A day trip to Susa by bike

August 7, 2014 / graham3693

A beautiful Bianchi bike – for the cyclists reading this blog : Ultegra group set, which, as a Campy man, found me twiddling my thumbs as they are not needed at least when it comes to shifting up
or down a cog.

The ride on route SSP24 was not enjoyable. It was not the motorway, but nevertheless still busy and unsettling. Mostly the road for 35 km was intermittent industrial estates.

One could argue that a passing Fiat Bambino, travelling at 80/hr driven by a Sister from the local convent is a mere gentle breeze, when compared to a passing Commodore at 120km/hr where the tendency is to swerve towards the bike, creating a vortex that threatens to suck you off the saddle.

The ultimate destination, Susa, was a more than adequate reward for it is nestled at the end of the Susa Valley, with the Alps on my right and left. It was an important ancient Roman settlement around 2 or 3 BC. It had roman ruins, an amphitheatre and aquaduct. A well preserved triumphal arch and again remarkably preserved walls and portico.

The township itself was also thriving with cobbled pedestrian streets. A small river still somewhat silty and slate grey water, rushed through the town.

My overall impression of modern Italy is rampant weeds along transport corridors further polluted with graffiti; a confusing impression of aging infrastructure at odds with an occasional 21st century sleek high speed train. And still after all these years tobacco pollutes the environment. The majority still smoke. Public Vending machines spew out a packet potentially to anyone irrespective of age, if you can cough up the money and reach the buttons! If you can’t reach, steal a crate and stand on that! A typical nuclear Italian family eats out and before and after each course, mother and father smoke in front of their 3 beautiful children.

Anyway enough of this. Tomorrow is another day.

Turino as I leave.

August 6, 2014August 6, 2014 / graham3693

Practiced my Recorder in a nearby park before breakfast and decided that the best piece, by far to play was The Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves, from Nabucco – Verdi. It was most successful – provoking numerous early morning dog walking owners to saunter by, stay a while and smile , allowing the pooch ample time to poop and pass on.

The Bamboo Eco Hostel was very much along the lines of an upmarket backpackers lodge: clean and funky – a euphemism for “basic”. It prided itself on bilingual messages in blue paint on whitewashed walls: “water is precious- use sparingly” and “enjoy a biologic breakfast at Bamboo eco Hostel”. I pondered the premise that my Kellogs Cocoa Pops were “biologic”?

The longest river in Italy is the River Po! Torino sits in a bend of this river. It’s not the cleanest of waterways. I cogitate on creating a limerick. Now what rhymes with “Po”?

A series of canals connects Milan and Torino – these are silted grey smelly water ways that apparently were designed in part by Leonardo Da Vinci. He should have stuck to naked men in marble!

One of the nicest ways to eat in Europe and my experience , has been in Italy and Spain, is the custom of buying a drink – a glass of wine or a beer for 10 euro which includes an all you can eat smorgasbord of anti pasta or tapas. It’s good value and totally different from the MacDonald’s offering. It was at one such bar that I developed a taste for lemon flavoured light beer.

The only benefit of lacking a permanent sense of direction is that I invariably stumble across most of the local attractions (on multiple occasions) and in addition totally unexpected, yet fascinating historical buildings or parks.

The Valentino Palace

Turin – the Shroud, Fiats and Football

August 5, 2014August 5, 2014 / graham3693 / 1 Comment

Having been hot and sunny for most of today, Monday, it has just started to rain – a tropical downpour complete with thunder. It’s 6:30 pm and I had collapsed with chaffed thighs on the bed. I walked the whole day. Surely I had visited all the “attractions” listed in Trip Advisor” ? Oops – wrong! The 2nd most popular attraction in a list of more than 160 is the Juventis FC stadium – missed it! The 5th most popular attraction is a tour of the Fiat auto factory – missed it!

However I did discover the Turin Cathedral, the last of at least 13 churches I entered in Turin. God had directed me there – I was, as always, mildly disorientated. In my 4 trips from hostel to city and back, I have trudged unintentionally, 4 different routes. But on this my penultimate pilgrimage, my meandering had been miraculously and magnetically attracted to …. The Shroud of Turin! The Number 1 attraction in Trip Advisor.

In the foyer, I suspect vestibule is the correct term, was a font like receptacle that contained hundreds of coarse cotton squares. Obviously there for the taking, but not genuine pieces of the relic. I am not sure that I actually viewed the shroud, but on one side of the glassed in chapel, was the expected offertory box and on the other, an unexpected portable defibrillator! What on earth did it mean? I mentally re-ran the Cecil B. DeMillie movie epics. The one recurring and terrifying depiction to an innocent prepubertal boy sitting in the local picture theatre was the storm at the crucifixion. In fact, seared into my memory is that ominous, terrifying build up of storm clouds, slowly turning day into night (by now I am not sitting, but crouched behind the seat in front) culminating in a heart stopping bolt of lightening that rendered and tore asunder the sky at the very instant that Jesus died!

As I re-live this 50 years later, I experience an epiphany! At the instant that Jesus died, a million volts arced across the heavens, struck the cross and effectively defibrillated Our Lord, back to life and resurrection on the third day! Hence the reverential glass encased 21st century relic, fittingly displayed along side the 1st century relic.

I floated out of the cathedral, tucking a clean square of cotton from the font, making a mental note never to inadvertently blow my nose on it.

The inside of Turin Cathedral

The cotton squares

Not sure of this – it appeared abandoned but very old church

On route to Milan

August 4, 2014August 4, 2014 / graham3693

On route to Milan and it’s just dawning over the Nile River and it’s basin. From an altitude of 11000 m, the description of an oasis in the desert is apt. From Singapore to Milan is a12 hour flight. For the aviators amongst you I flew an Airbus 330 to Singapore then a Boeing 777 -300 to Milan.

There is a extended Spanish family (the plane terminates in Barcelona), with Grandparents, mother and 3 grandchildren spread around the seats in front and the rows across the aisle. I quickly do some mental arithmetic they all have individual seats. I fantasise that the absent father is obviously fabulously wealthy- a black haired sullen Spanish matinee idol, or famous matador? Then again they may make loads of money from an olive oil plantation?

Secondly, based purely on anecdotal evidence, a Business Class screaming, tantrum throwing infant is the equal of anything that they may throw up in Economy Class… Speaking of “throwing up”…..

I shall check out the new Bose noise cancelling headphones before the return trip to confirm the advertising claim- “now with even better noise cancelling capabilities”. My current pair can certainly cope with the huge pulsating Rolls Royce engine outside my 16A window seat but it is not up to the task of the infant in 16B. Perhaps Caryl can enlighten me. Is there is an adjective of the noun “tantrum”? It surely can’t be tantric?

It dawned on me as I left Adelaide, the reason that one is required to arrive at least 90 minutes before an international flight. Let me explain. It is the inevitable, repetitive queues: check-in being the first hurdle. It’s perhaps one of the more significant benefits of travelling Business. However “on line check-in” serves no obvious purpose as far as I can see at least for international flights. One still must present to a human who, I admit is all smiles and is very pleasant, but still checks you in on his/her computer terminal. Perhaps her Windows 7 flags that I have booked in on an Apple Mac and they don’t really trust the result?

Then there is the security check complete with a gentle brush over one’s body to detect powder. I have been brushed over rarely. If one day I was bored waiting for a flight in the Qantas Lounge, I am inclined to simply sit on the concourse and undertake an experiment in human psychology. I hypothesise that if you are male, bearded, tattooed wearing a David Jones neck scarf and of swarthy complexion or female with moderate to morbid obesity, (huirsutism is an optional extra) and wearing any sort of head gear, you will be inevitably searched for explosives. If one is a female from sub Sahara Africa and if the poor woman has upwards of 7 children in tow, then it is mandated by Minister Morrison that these individuals MUST be subjected to a thorough brushing! He rightfully argues that with 7 children, the risk of the woman carrying explosives is multiplied by a factor of 7.

Customs has been, in my experience, mostly efficient and friendly. When I first started to fly overseas, in my twenties, for totally inexplicable and irrational reasons, as I waited at the red line “waiting to be called”, I would be struck by fleeting feelings of paranoia and guilt. What would they read about me as they gazed at the monitor hidden from my eyes! If the tip of my shoes inched accidentally over that red line before being called, would a hidden machine gun mow me down, no questions asked? Once at the counter, why did the customs officer seem to take an interminably long time staring at the screen? Much longer than all the other travellers before me! Was it that anti Vietnam rally. “Only the one time officer, believe me”. Was it that I had smoked dope. “Only the one time officer, believe me”. Did his screen scream “known inverte”? I tried to act butch……

But the point of this rambling preamble is that the bottle neck at Adelaide International departures, is the last hurdle – in what can only be a planned exercise in leading a horse to water, all embarking passengers are forced, single file and funnelled through the duty free shop. The thoroughfare is so narrow, that were I to sneeze and lurch ever so slightly off course, I would inevitably destroy a pyramid display of VSOP brandy on my left or a mountain of Toblerone on my right.

Singapore Changi airport is still Singapore Changi airport! I acknowledge that it has superb facilities to keep transit passengers distracted rather than distraught. For the first time I was struck by the daunting choice one has specifically in headphones and in-ear “buds” – walls of them! The second most numerous electronic gadget appeared to be electric razors and shavers. Not only these, but miniature gadgets designed to remove unwanted hair from any or all parts of the human body. All one needed was to bung in a battery, then insert into the specific orifice.

What I found rather quirky and hard to fathom, was that based on the range and number of these gadgets, Singaporean Chinese must be more advanced in the oriental evolution scale when it comes to hair follicles? Now were I to be meandering down the duty free concourse at Athens International airport…

Physiologically Chinese men have just as much testosterone as I do- a typical occidental male, it’s just that they have less hair follicles.

We are about to commence our descent into Milan …

These pictures are of TURINO not Milan … I trained straight to Turin!

Street scene don’t be tricked by its emptiness! It was a Sunday and around the corner lay the city square!

Piazza Gran Madre di Dio, 4, 10131 Torino, Italy

My colourful bedroom – share facilities

A Day Trip to Cape Reinga

March 10, 2014March 10, 2014 / graham3693 / 1 Comment

A round trip of 500 km from Paihia to the most northern land point of New Zealand on a superb sunny day. Wendy my charming host from Decks of Paihai, provided a healthy picnic lunch, which saved me from the crush of the “all you can eat smorgy” with 150 odd tourists from 4 coaches.

Barry was our archetypal bus driver and tour leader. He had a deep raspy infectious laugh, which was continuously on show as he spent more than a two thirds of the 10 hour journey cracking jokes, at which he himself laughed. He was a fascinating character. Some of you may remember on ABC Radio National, “A Prairie Home Companion”? It was syndicated from American public radio and the host was Garrison Keillor. It was the sort of radio programme that the family would gather around the “wireless” on a Saturday night to listen. It was best known for its musical guests, especially folk and traditional musicians, tongue-in-cheek radio drama, and Keillor’s storytelling segment, “News from Lake Wobegon”. Garrison had a fatherly homespun folksy philosophical style and Barry was New Zealand’s equivalent. Whilst his intentions were honourable, his comments were slightly sexist. Often he would admonish the blokes on board for “not telling that wonderful woman in your life, how much you love her”. When was the last chance that you hugged or kissed her? This was all commendable and understandable, but I suspect that in the bus there were several older men and women who may have been widowed or worse still, homosexual and single.

As we approached the tip of the Northland he told a rather touching and sad story of a woman who was on a tour with him a few weeks back, and was nursing long held pain, frustration and anger towards her mother. The reason? The mother a vivacious and strong woman in her early 80 had been diagnosed with a progressive degenerating neurological illness which would ultimately cause her demise. One suspects it may have been some form of dementia. Anyway the mother whilst still in charge of her faculties, died suddenly and the family suspected suicide. In other words a form of euthanasia. The daughter and indeed the rest of her siblings, were torn by so many emotions about this and had difficulty in comprehending why their mother would even consider it- so out of character. But the point of the story was that at the sacred Maori site we were to visit that day, the woman’s daughter after a good “talking too” by Barry, had an epiphany and forgave her mother and came to an understanding. Now the point if me telling this, is that Barry, who I assumed had Maori blood, told this story with such empathy and feeling that a not insignificant number of the group began to pass around a large box of Kleenex.

As we approached the Sacred Site, he asked permission to sing a Maori song a sort of traditional hymn I guess. He had a not unpleasant baritone voice. Now all things considered- the parable of the prodigal daughter, the terminally ill mother and the finale of the Maori hymn, presented with sermon like overtones, the atmosphere in the bus was by now bordering on the funereal.

Barry, genuine and simple soul, did not consider the real possibility that given the overall age of the group, at least several of whom were decidedly frail and may well have some insidious terminal illness, that were he to offer at the end of his song to pass around syringes of Pentothal, he may well have done a brisk business.

The buses, of which there were at least 5 that day, drove at breakneck speed along the 90 mile beach at times passing through the surf! Suffice it to say it was genuinely exciting even though it’s only 64 miles long not 90! For those of you from Adelaide, imagine driving along Middleton Beach for a distance of 60 miles! Then we stopped for sand tobogganing. It’s akin to surfing with a board but on a sand dune! Great fun. Then to the most northerly point of New Zealand and the original lighthouse, where the Tasman Sea and Pacific Ocean meet, the same longitude as Coffs Harbour in NSW. then we turned around and headed back home stopping along the way to visit a Kauri forest.

Barry had an almost unbelievable story about the forest. Queen Elizabeth II Visited NZ to attend the Commonwealth Games, the year was around 1990. The civic fathers decided to build an elevated walkway and platform for about 750m through the tops of this subtropical forest, for the sole purpose of the Queen to perambulate through the pines. The cost of this royal roundabout was a little more than a million dollars- a not inconsiderable sum in those days. Not surprisingly, it was not universally supported by the locals! Anyway, the Queen drove up with royal retinue, took 11 steps on to the platform, whereupon her secret service police whispered in her ear that she was NOT to descend any further as they could not guarantee her safety. She peered over the rails, waved a gloved hand to any Kiwi birds in the undergrowth, said “what a lovely forest”, turned 180 degrees, got back into the Rolls and drove off! But the platform and elevated walkway was great investment as it is a stop off point for the tourist buses. I wondered whether I should disclose to Barry that after 15 years, an Australian Queen passed by and walked the whole 750 metres?

So the tour was well worth it. There are the inevitable irritations with any bus tour all over the world. They are related to the fact that the driver has a captive audience and crowd. So any comfort or sustenance stop is always at a place that requires one to walk through the “souvenir shop” or the ancient woodworking factories of the Maori Kauri Kingdom. On this trip, just in case one did not have the time to purchase all that one needed to take home on the way there, the tour bus pulled in again on the way home! Barry in his evangelical style, worked the group up into a lather as we approached the Ancient Kingdom stop, suggesting that the ice creams here were the BEST in the whole of New Zealand. To deny ones self a ‘hokey-pokey’, would be a mortal sin.

As a final note, the Northlands of NZ are absolutely stunning and I could return, but it is not suitable for riding a bike. The roads are shoulder-less and very busy with logging trucks and tourist buses fighting for the tarmac. So one must sadly use a car.

Map of the bus trip

90 mile beach

As you can see it was desolate but by no means deserted!

The northern tip of NZ

Banter at the Bar – Pass the Lipitor.

March 7, 2014June 7, 2014 / graham3693 / 4 Comments

A universal and mandatory topic amongst self funded travelling retirees is one’s health or rather lack of it, together with an almost pharmacopeia like forensic analysis of side effects of one’s medication. This is pure theatre, or rather more accurately a complex TV soap opera combining elements of “What”s my Line” with “Big Brother”.

On the Bay of Islands cruise, we are all seated around a large table on the upper deck before dinner. It begins with an innocent female, remarking that she experienced angina last year and had an angiogram. She is now taking Aspirin and Lipitor. There is a polite silence. A slightly more overweight and breathless woman then chips in that she had a “massive heart attack” 2 years ago and had 2 stents. She was on something Continue reading →

Overnight on the Bay of Islands

March 6, 2014March 6, 2014 / graham3693 / 2 Comments

A wonderful expanse of water. The Bay is teeming with the Common Dolphin- the “C” being capitalised. My bucolic, Recorder playing retired French, English teacher surely would acknowledge that this is a genuine example of the term “literally and figuratively”. But then again, she does tend to nit-pick.

The cruise boat is a beautifully crafted catamaran – from the boat yards in Tasmania. The passengers are, in the main, self funded Australian retirees, so I have a taste of life to come in a few years time. We are, and I put myself in the same boat, literally and figuratively, (no nit-picking) Silver Herons rather than Grey Nomads.

Of course any sober teacher worth her salt, would counsel on the overuse of simile, alliteration or repetitive words or phrases, not to mention hyperbole. So I am at least safe.

We left Opua – which means “Place of Shelter” and headed north. As we neared Motuarohia island, several pods of dolphins seemed to detect our presence and provided a spectacular show of diving and breaching. By about 3 pm we moored at a sandy bay on the Island of Waewaetorea. Had a few hours of kayaking, swimming and snorkeling. The water was crystal clear and warm.

Around 5 pm we “pulled anchor” and headed for our overnight shelter and dinner. From about 6 till 7 pm was “Happy Hour” – I fear I will need to rapidly learn the obligatory banter of the bar. Besides “The American Tourist”, the principle topic was health or rather lack of it! More of that in the next blog. There was universal agreement that the American tourist is both loud and obese, which as we gently swayed on the swell, was I thought to myself, “the pot calling the kettle black.”

Geoff and Marge from Bateman’s Bay described their trip on the Junks of Halong Bay and that during the evening smorgasbord, the Americans – all of them, not just one, would pile up their plates with an entree and several desserts. Should the pangs of hunger persist, the Americans returned for a modest helping of mains and for good measure, pudding seconds! Politely and orderly masticating their way through entree, then mains, by the time our Aussies returned to the sweet trolley it was, to their horror, “dessert-ed”. It was enough to drive a man to drink- which it did.

My cabin on the catamaran

Sorry you may need to rotate or stand sideways!

The Trek from Russell back to Paihai

March 5, 2014March 7, 2014 / graham3693

Monday dawned cool and cloudy so I set off on a trek that the brochure suggested one should allow 6 hours. The first stage follows the beach from Paihai to Opua. The map kindly provided by the tourist office describes the 6 sections, the approximate time for each and a reasonably easy to follow map.

So with a relaxed and confident stride I set out for the start, clearly marked at the intersection of Seaview Drive and the headland. I rounded the headland to be met by water! Not just surf gently lapping sand, but 2 metres of Pacific Ocean crashing against rocky cliffs. Dumbfounded, I retraced my steps and spent the next 45 minutes trying to fathom out where I had got it wrong! Having climbed a mountain lookout then followed the main road for a kilometre, I resorted to plan B when light rain began to fall. I would do it in reverse! There was no way that I could stuff this up as Stage 1 in reverse involved catching the ferry from Paihai to Russell. Going by past travelling stories, I understand that you may jump to the conclusion that even this would lead to my undoing. Reassuringly it was impossible as all ferries lead to Russell.

Russell was the original capital of New Zealand- a cesspool of bawdy bars and brothels, that drove the local clergy to despair. It was the centre of the whaling industry in the 1860’s. Whalers being whalers, Russell’s most famous brothel was “The Hump Back Whaler”, whilst sailors being sailors, frequented “The Pinkie Minkie Whaler”.

Nevertheless it is a delightful village with grand mansions and homesteads built of weatherboard and all freshly painted in gloss white. It’s quite subtropical. It has the oldest established church in New Zealand.

The trail follows the coastline and the numerous small bays and coves with an extensive series of board walks through the coastal mangove swamps, to finally ascend then descend into Okiato Bay . One catches a quaint vehicular ferry the few hundred metres to Opua. From here the final leg follows the shoreline mostly with a few steep climbs and descents over headlands. Having set out around 9.30 am, I rounded the last cove around 4 pm to a long rocky beach – the tide was out! Gone was the crashing 2 metre surf and I could gaily crunch my way back over rocks around the bay into Paihai without drowning or the need to walk on water.

Surely a small boxed explanation on the walking map near the start would save the average disorientated Australian tourist much angst. “When the tide is in, the walk is out”.

The Map

Christchurch at Russell

Part of the boardwalk

Sign at start of boardwalk.

The village of Opua

Air New Zealand – Adding Fuel to the Fire

March 4, 2014March 4, 2014 / graham3693 / 1 Comment

If you have not done so, please read the Qantas blog first – then this blog will make sense! ….

The plane to Bay of Islands is a twin engine Beechcraft turboprop. It’s small. As the advertisements proclaim “every seat is a window seat” and the cockpit is visible from the cabin. No security doors in New Zealand.

My attempts to check in at the self service kiosk failed repeatedly. I was told that my flight could not be verified – “please approach an Air New Zealand staff member”. Still recovering and probably permanently scarred from approaching the Qantas staff member 24 hours previously, I faltered. With a stammer and Tourette like twitch of the right eye, I gingerly accosted a nearby “customer service agent”. She was genuinely surprised at the fact that I could not check in and led me to another terminal. Her first step was to reboot the computer – – I saw the immediate logic of this as the system was running Microsoft Windows. Whilst we waited for the system to come up, we chatted and watched 5 international flights depart for Sydney, Santiago, Hong Kong, Tokyo and Los Angeles.

Eventually, somewhat breathlessly she explained that whilst I was booked on the flight and had a seat, 9A to be precise, I was nevertheless “on standby”. Now the logic or rather lack of it with respect to this statement was within a cat’s whisker of the previous day’s weight conundrum with a Qantas customer service agent.

Perhaps picking up on my incredulity and I suspect with a degree of empathy, she adopted a professional manner and opined that sometimes, thankfully rarely, there are issues with “load” and this involves a complex relationship between fuel and weight. God I thought , she has ESP and knows that I was stumped by a simple Qantas 2Kg load shift. So she assumes that she has me well and truely by the mathematical balls! And she had! All sorts of visions flashed before me. Would it help if, rather than taking out 2kg, I left the whole bag behind? Should I amputate a leg?

Then, recovering my composure somewhat, I took stock of the situation. My Tourette like tic had settled into mild vocalizations – a cross between a sniff and a sob. It was then that the penny dropped as I surveyed the rest of the passengers. There were 14 and 6 were either second cousins of the King of Tonga OR a contingent from the local TV production of “Tonga’s Biggest Loser” – of course I did entertain the thought they could have been both! Distinctly possible and indeed plausible as I am led to believe that the King of Tonga owns the local TV company.

Anyway, the flight was called, all 14 including the Tongan contingent, boarded. I sat patiently trying at once to appear obvious yet elfin like. Without being forced to divest myself of anything, I was given a boarding pass. The 6 South Sea Islanders were seated in the centre of the plane, 3 on each side, essentially spread out equally over the aircraft’s centre of gravity. I sat towards the aft surrounded by 3 empty seats!

The flight took 45 minutes, flying at about 15000 feet over breathtaking scenery. I confess that I did not enjoy the moment, as my mind constantly threw up images of the aeronautical consequences of a Tongan call of nature. Should the passenger in seat 4A suddenly arise and head for the toilet situated in the very back of the plane, firstly there is the distinct possibility that he could not squeeze into the cubicle and secondly, should he do so with any alacrity, the aircraft would go into a sudden pitch – nose up attitude. The consequences of this on an unprepared pilot, would be a “stall situation”. The nose would drop and the plane would nose dive down, drop a wing and our Tongan King’s cousin would be unceremoniously thrown off the throne, rolling with increasing momentum towards the cockpit and it’s open door….! It would be a unique aviation catastrophe, not helped by the “black box”, which has not yet developed the capacity to record that both pilots were unable to respond to the crisis due to suffocation.

Qantas gets it’s knickers in a knot about 2 Kg, whilst Air New Zealand, justifiably gets concerned about 200kg.

To this day I have no clue as to why I was asked to wait and board last.

Qantas – weighty issues.

March 3, 2014 / graham3693

For the last few years I have prided myself on traveling light. It culminated in a month cycling along the Elbe and Danube rivers with 12 kg of luggage in 2 panniers during September 2013.

Yesterday I presented myself to the Qantas check in desk at Adelaide airport – Qantas Club Business Class – naturally. It is not possible to electronically check in for an international flight, trust me. One cannot avoid personal contact or as it turned out, impersonal contact, when leaving the country.

“Luggage?” was the curt welcome. This should have set alarm bells ringing, but it did not and as the saying goes: “Pride comes before the fall”. With barely repressed smugness I indicated that I was travelling only with carry-on luggage. She peered over the counter, and with a touch of distain in her voice, indicated that it required weighing. So help me God, I did not see this coming. “It’s 2 kg over the limit… ” after a pregnant pause from this menopausal matriarch, she ventured that there may be something I could take out?

The logical response to this, was “take it out and put it where?”

Remember I have NO booked luggage. But I was so dumbfounded by the initial interaction that I stood mute.

As Sir Les Patterson would say “Are you with me?”….

At the risk of insulting the reader, let me take you through this scenerio,

I am flying Business Class, my baggage allowance is 32kg. I approach the check in. I weigh 74kg, I have a TOTAL baggage of 9kg. The man across from me is checking in the Economy queue – he is a card carrying member of McDonalds “Eat 5 get 1 free”. He tips the scales at 112.5 Kg and has hand luggage that will require a block and tackle to lift it into the overhead bins. He sails through.

Perhaps mistaking my stunned silence as indicating intellectual impairment, the Qantas employee attempted to be helpful, possibly mindful of the $ 250 million loss the day before. “Would it be possible to unpack a few item and carry them on my person – that is with me?”

Now I resort to mental mathematics:

Weight analysis before check in:

My weight: 74kg
Hand luggage: 9kg
Total: 83kg

Weight analysis after check in:

My weight: 76kg
Hand luggage: 7kg
Total: 83kg.

Surely this must be the aeronautical equivalent of transubstantiation?

Anyway my brain was scrambled by confusing thoughts such as ” this would not even happen at the Aer Lingus counter” and “this is a concept that NAPLAN sets as a simple test for kindergarten.”

So I simply resigned and the beast booked my hand luggage through as baggage! Little did I know that a similar challenge awaited me in the Land of the Long White Cloud.

It seemed that the only appropriate picture for this blog, was this one!

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