Oh, if only for a tele-transporter
My memory of the trans-continental flight to Madrid last year left me needing a bit of time to be ready for such a flight again. On reading (incorrectly) that the leg from Auckland to Santiago was 15 hours, I decided I needed to do as much as possible to avoid the cramped leg situation that had been inescapable on the Hong-Kong-London stretch. In Sydney, I stood in a queue for as long as was necessary to get my seating re-allocated to an exit row, despite having checked through to Lima from Canberra already.
The price I had to pay of course was losing any access to a window, and so I had no real notion of any of the flight taking place, aside from the boarding, take off, occasional turbulence and landing....oh and the food, how could I forget the food. I'll come back to that at a later stage, just as it inevitably has for me.
I was among the last group of people to board, and as usual, was forced to walk the long walk through first and business class cabins to my spot with the general populace of economy. I did my best along the way to clip the people in those classes with my day pack, and make out it was an accident when I made contact or they ducked away just in time.
A number of the passengers arrived late, and one in particular couldn't help but draw attention to himself. A big Brazilian with sideshow bob hair (only black) sauntered down the aisle talking animatedly on his phone. He reached my row and I guessed given his stature he must've been sitting in the still vacant seat beside me (could've made for an “interesting” flight), but he informed the woman sitting behind that she was in his seat. She was adamant it was her seat and wasn't moving, so he dug out his boarding pass, and sure enough, had the seating allocation he was claiming.
Without a word (to her) he showed the woman his boarding pass and continued his conversation on the phone. Then an airhostess came along, and things went downhill for the Brazilian from there. She checked his boarding pass, and calmly informed him the pass he was so confidently displaying was for the flight from Santiago to Sao Paulo, Brazil. He swore and apologised to the woman he'd tried to dislodge from her seat, then started hunting for his Sydney-Santiago boarding pass in his backpack, dislodging a number of items that splayed across the cabin floor, including a number of condoms. Still talking on the phone, and rummaging for his missing pass (and dropping more things on the floor), he squatted down and revealed a plumber's crack to business class (I'll give him points for that one). The airhostess was as gracious as she could be, as she collected his belongings from the floor and directed him to a vacant seat further along the cabin. Not sure if it was actually his seat, but it got him off the stage.
On the six hour flight to Hong Kong last year, I had the misfortune of being stuck beside a guy with bad breath who also happened to be an incessant talker. Little was I to know I'd be struck with the same fate a second time on a much longer stretch. He was a doctor from Adelaide who seemed to be resolving a mid-life crisis by stepping out in pursuit of a lifelong dream. He was on his way to Santiago, then connecting to Sao Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, from there he was to fly down to Buenos Aires, visit the Iguazu Falls, then fly into Peru to do the Inca Trail and Machu Picchu.
As the flight progressed, it became apparent he'd only done research into the logistics of the trip ie: what dates to be where, what flights he needed etc. He'd not considered the possibility of things not going as planned, and in particular the need for either a Spanish and Portuguese speaking guide, or possession of the languages himself. I found myself thinking that by comparison, I was relatively well prepared for my journey, as I, after all, spoke a little Spanish (badly), and could make myself understood enough to be able to be corrected by native Spanish speakers. In this case however, I couldn't even understand how this guy was pronouncing the names of some places in English (it took several minutes to work out he was talking about the Iguazu Falls). He's a braver man than I....I think.
Then there was the food. There are always jokes about airline food, and I think I found the source. There came a time when they settled the plane and shut down all the lighting, and when morning came, they rolled out breakfast. The “lunch” that was served between Sydney and Auckland was a lukewarm hamburger with cheese (only ham and cheese, nothing else) that made McDonalds seem a nutritious, fulfilling and high quality meal, and the meal the evening previous had been pasta of a similar calibre. But the breakfast took the cake.
After a short time of the hostess trying to understand my spanglish, and me trying to understand hers, I settled on option two, and as I rolled back the foil I realised I had opted for what must've been an omelette, and before long was really wanting to find out what option one might have been. Initially I'd thought I'd scored pancakes but knew I couldn't be that lucky, and as I bit into the first food for the day I realised even an omelette was optimistic. The texture (and colour) was kind of like the yellow Oates kitchen sponges from back home, and I imagine the taste was probably similar. I decided to knock that down first and then pile in the sweeter stuff—bun with jam, yoghurt etc—to try and end on a high note.
In the past, I've had issues with vacuum-sealed food products on flights. I've already successfully tipped a Qantas breakfast into my lap, as well as spraying milk down my front once when the seals gave way suddenly and the contents escaped before I had a chance to respond. This time around, I wasn't taking any chances, and paid the utmost care and respect to the yoghurt container. Maybe if I edged the seal off bit by bit, I'd be able to keep my dignity intact.
It didn't work. Whilst I didn't drop anything down my front, the air compressed into the tub at the time it was sealed exploded outwards at the first opportunity, spraying yoghurt across my face and the headrest behind me, and that of the large Chilean man sitting beside me. He was less than impressed considering I'd inadvertently woken him during the night when I was attempting to get a blanket into position and accidentally tapped his shoulder, not to mention the fact that when I eventually did fall asleep, I started snoring so loudly I woke everyone in my row of seats, despite the screaming children nearby.
As we approached Santiago, the inflight map showed the Andes rising and rising, and the plane began wobbling and bucking in turbulence. When I finally made it into the transit lounge, I found the nearest bathroom, as it was clear my stomach was coming in to land about 30 minutes after me, and it was going to be a much rougher landing than the one I'd just experienced.
From the departure terminal, what I can see of Santiago reminds me of Canberra to some degree. It's at a similar altitude, has a similar climate, and the flora I can see seems to be a lot of European deciduous trees. The most visible difference of course, is the mountains. Giant monoliths rise quietly to the East, their details shrouded in a fine haze, and these are just the foothills.
I've yet to dig out the camera yet. I'll do that when I get to Lima. Now, I'm perched in the LAN VIP lounge (had to pay for that, of course), counting down the 8 hour wait between flights, trying to sleep enough to satisfy the jetlag but not so much I'd extend my adjustment period. The biggest leg of the trip is over and I've just a relatively short flight to Lima to complete the trip. But already I am facing the prospect of having to deal with it all again in a month as I make the crossing back again, and I long for us to catch up with Scotty. Because even if he canneh make it work cap'n, it's gotta be easier going than another long-haul flight.