Long haul flights, tiresome seat partners and problematic feet - these are a few of my least favourite things!

 I am sat in my beautiful little studio in London.  It overlooks a small park, a tree-lined arched boulevard and tennis courts.  It would be easy to forget I’m in a bustling city, as there is little traffic noise and there are birds chirping and a cool breeze coming through the large window, which I have opened to release some of the heat inside.  London is in the middle of a hot farewell to summer, with temps into the 30s most days.  I scrimped on my accommodation by not paying for an air conditioned flat - opting for one that has a small fan and a huge window to catch the breeze.  I have a tiny balcony that I can take one of my folder chairs onto and watch the world go by.  But let’s face it, I’m an Aussie who has lived without air con for 51 years (we got it installed when Hayden came home from the hospital), so the heat really isn’t an issue for me - more on that later.

If I had written this blog last night, I must say it would sound somewhat different.  Probably a little unhinged, a lot whiny and not my best work.  Long haul flights get harder as you get older.  The ability of the body to bounce back when moving time zones and spending hours on planes and in airport lounges diminishes with each passing year.

This trip was meant to happen in 2020.  I had flights booked for September of that year, which of course were cancelled due to a certain virus that shall not be named.  Fast forward to 2022, and when I went to use my travel credit that Etihad had generously extended year by year, I found two things.  One - the cost of my flights had now doubled from $1300 return to $2600 return.  Two - said flights no longer fly direct from Brisbane, which means I had to fly 2 hours south to Melbourne to then fly 13 hours north to Abu Dhabi.  Yay, let’s add two hours to an already crappily-long flight.  Yes, yes, I know that the flight to LA is 16 hours, but that’s it, one flight.  This flight was just the first of two long flights.

So here’s my day - arrive at Brisbane domestic at 1.30pm for a 4pm flight.  Which turns out to be a 4.30pm flight as it’s delayed.  Fly two hours to Melbourne.  Wait at airport for 3 hours to board 13 hour flight to Abu Dhabi.  Get a lovely aisle seat, as booked and it looks like I have an empty seat by me.  Doors closed, and a voice says “excuse me that’s my seat”.  I find out later on that my seat buddy has a superstition that he must be the last person on the plane every flight, so he waits ‘til the last minute to board.  Said seat buddy also informs me he doesn’t sleep well on planes and needs to be up and moving constantly.  I immediately know this is going to be not just a long flight, but a looooong flight.  (A second piece of evidence for this was the woman in front who reclined her seat the moment the wheels left the ground - yep, she was determined to sleep the entire flight.  The seat did not move forward until I asked the attendant if it could be upright for the final meal service of the flight).

My seat buddy was true to his word.  The moment the seatbelt sign was off, he was asking me to move.  This was repeated throughout the 13 hours, which proved to be quite turbulent, with seatbelt signs on more than off.  I estimate I got up about 16 times during my flight.  Needless to say I didn’t sleep much on that one.  The girl on the other side of me praised me for my patience.  But I tried to be pleasant about it - as I told her, “what choice do I have, I have to sit here for 13 hours.  Even when he returned halfway through a meal service and I had to get myself, my food, my blanket, my pillow and my headphones up and out of my chair so he could return to his, I was outwardly pleasant, while inwardly cursing him and his bloodline in perpetuity.

Disembark in Abu Dhabi, and I have another 2-3 hours in an airport waiting for my final flight.  This one was a nice surprise, as Etihad had given me a free upgrade to Economy Plus - third row of the plane, extra leg room and larger seats.  I was sat next to a lovely couple who only got up twice in 7 hours, and one of those was while I was up already, so really only once in that time!  My dad had warned me about the seats though when I was telling him about the upgrade, warning me that I was in close proximity to that row of 4 seats in the centre that was usually used by families travelling.  Sure enough, there was a family there, they were lovely and my only complaint was that when their child pooped their pants, I was aware of it for about 90 minutes before they were (parents of little kids will know that a crappy nappy has a certain smell, so I knew it wasn’t a flatulent passenger giving me those pungent little whiffs).  But once that was resolved, it was a lovely flight, and I know I slept pretty deeply at one point, as I had a meal service on my tray in front of me after one nap, which I had been happily unaware of being delivered.

Finally off the plane in Heathrow, and after an hour waiting for the luggage (I wasn’t worried it was lost, I had put an AirTag in my bag, so could see it was in London with me), I was finally on the tube, happily utilising the Piccadilly Line to get to Kings Cross Station.  This is the cheapest option to get to the city from the airport, but also takes about 3 times the time. The options were £30-£60 for a cab or Uber (30-45min trip), £17 pound for the AirPort Express train or £6 for the tube.  Of course I chose the tube, but it’s about an hour to ride.  Sidenote, it’s 30 degrees today, and this line is not air conditioned.  One woman actually closed the vents that lets the air circulate through the carriages as it was annoying her.  It was the closest I had been to a mass-riot as others forced the vent back open and advised her to leave it be!

Counting down the 18 or so stops, and with about 10 to go, a bunch of young Aussies get on.  I comment that it’s good to hear the accent, and got chatting to them. Turns out they are from Perth and two of them had been playing summer cricket for Widnes Cricket Club. Chatted all things cricket, and they gave me the tip of staying up tonight and not trying for a sneaky nap.  Turns out they were completely right.  I got into my flat, decompressed for about an hour but avoided the nap I was yearning.  Giggled on check-in at the poor husband who was enquiring about their broken air-con, and the desk clerk who said it was working when he checked it earlier.  Said husband was then outside with his wife on speaker phone as she lamented the sauna-like conditions in the room and that she just couldn’t handle it anymore.  He was trying to placate her that they had a maintenance man coming to look at it, and she went on a tirade about the oppressiveness of the heat and the hate that she had for this city.  Poor fellow, I almost felt sorry for him - can you guess which country they came from?

Went exploring the local area, found my local Marks and Spencer where I picked up tonight’s dinner and drinks (I had planned a night in tonight) and then out and about around King’s Cross and Islington sussing out where to eat and what to do.  Managed to clock up my step count for the day, but irritated the heel spur and plantar problems I have been nursing for the past month, so after a lovely meal, a bit of tv and some catch up on the socials, it was off to bed in the hopes that it will magically heal in time for my long Camino walks.

How good was that 9 hours of sleep?  It was pretty good.  Woke up a couple of times, but able to drop back off to sleep easily, so here I am at 6.30am ready for my first English breakfast before heading to Leavesden for the day to get my Harry Potter fix and a comedy show later tonight.