In the 1800's, Captain Cook set on a voyage to discover the land we now call Australia. But seriously, what was he thinking?
After 21 hours of flying and 3 hours of transition, we reached London. That's flying though. Captain Cook sailed, but the other way. At stages we were flying into 60 km/h head winds, imagine Captain Cook sailing into a head wind? He would have to start his voyage all over again.
Anyway, after saying goodbye to the loved ones, we (Elena and I) entered the 'doors of destiny', only to be held up by a bloke too passionate about his job. All he had to do was wave us through. Not this bloke, he was too passionate about his job. After uncle Jim scared the living daylights out of him he called his boss, who with some common sense, let us through to fulfil our ambition of... Getting through customs?
I was tested for explosives, then almost lost my carry bag with all the essentials i.e. Passport, money, cards etc. I checked in on Facebook for one final time, accumulating 20+ likes (Equivalent to picking up 3 birds in one night).
The plane found its way into the air somehow. For a while I was thinking about the mechanisms of flying a plane, but it was incomprehensible. We tried to sleep for periods to no avail. The first time I checked the flight map was when we were out of Australia (flying North West). The longer you ignore the flight map, the better your psychological state. Not long before our first stop over, a lady behind us found her way into a fetal position in the aisle. Elena brought it to my attention, I thought she was dead. I think she was trying to get attention of cabin crew so she can be bumped up to first class. Good improvisation.
Kuala Lumpur was the stopover. A clean, no fuss airport with fine cuisine which included a spicy satay breakfast and an air of freshness, as well as a clever piece of transport known as the Aero Rail. A few hours later we were north of India. What did this mean? It meant that I turned to Elena and said, 'right Smell, we're about to hit 'Turban'ulence', and we did. It must have been due to a whirlwind spell from Harbhajan Singh below us that created pockets of air pressure 15,000 feet above.
We reached the mountainous regions of Afghanistan. The plane started forming a flight path similar to a Lionel Messi solo run. Zig zags, dilly dellys, Cruyff turns, the lot. I started wondering whether we were getting shot at. In fact, the pilot increased the plane's altitude by 9,000 feet, which seemed like a contingency plan for any attacks coming from the ground.
Europe beckoned. The flight path indicated that we were flying between Kiev and Donetsk, then Poznan, then all of a sudden we were nearing Berlin. By now, the baby sitting two rows infront of us had gone into its fourth straight hour of raw screaming. Further on Brussels came, and not long after, the promise land. Crossing the channel was dull, but as soon as the plane descended from the clouds, it all became a reality. The distinct architectual arch of Wembley appeared and so did the congested infrastructure of one of the world's fondest cities, the city we call London.
The flight was gruelling, but as I write this blog from the comfort (lie) of my hostel room in Soho, it was all worth it.
