine, battered snapper, chips and coleslaw.

I slept soundly until the rumblings and shakings began about an hour later. No idea what was causing the problem until I woke completely up.

A little queasy down below. No imminent eruption, but definitely on the horizon.

All I had to do was lie quietly and the feeling would pass. Besides, getting up to crouch over the toilet bowl was not an attractive prospect. I'd just lie quietly and let the turbulence subside,

Poor strategy. About four or five sleepless hours later I finally got up and enjoyed the previous day's winetasting and meals a second time. On this cycle the tasting notes seemed to be out of balance with the reality. A bit stronger and definitely more acidic.


It was an unhappy hour sitting on a chair in front of the royal telephone, occasionally calling for the divine, making multicoloured offerings.

Not sure what it was. I blamed the fish at first but as nobody else in the party got crook and we were all eating off the same menu, I think I must have picked up a norovirus.

Cancelled my brunch plans and eventually got a couple of hours sleep before checkout at ten. Pity, it was a glorious sunny day outside, just made for photography but I wasn't feeling up to much besides feeling sorry for myself and moaning quietly. The thought of a day of travel ahead was not conducive to calmness of mind.
 
Last edited:
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WEL-SYD View.jpg

Frazzle Travel​
As it was, I slept a little past my ten AM checkout. My friend Megan with the car offered to drive me and my bags somewhere but as she appeared in rattling good health and humour I declined the kind offer in case I was infectious with something nasty.

By this stage I was pretty much empty. Perhaps "drained" would be a better word. A couple of pain-killers and a glass of water was all I'd been able to keep down and even those were iffy.

Realistically, I should have tried for an extra day and reorganised my arrangements but I had to get home.

I packed up my kit, put on my walking shoes, left the key in the door, and hauled my bags up the steep driveway, along the street to the main road and a hundred metres or so to the bus stop.

Sunday morning bus service - that'd be pretty good, yeah?

Well, it wasn't great, but eventually a bus came along and I clambered aboard, wedged my bags in the barely adequate luggage rack, and settled into a senior citizen seat where I might have a good shot at the open door if I was overcome by a sudden gastric influence.

I passed the Oneroa library where my companions were busy swilling coffee, talking books, and exchanging hugs. I waved as I went past, possibly hauling a cargo of germs with me. Sorry, Waiheke.

The ferry was loading at the terminal with a supermassive queue. It wound around the terminal and then zig-zagged back and forth, everyone with a bag or a stroller or something to cart along. A few were smiling but I wasn't one of them, the only bright spot in my existence being a bit of seabreeze bringing fresh air with it.

I was hoping for a window seat when I eventually stowed my big yellow bag atop a mountain of luggage but I was left with a centre seat in a middle row on a pretty much sold-out voyage. Normally I enjoy a merry harbour cruise but it was all I could do to be happily miserable as I watched the distant towers of Auckland inch closer.

I spotted a friend board just before we left and she was lucky to find a seat on the other side of the cabin. When we got to the Auckland ferry terminal I hauled my bag outside and waited, just to touch base, but discovered after a minute or two that I really had to keep moving, maybe find a friendly rubbsh bin, maybe a railing I could hang onto while I aimed at the water.

Touch and go, really. At least I could plod along, dragging my bags, aiming for the train station. My detailed instruction sheet kind of ran out of puff at this point. merely instructing me to do the outward journey in reverse: "Ferry, Britomart, Puhinui, airport".

In hindsight, I should have grabbed a taxi, told the driver, "International", and saved myself a lot of misery, if not money.

Clear thinking wasn't really on the agenda at that point. I was on rails, a dour automaton.

WEL-SYD Stations.jpg

Speaking of rails, the train station departure board wasn't making a lot of sense, no matter how long I glared at it. "Pooey-nooey" wasn't listed as a place where the railway system was going today.

I hunted around for some sort of information counter, explained my needs in mangled NewZildish, and the chap told me through an anti-plague barrier and speaker system - good thinking there, Auckland Transport - that buses were running between some stations while they worked on upgrading the service.

Platform One, he said.

Platform One, when I worked out where it was and hauled my bags down the elevator, was distinguished by the rear end of a suburban train steadily diminishing in size.

Oh well, another one would be along Sunday soon, I guessed, and I still had hours before I needed to be at the airport. I found a bench near a handy rubbish bin and endured a long wait.

By this point, the hours of sleep I'd missed were catching up to me. If my bench had been a smidge longer I might have settled down on it and zonked off.

There was a crew on the train when it arrived. A driver who strode from one end of the three-car unit to the other and a conductor - I think he gave himself a grander title, Journey Experience Manager or something equally ridiculous - who announced in Train Garble that we'd be taking buses between two stations with forgettable and unpronounceable names. I figured we'd get to a place where we weren't going any farther and there'd be a bus. And hopefully someone who could politely tell me where to go.

Auckland is probably best described as "Sydney for Beginners" and the views from suburban trains rival those of the Western Suburbs. I regarded the passing scenery with minimal affection but at least the station names were matching the snapshot on my phone.

Eventually, the thing stopped, the driver trudged from one end to the other, and I figured this was the end of the line. I followed the crowd - a very sparse Sunday crowd - to the bus platforms outside where although plenty of uniformed railway people were standing around, nobody seemed to have any interest in helping a distressed and clueless Aussie.

I approached one of these Pasenger Happiness Officers and he grimly indicated with a thumb. "Over there. Twenny minutes."

Naturally, when a bus eventually arrived and passengers got on, I climbed aboard too. Luckily I checked with the driver. "We're going to Pooey-Nooey?"

He looked at me.

"Nope."

I looked at him.

"Yer want the RBS."

I looked at him some more. Royal Bank of Scotland? Rapid Barf System? Retching-by-Sea?

"Replacement Bus Service."

Oh, right.

I hauled my bags out again and the clustered Customer Experience Angels rolled their eyes in my direction.

Eventually, with my interest in living diminishing rapidly, a RBS bus arrived, I was stared onboard and I set off on a tour of train station car parks before arriving at Puhinui, which was unmistakable from my outward trip. A brace of big orange buses were just leaving, headed for the airport.

"You headed for the airport?" the bus driver asked as I retrieved my bags. "You want one of the orange buses. The stop's on the other side."

I thanked him for his sage advice and looked around for "the other side". Other side of the train tracks? Other side of the car park? Other side of the world?

I almost dragged my bags across the tracks before I spotted an orange sign at an empty bus stop. That'd be it.

A big orange bus arrived with Airport on the front. Not immediately, of course. My will to live had to decline a few more notches before that happened.

I still hadn't seen anything resembling a chemist or even a convenience store. My social media tribe was recommending electrolytes, whatever they were, and I was thinking hospital, or possibly a funeral home, might be more suited to my immediate needs.

Nevertheless, I was still upright, I was in a big orange bus with Airport on the front, I was aimed in the right direction.
 
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Skyring said:
View attachment 352090

Frazzle Travel​
As it was, I slept a little past my ten AM checkout. My friend Megan with the car offered to drive me and my bags somewhere but as she appeared in rattling good health and humour I declined the kind offer in case I was infectious with something nasty.

By this stage I was pretty much empty. Perhaps "drained" would be a better word. A couple of pain-killers and a glass of water was all I'd been able to keep down and even those were iffy.

Realistically, I should have tried for an extra day and reorganised my arrangements but I had to get home.

I packed up my kit, put on my walking shoes, left the key in the door, and hauled my bags up the steep driveway, along the street to the main road and a hundred metres or so to the bus stop.

Sunday morning bus service - that'd be pretty good, yeah?

Well, it wasn't great, but eventually a bus came along and I clambered aboard, wedged my bags in the barely adequate luggage rack, and settled into a senior citizen seat where I might have a good shot at the open door if I was overcome by a sudden gastric influence.

I passed the Oneroa library where my companions were busy swilling coffee, talking books, and exchanging hugs. I waved as I went past, possibly hauling a cargo of germs with me. Sorry, Waiheke.

The ferry was loading at the terminal with a supermassive queue. It wound around the terminal and then zig-zagged back and forth, everyone with a bag or a stroller or something to cart along. A few were smiling but I wasn't one of them, the only bright spot in my existence being a bit of seabreeze bringing fresh air with it.

I was hoping for a window seat when I eventually stowed my big yellow bag atop a mountain of luggage but I was left with a centre seat in a middle row on a pretty much sold-out voyage. Normally I enjoy a merry harbour cruise but it was all I could do to be happily miserable as I watched the distant towers of Auckland inch closer.

I spotted a friend board just before we left and she was lucky to find a seat on the other side of the cabin. When we got to the Auckland ferry terminal I hauled my bag outside and waited, just to touch base, but discovered after a minute or two that I really had to keep moving, maybe find a friendly rubbsh bin, maybe a railing I could hang onto while I aimed at the water.

Touch and go, really. At least I could plod along, dragging my bags, aiming for the train station. My detailed instruction sheet kind of ran out of puff at this point. merely instructing me to do the outward journey in reverse: "Ferry, Britomart, Puhinui, airport".

In hindsight, I should have grabbed a taxi, told the driver, "International", and saved myself a lot of misery, if not money.

Clear thinking wasn't really on the agenda at that point. I was on rails, a dour automaton.

View attachment 352092

Speaking of rails, the train station departure board wasn't making a lot of sense, no matter how long I glared at it. "Pooey-nooey" wasn't listed as a place where the railway system was going today.

I hunted around for some sort of information counter, explained my needs in mangled NewZildish, and the chap told me through an anti-plague barrier and speaker system - good thinking there, Auckland Transport - that buses were running between some stations while they worked on upgrading the service.

Platform One, he said.

Platform One, when I worked out where it was and hauled my bags down the elevator, was distinguished by the rear end of a suburban train steadily diminishing in size.

Oh well, another one would be along Sunday soon, I guessed, and I still had hours before I needed to be at the airport. I found a bench near a handy rubbish bin and endured a long wait.

By this point, the hours of sleep I'd missed were catching up to me. If my bench had been a smidge longer I might have settled down on it and zonked off.

There was a crew on the train when it arrived. A driver who strode from one end of the three-car unit to the other and a conductor - I think he gave himself a grander title, Journey Experience Manager or something equally ridiculous - who announced in Train Garble that we'd be taking buses between two stations with forgettable and unpronounceable names. I figured we'd get to a place where we weren't going any farther and there'd be a bus. And hopefully someone who could politely tell me where to go.

Auckland is probably best described as "Sydney for Beginners" and the views from suburban trains rival those of the Western Suburbs. I regarded the passing scenery with minimal affection but at least the station names were matching the snapshot on my phone.

Eventually, the thing stopped, the driver trudged from one end to the other, and I figured this was the end of the line. I followed the crowd - a very sparse Sunday crowd - to the bus platforms outside where although plenty of uniformed railway people were standing around, nobody seemed to have any interest in helping a distressed and clueless Aussie.

I approached one of these Pasenger Happiness Officers and he grimly indicated with a thumb. "Over there. Twenny minutes."

Naturally, when a bus eventually arrived and passengers got on, I climbed aboard too. Luckily I checked with the driver. "We're going to Pooey-Nooey?"

He looked at me.

"Nope."

I looked at him.

"Yer want the RBS."

I looked at him some more. Royal Bank of Scotland? Rapid Barf System? Retching-by-Sea?

"Replacement Bus Service."

Oh, right.

I hauled my bags out again and the clustered Customer Experience Angels rolled their eyes in my direction.

Eventually, with my interest in living diminishing rapidly, a RBS bus arrived, I was stared onboard and I set off on a tour of train station car parks before arriving at Puhinui, which was unmistakable from my outward trip. A brace of big orange buses were just leaving, headed for the airport.

"You headed for the airport?" the bus driver asked as I retrieved my bags. "You want one of the orange buses. The stop's on the other side."

I thanked him for his sage advice and looked around for "the other side". Other side of the train tracks? Other side of the car park? Other side of the world?

I almost dragged my bags across the tracks before I spotted an orange sign at an empty bus stop. That'd be it.

A big orange bus arrived with Airport on the front. Not immediately, of course. My will to live had to decline a few more notches before that happened.

I still hadn't seen anything resembling a chemist or even a convenience store. My social media tribe was recommending electrolytes, whatever they were, and I was thinking hospital, or possibly a funeral home, might be more suited to my immediate needs.

Nevertheless, I was still upright, I was in a big orange bus with Airport on the front, I was aimed in the right direction.
Click to expand...
Love it@Skyring - I’m hooked
 

WEL-SYD Boarding.jpgHurry up and wait​
At least Auckland has enough Qantas flights that the checkin and lounge are both open. I carried my bags off the big orange bus feeling that I had arrived at a safe haven. Here I could ditch my bag, hunt around for some electrolytes - whatever they might be - find a cosy corner of the lounge and relax until they called my flight.

Scheduled for a 1725 departure, I had seat 5K on an Airbus A333. If I'd been full bottle - instead of drained - I would have taken full advantage of this actual International Business seat and service, not to mention a couple of hours in the lounge beforehand, pushing up the champagne level in my system.

The first sign that anything was wrong - well, wrong-er - was the boarding time on my boarding pass. 1720 for a 1725 liftoff? I didn't notice this at the time but pleased that I'd dropped my bag and gotten my passes - one marked with a cheery "EXPRESS LANE" for security - I hurried off through Dutyfreeland in search of a pharmac_.

Another nice touch was that my new Gold status was noted. Sometimes I've had to wait a week or more for flight credits to be posted.

No pharmacies, but plenty of souvenirs and high-end cosmetics and such. I looked into a convenience store wondering if they'd have an electrolyte section but all that I could find was a package of Beroccas. Possibly a sports drink of some sort would have been good but my online research skills hadn't been at the top of my "get-through-the-day" list.

The Qantas lounge was pretty well packed. Seems there were delays across the board and an afternoon's worth of flights were delayed with the top-end passengers all lounging around getting plastered.

I found a spare-ish seat, studiously avoided the food and alcohol section, and dropped a Berocca into a glass of water, producing a fluorescent orange drink that tasted so horrific it had to be good for me.

I nursed this thing for a couple of hours, to be honest. Couldn't take more than a sip at a time. I spent that time watching the delays pile up and the lounge become ever more crowded. All I wanted was to slump in a corner somewhere and doze but the place was jumping.

Finally, a flight was called and a few seats opened up. I grabbed a chair that had a bit of a headrest, carried my orange drink over, and had a doze. I was dimly aware of flights being called but I knew that my flight had been delayed until after 1800. So plenty of time.

Eventually, something jolted me awake and I blearily looked around at an all-but-empty lounge. Uh-oh.

On the board, my flight - QF 148 - was listed as "GO TO GATE".

I sprang to my feet and raced out the door.

Well, not really. I shook off the fog and shambled out. In my memory, it was a long haul to the gate but when I completed the kilometre and a half trek at least the boarding process was still ongoing. I seized the opportunity to visit some handy facilities, elbowed my way through the deserted premium lane and presented my boarding pass.

Sunday 15 October 2023
Flight 2317
QF148 AKL - SYD
VH-QPB A333

Scheduled: 1725
Boarding: 1800? Seat 5K
Pushback: 1827
Takeoff: 1840 to W
Landing: 1953 from N
Gate: 2000

At the plane, I was greeted by a horrendously cheerful FA who looked at me and said with surprise, "Oh, you're up front today. Turn left!"

Possibly she thought I should be shipped horizontally on the cargo deck, which would have suited me nicely.

This was a lovely plane, at least at this end. In fact, it was the same plane I'd flown from Bangkok to Sydney back in June, albeit at the back of the bus.

Nice big lie-flat seat with a window and aisle access, lots of buttons to push, people to bring me champagne on command.

I accepted a glass of sparkling water.

We took off and headed west over the water. Dinner was served and I thought the poached chicken might be something I could stomach. More water and apple juice to wash it down. The cabin crew were in fine form this evening. Maybe it was happy hour, maybe it's the normal post-Joyce routine. I dunno. I didn't appreciate it.

The slices of poached chicken loked suitably bland, at least until the FA whipped out a jug and poured some sort of spicey green sauce over them. To my horror.

WEL-SYD Dinner.jpg

One slice escaped, I managed to scrape the sauce off another, but the third was soaked and remained balanced atop the pile of quinoa salad. Cheese and crackers for dessert. Canary cheese, WTF?

I stowed the chocolate slab away for a rainy day and sipped my juice.

Eventually my tray was retrieved, about a half hour after I indicated I was finished, and I hit the "Full Flat" button, rolled on my side into coma position and ceased to care about anything for a while.

We looped around Sydney on our approach - there's a photo in my previous entry - and it looked splendid. I was actually feeling a bit more humanoid by this point but I was wondering about my next flight home to Canberra, leaving the Domestic terminal at 2105, now just over an hour away.
 
Last edited:
Skyring said:

View attachment 352158Hurry up and wait​
At least Auckland has enough Qantas flights that the checkin and lounge are both open. I carried my bags off the big orange bus feeling that I had arrived at a safe haven. Here I could ditch my bag, hunt around for some electrolytes - whatever they might be - find a cosy corner of the lounge and relax until they called my flight.

Scheduled for a 1725 departure, I had seat 5K on an Airbus A333. If I'd been full bottle - instead of drained - I would have taken full advantage of this actual International Business seat and service, not to mention a couple of hours in the lounge beforehand, pushing up the champagne level in my system.

The first sign that anything was wrong - well, wrong-er - was the boarding time on my boarding pass. 1720 for a 1725 liftoff? I didn't notice this at the time but pleased that I'd dropped my bag and gotten my passes - one marked with a cheery "EXPRESS LANE" for security - I hurried off through Dutyfreeland in search of a pharmac_.

Another nice touch was that my new Gold status was noted. Sometimes I've had to wait a week or more for flight credits to be posted.

No pharmacies, but plenty of souvenirs and high-end cosmetics and such. I looked into a convenience store wondering if they'd have an electrolyte section but all that I could find was a package of Beroccas. Possibly a sports drink of some sort would have been good but my online research skills hadn't been at the top of my "get-through-the-day" list.

The Qantas lounge was pretty well packed. Seems there were delays across the board and an afternoon's worth of flights were delayed with the top-end passengers all lounging around getting plastered.

I found a spare-ish seat, studiously avoided the food and alcohol section, and dropped a Berocca into a glass of water, producing a fluorescent orange drink that tasted so horrific it had to be good for me.

I nursed this thing for a couple of hours, to be honest. Couldn't take more than a sip at a time. I spent that time watching the delays pile up and the lounge become ever more crowded. All I wanted was to slump in a corner somewhere and doze but the place was jumping.

Finally, a flight was called and a few seats opened up. I grabbed a chair that had a bit of a headrest, carried my orange drink over, and had a doze. I was dimly aware of flights being called but I knew that my flight had been delayed until after 1800. So plenty of time.

Eventually, something jolted me awake and I blearily looked around at an all-but-empty lounge. Uh-oh.

On the board, my flight - QF 148 - was listed as "GO TO GATE".

I sprang to my feet and raced out the door.

Well, not really. I shook off the fog and shambled out. In my memory, it was a long haul to the gate but when I completed the kilometre and a half trek at least the boarding process was still ongoing. I seized the opportunity to visit some handy facilities, elbowed my way through the deserted premium lane and presented my boarding pass.

Sunday 15 October 2023
Flight 2317
QF148 AKL - SYD
VH-QPB A333

Scheduled: 1725
Boarding: 1800? Seat 5K
Pushback: 1827
Takeoff: 1840 to W
Landing: 1953 from N
Gate: 2000

At the plane, I was greeted by a horrendously cheerful FA who looked at me and said with surprise, "Oh, you're up front today. Turn left!"

Possibly she thought I should be shipped horizontally on the cargo deck, which would have suited me nicely.

This was a lovely plane, at least at this end. In fact, it was the same plane I'd flown from Bangkok to Sydney back in June, albeit at the back of the bus.

Nice big lie-flat seat with a window and aisle access, lots of buttons to push, people to bring me champagne on command.

I accepted a glass of sparkling water.

We took off and headed west over the water. Dinner was served and I thought the poached chicken might be something I could stomach. More water and apple juice to wash it down. The cabin crew were in fine form this evening. Maybe it was happy hour, maybe it's the normal post-Joyce routine. I dunno. I didn't appreciate it.

The slices of poached chicken loked suitably bland, at least until the FA whipped out a jug and poured some sort of spicey green sauce over them. To my horror.

View attachment 352157

One slice escaped, I managed to scrape the sauce off another, but the third was soaked and remained balanced atop the pile of quinoa salad. Cheese and crackers for dessert. Canary cheese, WTF?

I stowed the chocolate slab away for a rainy day and sipped my juice.

Eventually my tray was retrieved, about a half hour after I indicated I was finished, and I hit the "Full Flat" button, rolled on my side into coma position and ceased to care about anything for a while.

We looped around Sydney on our approach - there's a photo in my previous entry - and it looked splendid. I was actually feeling a bit more humanoid by this point but I was wondering about my next flight home to Canberra, leaving the Domestic terminal at 2105, now just over an hour away.
Click to expand...
🇦🇺🦘
All of us are cheering now that @Skyring made his plane to Sydney and is safely back in Australia….but will he successfully board his plane to Canberra with an hour to transit?…..
Chapter 9 ⏭️
 

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