Thursday, November 19, 2009

A Leg Lost?

My mission, though I chose to accept it, was to spend 24 hours in transit from Perth, Western Australia, to London, England, on the 18th (and 19th of November). Part of this though was a brief, 4 hour stopover in Singapore, and the associated amusements therein.

All started well enough, I arrived on time to the airport and checked all baggage ahead of schedule. Alanna stole my car, and my parents bought me a milkshake. Good work indeed. Luck prevailed and the 5 hour flight to Singapore involved myself and another sharing 4 seats between us. Legroom indeed, right by the aisle!

Next, Singapore. I won't bore you with the details of waiting, browsing, waiting, sipping and waiting, but I'll give you an image:

and skip to the highlights: Skytrain (over-hyped by my account but purely automated transport is a sight to behold), and leaving.

The flight to London was the longest flight I have ever been on in my life. However, the journey was made more comfortable by my neighbour. Her name was Naomi, and she wore a graduation t-shirt from a uni I hadn't heard of, however the moment we made our introductions I knew it was from Queensland ("Gidday Deej, houyas goin.") but she held a copy of Breaking Dawn (Twilight indeed) and that made an ice-breaker simple. Aeroplane food amuses me with its compartmentalisation, but I think I may tire of it soon. Still, an interesting 14 hours spent, quite a number of Are You Being Served? later and it was time to disembark the aircraft via the forward doors. A brief aside, I never did find out that captain's name, and found it odd that every time he spoke to us he'd pause briefly, almost awkwardly and say, "this is... the captain here." One wonders.

Immigration seems to be a neccesary evil, but it is at times like these that one considers oneself to be lucky to be Australian. The lady at the desk, to paraphrase, went: "Australian? Oh." *STAMP* "Next please!".

The rest of this somewhat extended day was spent with my sister navigating the rounded passageways of the Underground with cumbersome luggage, travelling very fast indeed on the overland trains,

and merrily spending oversized notes on underpriced garments to keep the oddly chilling cold out. It's only 14 degrees, milder than tea where the leaves merely look at the hot water, but they're right, the cold here tries earnestly to get into your bones. I'm not even so much a fan of central heating though... I mean it's warm, but it's an odd feeling to want to go outside with shorts on. Very odd.

Tomorrow we sojourn again to London, to see the sights as every good tourist must do - with the eyepiece of an apparently oversized camera ("compensating for something?" I hear you cry) stuck firmly to my eye. I shall update you again once I reach Lyon, methinks, assuming I can somehow find a way from Paris. Living on the edge indeed.

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