1 Notes
Pretoria to Auckland
I went to the St. Lucia estuary when I was twelve years old on a school tour. From there the school bus turned toward Zululand before the return to Krugersdorp. Natal seemed so big, bright and wild. As a thirty year old man it was small and dim as I flew over the edge of night, away from Africa.
Not having travelled much, flying in a jet is still amazing. Even at my most exhausted, jammed into a little seat high above the Tasman Sea, looking down on the clouds fills me with joy. Maybe the novelty will wear off some day, but I doubt it.
I was lucky to not have anyone sitting in front of me on my flight to Sydney. Or next to me. Or behind me. It almost felt like a pyjama party, with droves of blonde Australian girls sprawled across up to three seats at a time. Like them, I made the most of the empty cabin and used as much space as I could.
When I woke up, flying into the sun, I could have sworn I saw icebergs in the ocean below. The white flecks on the water were too irregular to be white horses on the waves; some were enormous and did not move or dissolve like the waves. I’m sure they were icebergs. Damn sure.
And that tough old Qantas 747-400 was so loud inside. If the captain had to command us to brace ourselves for a plunge into the Southern Ocean, all we would have heard would be, “DING DONG… (Muffled sounds)”.
There was a flight attendant named Bruce. And there was a Nigel too (I’m really not joking). Maybe Qantas insists their cabin staff make up names for themselves like strippers do. Qantas: strippers in the sky.
Australia and New South Wales are bright yellow with dark green patches of trees and they’re all neatly contained in lovely geometric arrangements. Crop disks and haphazard boundaries dominate South African farms and veld, but what I saw of Australia was pixellated by right-angled corners.
On our approach into Sydney Airport I saw the Sydney harbour bridge and a glimpse of the opera house. From the air Sydney and its waterways look exquisite and I want to go in and explore on my next trip.
The biggest difference from flying over South Africa was not seeing the glint from tin shacks. Though I’m aware of the skeletons in Australia’s closet, it was a relief not seeing the grids of RDP houses and the poverty they embody.
The airport itself was pretty, but I assume it is small compared to other international airports. I walked from one end to the other within twenty minutes while wrestling with the wifi.
At the boarding gate waiting area I struck up a conversation with an older couple from Cape Town. I was able to steer the conversation away from “why South Africa sucks” without too much effort.
Near boarding time, the waiting area filled with young couples carrying small children. After they had sized each other up an almighty crying game commenced, and escalated in intensity from “look how much better I cry than all of you”, to “goddamit I’m losing, better up my game”, to “I hate my life, I hate all of you and I’m now crying because I really, really mean it”, all the way to Auckland. The crying eventually changed to a raspy “trudging over the finishing line” groaning by the time the plane rolled to a halt. The desperate, saggy parents disembarked and the cabin crew (and pretty much everyone else) were happy that it was all over.
I didn’t see much of Auckland on the approach to the airport. I went through border control with little difficulty (I had to “show and tell” my running shoes from the depths of my checked luggage), although the pop-up handle from my bag broke during transit (there was much swearing) so I had to drag it hunched over to the side, while trying to look smart, while carrying my beanbag airplane pillow on the other arm.
By the time I gave Nicky a hug it was 00:30. The drive home past the CBD was a blur, though I remember the city being clean as a movie set, well lit and just beautiful. The road signs here use the same DIN typeface used in South Africa, but the layout is tighter, bordering on “afraid of too much negative space”. We stopped at a Caltex shop manned by a white-haired Asian gentleman to get some orange juice and then went to the flat in Albany.
Auckland has a lovely smell. It’s a full, round smell, almost sweet like incense, but clear and crisp. It’s nothing like I’ve ever experienced.
I think I am going to like it here.
That’s all for now,
Darryn
