Day 1 – Duty Free Time Travel

Things started just fine, and then inexplicably went downhill. I'm not one to worry about the vaguaries of travel (otherwise right now I'd be nigh-catatonic), but late Saturday I was gripped by a fully-fledged panic attack. At this point, little things began going wrong, but my hyperventilation was quicky inflating them to Marshmellow Man size in a few frantic heartbeats. That's now in the past, for which I'm thankful.

After that frenzied state, everything went well. Customs and Check-In were easy (But the other way aroud). I did get swabbed for bombs (lucky I had already swallowed the nitro-glycerine), and I fell into instant relaxation once on board. And by instant I mean I slept through take off. Slept almost the whole trip to Hong Kong, where we arrived a 7:15am. There's only a few hours difference (3) between HK and home, so felt great.

The airport is quite nice. Not the first place on my list of places to be kept in captivity for a day, but definitely one of the most stylish. I can't tell if my experience is indicative of all Hong Kong, but space does not appear to be a premium: Everything is arranged with abundant wiggle room. The concourses (of which the largest must be close to a kilometre in length) are designed with a vaulted ceiling motif, very much invoking the external look and dimensions of a hangar. Considering I had a whole day here, I thought it best to get some currency, and so headed rght to an exchange where I gave them all my Australian cash. ALL.

Swanning around with the resulting stack of bills, I thought the best thing to do before the daydreams of grandeur reached critical mass, was to get a coffee. Coffee, like the Big Mac is a pretty universal measure. Unfortunately, science does not reckon on the immeasurable, and my hunger got in the way, ordering a “quick fried beef with egg” as a close match for breakfast. It was better than close – It was! The repaste cost me $45, approximately $6.80Aus. Not bad! I spent the rest of my time walking around the gargantuan halls, meandered the free internet briefly, and then decided it was time to slake the thirst and start recording my thoughts. Ordering almost $100 of drinks (my perspective is shot), I went for my pen only to discover it had fallen in battle. The ink had erupted and filled the barrel. It was a sad moment for ball points everywhere. I finished my binge, and bought a new smooth writer for the princely sum of $15 ($2.20Aus). I still need to get over this exchange rate – when it's close to one-to-one, I can handle it, but when it's 6.7:1, I get confused.

So the days go by, and the airport begins to grow old. I waited at the gate for the connection and tried to focus on my book, but my brain was hammering away that it was almost time to eat. Naturally, brain is correct but flight comes first. We board, and this time my seat-mate is a lovely young lady who is almost the spitting image of Petreen. We didn't talk, but share a smile that puts her miles ahead of Captain Psycho from the morning.

Captain Psycho dressed in fatigues, had wild hair and an intense stare that looked determined enough to pull triggers on it's own. He didn't speak, but spent the whole flight watching Disney's “The Hunchback of Notre Dame”...repeatedly.

I promptly fell asleep, but this time am woken by the Captain announcing a fault on the plane that cannot be fixed, so we are being transferred. He hands it over to Ground Control, who opens with the very Shaun Micallef-styled intro: “Hello, my name is Director Manager of Ground Control.” I snigger. The joke is on me, as the concourse and I are re-acquainted for another hour. I contact family and friends to tell them of my plight, and eventually re-board. This time, all systems are go.

The flight passed quickly, again my mutant super power kicked in and allowed me to sleep through the majority of the trip. Pseudo-Petreen was good company, as it turned out we are in similar lines of work, and so we talked a little shop. She also worded me up on what to expect from english people – apparently they don't strike up conversations with strangers like Australians do. Interesting! Eventually the flight came to an end, and we disembarked – the fun now really began. Customs was a breeze – in fact, there was no customs. I contemplated what this would have meant had I stuff to declare, but this was a moot point as the declaration channel was empty too. After probing questions about who i was related to (part of me bit back the urge to say “The Queen”), I was let loose into the UK.

Relying on the train system to get me from Heathrow to Stratford, I found out that the delay had convenient had us arrive and get out of customs with about 30mins lee-way for travel. The first bit of advice from the train staff was “get to Liverpool St as fast as you can.” Which I attempted. I crossed paths with a traveller trying to do the same, a developer from Microsoft, and we tag-teamed our way through various stations and station staff (at one point I mused out loud that a bear had been stuck at Paddington station once – he looked at me like I was suggesting something absurd.) Eventually we got to Liverpool St and we parted ways. I walked out of the station to my connecting bus and took a deep breath – this was the first time I had stepped outside in God-knows how many hours...Getting on the bus, I popped out my trusty iPod and listened to the tune that was guiding me all this time. Man it felt good.

Finally got to my destination, and 30mins later so did my brother – he'd sent himself out as a search party to find me, and Heathrow had declared a delay that was a whole lot different to the truth. In the meantime I caught up with one of J's housemates, a guy who had been at high school with him. And another housemate, a french girl. Apparently the french greet strangers with hugs and kisses on both cheeks. To quote the All Stars, I really really love the french! :P At 4am we went to bed, and the travel officially ended.

(further posts will be shorter – this represents a period of 29 hours of experiences)

New Thing Learnt Today – I begin to act like a caged animal if kept inside for too long.