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| Victoria Street Abbotsford |
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
House Repairs Disturbing the Peace
Sam went back to work today, lucky him. I had today to myself, or at least that is what I thought. A day just to settle and centre and lay on the couch with my hand gently stroking Buddy's back as he lay asleep next to me. Sounded grand.
However... Jill had organised carpet samples and she had organised the carpet measuring guys to be here at 11am. She sprung it on me yesterday.
She, of course, would be here at that time too. She had been looking after my lap-top. It is backed up on two hard drives wirelessly, but if the two hard drives and the laptop are in the same place? Not best practice.
"Have coffee ready," said Jill.
Of course, she is a woman who will be late to her own funeral. (she was late) "You look so well."
"Thanks. I think it is beginning to fade now."
She smiled.
I smiled.
“So, where is my laptop?”
“Oh,” said Jill. I could see her mentally recalibrating the truth, as she spoke it. “We’re going to my house after this for lunch…”
We are?
“…and then to the carpet place, you’ll pick it up on the way.”
“You forgot it?”
“No I didn’t.”
“But that is why you came over here.”
“No, I didn’t,” said Jill. “I came to see you.”
“I’d rather see my laptop.”
“Charming.”
“Well.” Shrug. She had kept an eye on my place during the holiday, I guess I had to be nice to her. “You with the laptop.”
“Really?”
Jill had the key to my place while we were away and she was itching to do the repairs that she has deemed necessary for the longest time, that she has been nagging me about for years. (Oh, it can't be years) But, I made her promise she wouldn't do anything unless I was here. So, the carpet samples were all laid out on the kitchen bench when we returned home from Vietnam.
Most of them were awful, but one.
Then, of course, we were off to the carpet place, Jill and I, to look at carpets. I was going to make excuses and get rid of her after the measuring guys had been, but, of course, that didn't work. She was gung-ho, I was, literally dragging my feet. Rolls of carpet are ginormous, now aren’t they? The man at Fowles was nice. $20 a metre instead of $110, if we are lucky. (something like that, anyway) I wasn’t too tired to listen to that fact. Lovely! Secretly, I am pleased, my carpet is, literally, threadbare at the entrance to my lounge room. No, really, it is non-existent, there is a great big hole where carpet used to be. It is time to open the purse and let the trapped butterflies escape. (Is that moths?)
Fortunately, Jill had a massage appointment at 3pm, which meant I could grab my laptop and scamper home and catch up on my blogging, which was what I really wanted to do with the day, not look at stupid carpets. It was 2pm as we left Fowels.
“Can we go and get my laptop now.”
“I don’t think I’ll have time…”
“Sure you will you have an hour.”
We were on The Princess Highway, just up the road from Jill’s, we just had to pop in and get my laptop on the way.
“I really need something to eat, though,” said Jill. “Before my massage.”
“Oh,” I said. “We can still do that.” I looked at my Nike band. I don’t think I was really convinced that we could.
“There is a hungry jacks just here,” said Jill. “Let’s go there.”
“Sure.”
She was able to pull off an astonishing traffic manoeuvre, across two lanes, to pull in quickly to the Hungry Jacks.
“What do you want?”
I just had what she was having, a chicken burger meal deal.
“We’d better pull over here (in the carpark) so you can eat your burger…”
“Why?”
“You can’t eat a burger as you drive along?”
“What?” said Jill. “You can when you have as much experience as I do.”
It was getting on to 2.20 something as we pulled back onto to The Princess Hwy, with Jill behind the wheel chomping at the chicken burger, taking out a quarter of it at the time. She had fries in one hand, the drink in another and the burger in another, or so it would seem.
We now, in all reality, didn’t have enough time to pick up my laptop as well. Boo Hoo. “Don’t worry about the laptop.” I was crushed. “I’ll get it another time.”
“Oh, okay. Now if we shoot down Warragul Road and onto City Link, that should be the quickest, shouldn’t it?”
“Yes.” All I wanted was my laptop, that’s all I wanted from the day, like your front teeth for Xmas, but somehow it wasn’t going to happen.
Still, I shouldn’t complain, I still have my small laptop, the MacAir, to write on. But, my 17 inch MacPro is the mother ship, it is what stores all of the data, with its dual hard drives and huge capacity… and I wanted it back, to transfer my photos across.
Still, I believe, there are boys who don’t have access to a laptop at all. How awful.
We ate porkbelly and bokchoi. The porkbelly wasn’t quite as sublime as normal, something about a lack of fish sauce, or oyster sauce, or something.
I start a new assignment tomorrow, full time for the rest of the year. I'm exhausted.
However... Jill had organised carpet samples and she had organised the carpet measuring guys to be here at 11am. She sprung it on me yesterday.
She, of course, would be here at that time too. She had been looking after my lap-top. It is backed up on two hard drives wirelessly, but if the two hard drives and the laptop are in the same place? Not best practice.
"Have coffee ready," said Jill.
Of course, she is a woman who will be late to her own funeral. (she was late) "You look so well."
"Thanks. I think it is beginning to fade now."
She smiled.
I smiled.
“So, where is my laptop?”
“Oh,” said Jill. I could see her mentally recalibrating the truth, as she spoke it. “We’re going to my house after this for lunch…”
We are?
“…and then to the carpet place, you’ll pick it up on the way.”
“You forgot it?”
“No I didn’t.”
“But that is why you came over here.”
“No, I didn’t,” said Jill. “I came to see you.”
“I’d rather see my laptop.”
“Charming.”
“Well.” Shrug. She had kept an eye on my place during the holiday, I guess I had to be nice to her. “You with the laptop.”
“Really?”
Jill had the key to my place while we were away and she was itching to do the repairs that she has deemed necessary for the longest time, that she has been nagging me about for years. (Oh, it can't be years) But, I made her promise she wouldn't do anything unless I was here. So, the carpet samples were all laid out on the kitchen bench when we returned home from Vietnam.
Most of them were awful, but one.
Then, of course, we were off to the carpet place, Jill and I, to look at carpets. I was going to make excuses and get rid of her after the measuring guys had been, but, of course, that didn't work. She was gung-ho, I was, literally dragging my feet. Rolls of carpet are ginormous, now aren’t they? The man at Fowles was nice. $20 a metre instead of $110, if we are lucky. (something like that, anyway) I wasn’t too tired to listen to that fact. Lovely! Secretly, I am pleased, my carpet is, literally, threadbare at the entrance to my lounge room. No, really, it is non-existent, there is a great big hole where carpet used to be. It is time to open the purse and let the trapped butterflies escape. (Is that moths?)
Fortunately, Jill had a massage appointment at 3pm, which meant I could grab my laptop and scamper home and catch up on my blogging, which was what I really wanted to do with the day, not look at stupid carpets. It was 2pm as we left Fowels.
“Can we go and get my laptop now.”
“I don’t think I’ll have time…”
“Sure you will you have an hour.”
We were on The Princess Highway, just up the road from Jill’s, we just had to pop in and get my laptop on the way.
“I really need something to eat, though,” said Jill. “Before my massage.”
“Oh,” I said. “We can still do that.” I looked at my Nike band. I don’t think I was really convinced that we could.
“There is a hungry jacks just here,” said Jill. “Let’s go there.”
“Sure.”
She was able to pull off an astonishing traffic manoeuvre, across two lanes, to pull in quickly to the Hungry Jacks.
“What do you want?”
I just had what she was having, a chicken burger meal deal.
“We’d better pull over here (in the carpark) so you can eat your burger…”
“Why?”
“You can’t eat a burger as you drive along?”
“What?” said Jill. “You can when you have as much experience as I do.”
It was getting on to 2.20 something as we pulled back onto to The Princess Hwy, with Jill behind the wheel chomping at the chicken burger, taking out a quarter of it at the time. She had fries in one hand, the drink in another and the burger in another, or so it would seem.
We now, in all reality, didn’t have enough time to pick up my laptop as well. Boo Hoo. “Don’t worry about the laptop.” I was crushed. “I’ll get it another time.”
“Oh, okay. Now if we shoot down Warragul Road and onto City Link, that should be the quickest, shouldn’t it?”
“Yes.” All I wanted was my laptop, that’s all I wanted from the day, like your front teeth for Xmas, but somehow it wasn’t going to happen.
Still, I shouldn’t complain, I still have my small laptop, the MacAir, to write on. But, my 17 inch MacPro is the mother ship, it is what stores all of the data, with its dual hard drives and huge capacity… and I wanted it back, to transfer my photos across.
Still, I believe, there are boys who don’t have access to a laptop at all. How awful.
We ate porkbelly and bokchoi. The porkbelly wasn’t quite as sublime as normal, something about a lack of fish sauce, or oyster sauce, or something.
I start a new assignment tomorrow, full time for the rest of the year. I'm exhausted.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Collecting Buddy
I was up at 8am. Oh yeah, got to love that after a thirteen hour flight and turning off the bedside lamp at 1.11am. But, you know, the old story... bing! Awake.
I still felt a little, oh how do I put it, hit in the head when I padded down the stairs to the kitchen. You know that jet lag feeling, there is the feeling of ringing in the ears and a thick head, without having either of those things. What would you call it? It's like having your brains pulled out of your head, stretched tight like elastic, hit with a timpani hammer and then relocated between your ears.
I don't know how else to put it.
The coffee was dangerously low, a little shocking upon first sighting. You know, considering my eyes weren't, exactly, focusing correctly and I couldn't immediately tell if there was enough, or not. Sharp inhale of breath. Pulled by the centre of my head to the pinnacle of the roof. Release, it's okay, we have enough beans.
I was talking on the phone to Jill at 9.30, when Sam was showered and standing at the lounge room door tapping his foot wanting to head to the country to collect Buddy.
That was a four hour round trip, up the Calder. It was cold, it was wet, the skies were grey and then they were black and then they were silver. The doors were nearly blown off the car when we stopped at the Calder Park servo to eat Maccas for breaky. You know, like you do on your days off. The wind swept across the flat planes and shot through the car park like a hurricane. It was that kind of wind where if you lay into it, it would hold you up. I love it, I am a wind baby. Not many people do, it freaks them out.
There was Kath, in her nylon stretch pants and her oversized cardigan, and Jude, with his post stylish crimson hair and his egg shaped figure, enjoying a lunch time treat of KFC at the local servo. Jude was commenting on the price of Macca’s macaroons.
“One macaroon,” her eyes widened, “two dollars.” Her eyebrows raised up and her forehead creased. “For one.” She waited Jude’s response and when it wasn’t forth coming. “Two dollars for one.” She was shaking her head. She left her mouth open like a guppy to, I assume, emphasise her point. She nodded and screwed up her lips. “Six for nine dollars.” She said the words carefully, as if, to make sure she said them correctly. She looked incredulous. She removed the plastic lid to her coffee and sipped at the rim of the cup hesitantly. She looked around the restaurant. She picked up a chicken nugget with her thumb and pointer finger, her remaining fingers raised in the air, and she nibbled at the breadcrumb covered meat.
It was sunny, but cool. Sam punched me on the arm as I lit a cigarette as we headed to the car. The wind moved the car across the freeway lane, as we headed around the Digger’s Rest bypass. The rain bounced across the road and the bonnet heavily, each drop bouncing and then splattering as they strummed the metal of the car.
Sam remembered the place I call “Canada,” the area where there are pine trees plantations. I was impressed.
There were huge puddles on the road, once we had turned off the freeway and were on the back roads. What are they? B roads?
Buddy stank like a sheep farm. He did his little bulldog dance when he saw us. Then he walked straight to the car, and where he usually waits at the car door sill to be lifted in, he climbed right in there, crawled his fat bull doggie arse up on to the back seat and sat looking straight ahead, as if to say, okay take me home.
Sam declared it an emergency shower situation and Buddy was bundled into the bathroom as soon as we got home. He looks adorable post shower wrapped up in a beach towel dripping wet.
The rest of the day was a blur.
I still felt a little, oh how do I put it, hit in the head when I padded down the stairs to the kitchen. You know that jet lag feeling, there is the feeling of ringing in the ears and a thick head, without having either of those things. What would you call it? It's like having your brains pulled out of your head, stretched tight like elastic, hit with a timpani hammer and then relocated between your ears.
I don't know how else to put it.
The coffee was dangerously low, a little shocking upon first sighting. You know, considering my eyes weren't, exactly, focusing correctly and I couldn't immediately tell if there was enough, or not. Sharp inhale of breath. Pulled by the centre of my head to the pinnacle of the roof. Release, it's okay, we have enough beans.
I was talking on the phone to Jill at 9.30, when Sam was showered and standing at the lounge room door tapping his foot wanting to head to the country to collect Buddy.
That was a four hour round trip, up the Calder. It was cold, it was wet, the skies were grey and then they were black and then they were silver. The doors were nearly blown off the car when we stopped at the Calder Park servo to eat Maccas for breaky. You know, like you do on your days off. The wind swept across the flat planes and shot through the car park like a hurricane. It was that kind of wind where if you lay into it, it would hold you up. I love it, I am a wind baby. Not many people do, it freaks them out.
There was Kath, in her nylon stretch pants and her oversized cardigan, and Jude, with his post stylish crimson hair and his egg shaped figure, enjoying a lunch time treat of KFC at the local servo. Jude was commenting on the price of Macca’s macaroons.
“One macaroon,” her eyes widened, “two dollars.” Her eyebrows raised up and her forehead creased. “For one.” She waited Jude’s response and when it wasn’t forth coming. “Two dollars for one.” She was shaking her head. She left her mouth open like a guppy to, I assume, emphasise her point. She nodded and screwed up her lips. “Six for nine dollars.” She said the words carefully, as if, to make sure she said them correctly. She looked incredulous. She removed the plastic lid to her coffee and sipped at the rim of the cup hesitantly. She looked around the restaurant. She picked up a chicken nugget with her thumb and pointer finger, her remaining fingers raised in the air, and she nibbled at the breadcrumb covered meat.
It was sunny, but cool. Sam punched me on the arm as I lit a cigarette as we headed to the car. The wind moved the car across the freeway lane, as we headed around the Digger’s Rest bypass. The rain bounced across the road and the bonnet heavily, each drop bouncing and then splattering as they strummed the metal of the car.
Sam remembered the place I call “Canada,” the area where there are pine trees plantations. I was impressed.
There were huge puddles on the road, once we had turned off the freeway and were on the back roads. What are they? B roads?
Buddy stank like a sheep farm. He did his little bulldog dance when he saw us. Then he walked straight to the car, and where he usually waits at the car door sill to be lifted in, he climbed right in there, crawled his fat bull doggie arse up on to the back seat and sat looking straight ahead, as if to say, okay take me home.
Sam declared it an emergency shower situation and Buddy was bundled into the bathroom as soon as we got home. He looks adorable post shower wrapped up in a beach towel dripping wet.
The rest of the day was a blur.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
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| I think, quite possibly, that is the saddest plane I have ever seen. The photo doesn't do it justice. It had no windows, the white was all dirty, the yellow looked as though it had been painted on with a brush and it had no decals at all. It looked like it should have been filled with cocaine and been flown out of Columbia under the cover of night. |
Heading Home
I woke at some stage and I was sure, hoping, as I felt quite awake, that it was some where near 5.30am, as I got up for a piss. I’d put my Nike band on to charge before I went to sleep, so I had to find in on the brown faux-Queen Anne dresser before I knew what time it, actually, was. 3.23am. Dam! I had a piss and got back into bed convinced I wasn’t going to go back to sleep easily, in the dim light of our Saigon sleeping cell, with its white walls, lack of window and cold granite tiled floors, but that turned out not to be true. Zzzzzzzzz. What I do best, after all.
There is a certain anxiety when you have to get up early, pick up everything, pack it up and catch a plane.
The next time my eyes opened and I glanced at my Nike band, now on my wrist, it was 5.29am. Lovely.
Yay. There is a certain relief when the hour arrives. There, it is done, no need to worry about it any longer. There is a completion, no matter how much you may not want to go home.
We had half an hour. I had a shower, which took five minutes. Sam had a shower, which took twenty five minutes. And then it was 6am. We were good to go, as Sam had packed everything he could before we went to sleep. I’d have offered to pack and even if he let me, which is doubtful, he’d only take over halfway through, a quarter of the way through, as I begun, with “No, no not that way,” or, sigh, “You are not doing it right,” or, “Here, let me do it.”
We hit the foyer at 6.03 and our booked taxi was already waiting out the front, in the still, only-quiet-early, Ho Chi Minh City morning light. Our driver hunched over the steering wheel, gazing upwards towards the foyer desk, strumming his fingers on the dashboard. I struggled out the door with the suitcase, as Sam hesitated at the desk while the receptionist headed up to our room to check the mini bar contents. Not one bellboy in sight. What was that about, I thought, as I struggled down the steps? Bump, bump, bump. The taxi driver didn’t rush to my aid either, what does a boy have to do, I thought? It was kind of unusual, I have to say, usually, they are hovering around you like seagulls trying to snatch hot chips from your paper plate, as they reach for any bag you may have in your possession.
The roads were clear, well, relatively, but still we drove slowly. A Lexus 4WD set the snails pace despite nothing in front of it. We crawled along behind it. “Come on Auntie. You drive Lexus. I could shit faster than this,” I said to Sam. He laughed. (There is a YouTube video, look it up)
All the streets were relatively empty, just a few hundred motor scooters in either lane whizzing somewhere, why did we have to drive so slow. Come on. Look at the watch. Go around him. Look at the watch.
We turned a corner, away from the Lexus. “Just one moment, so sorry,” said the driver, suddenly. We were stopping for petrol. What the? We had plenty of time really, but still the traveller angst spoke to me somewhere inside. The driver chatted to the petrol attendant as though he had all the time in the world. I noticed that he had a nice smile and he laughed easily. His eyes sparkled when his face beamed.
The morning then seemed free and easy and relaxed. A smile, shiny like the sun, makes the world spin easier. Always. Okay, maybe I’m shallow.
Ho Chi Minh City airport was surprisingly quiet. The sun was crisp.
We hadn’t checked in online, where usually we do and just do a bag drop, but this morning, the check in line was far shorter than the bag drop line. I guess, everybody is checking in online nowadays which now appeared to be defeating the purpose, lucky for us.
There was a girl in front of us with excess luggage. Of course. There’s always one. She had on boots, what looked like electric blue baggy sports shorts, a black singlet and a black hoodie. Her skin was a little too fake tanned and her black hair was a little too wavy, made so by some sort of hair appliance, no doubt. She was given the options by the check in girl and she just stood there trying to decide. Come on, today would be good, I thought. And she just stood there. She asked all the same questions and was given all the same answers and she just stood there again. Then she ask the same questions yet again and she was yet again given the same answers. And she just stood there. What do you think is going to happen, I thought? Was she waiting for some sort of divine travel intervention? Then we all stood there still and silent, until the check in girl suggested she move away to ponder her options. And yet she just stood. My mouth was forming into words, I was about to speak, when the check in girl again suggested she move away, with hand movements, as though she was directing traffic. And finally Miss Excess Baggage stepped away hesitatingly… and the travel world breathed a huge sigh of relief.
We ordered Pho and watched the planes take off and land. The Pho turned out to be four times as much as normal and, in fact, more expensive than the Pho we buy in Victoria Street back at home. We didn’t have enough Dong to pay for it. But they accepted all currencies, which was just as well considering the price. A complicated negotiation ensued where we used all of our Dong, three hundred thousand, and we used Australian dollars, 20 of them. We seemed to be handing over a fist full of dollars. Still, we were getting the food we wanted.
“How will you give the change, as we don’t really want Dong, as we are, obviously, leaving the country?”
“The change will be in American dollars.”
The soup was passed to us. The Vietnamese coffee was handed to us. And we were given one, crisp American dollar in change.
“One dollar?” I said to Sam.
He shrugged.
No idea, I thought.
We ate our food and gazed out of the window, gazing down at the shinny parked jets.
“You don’t see any Jumbos around much any more, do you?”
“No, I guess not,” said Sam. “Too old.”
And right at that moment, I kid you not, a bloody big pale blue Jumbo appeared stage left, exactly on queue. They are huge, they really are. It looked like a huge 1970’s American sedan, compared to the sleek 2000’s European sedans parked at the gates, as it trundled out to the runway.
The flight seemed to go quickly and we landed in KL. As we landed, there were hectares and hectares of some sort of crop.
“What is that,” I asked Sam. “Is that palm oil?”
“That is palm oil,” said Sam.
There they were, palm oil crops as far as the eye could see. No really, to the horizon. Still, I guess, as long as it isn’t taking away native habitats, it’s okay. Isn’t it? It is the orang-utans that is the point of contention and not the palm oil itself? It being unnecessary and bad for us, withstanding.
“We’re going to the shitty KL airport,” complained Sam. “The shit airport on the way over and now on the way back. Why not the good airport?”
“We’re only here for two hours, don’t worry.”
Grumble.
The plane landed on the tarmac and we climbed down the stairs onto the bitumen. There were covered walkways that wend their way to the buildings some where in the distance, passed a huge number of parked passenger jets, any number of them potentially being refuelled. And some idiot lit a cigarette. None of us said anything to him, we just grumbled. One of the ground staff yelled out to him from across the way, but our smoker just ignored him and the ground staff didn’t follow it up. I was amazed. I imagined an explosion and a a fireball at any moment... still, I could have told him to put it out, I guess.
Everybody walked like sheep, at the speed of the person in front, which, unfortunately, was slow. “Oh come on!” I hate slow walkers.
“Don’t make my ears bleed,” pleaded Sam. “Nobody else ever listens to you.”
“Well, um?” I could have been hurt, but I knew what he meant.
The barricades that penned us in, suddenly broke open on either side and we were able to over take the morons in front who couldn’t set their own pace in an empty paddock. They broke open several times at varying places and I was able to shoot ahead even leaving Sam behind. I shot in the door and headed up the stairs two steps at a time. I looked back once I’d got to the top to see Sam at the bottom giving me “that look” pointing at the door I had sprinted passed in my rush to be the first to the top of the stairs, just to prove my point. Sadly, I had gone the wrong way and then I had to come back down the stairs sheepishly with my tail between my legs. Boo hoo.
The smoking room at KL must be the worst. “Of course, it is the old airport,” Sam said. That look. No sympathy what so ever. I knew where it was from the trip over and I headed straight there.
We bought cakes, two custard buns and a piece of layer cake. The problem was that we were just short of cash, by 20 ringgit cents. A nice Aussie chick gave us 20c so we could buy the three cakes we wanted. Sam noted that the prices were back to normal, he was still cross about the soup. He had 50 ringgit… always organised. We'd already used it to buy two Nasi Lemak earlier.
I headed back to the smoking room, for one last gasper before the flight.
Then it was time to board. The skies had turned black beyond the terminal windows, we wondered if that meant for a bumpy take off? Or, at least, Sam predicted it was going to be a bumpy take off… but, it wasn’t.
We left right on time, 13.40 to the minute. Does that ever happen in Australia?
There were five planes in front of us on the tarmac, three Air Asia, a Jumbo cargo plane (yes, another one. I guess they are flown as cargo planes now a days) and one Malaysian Airline. I timed for the 1.25 (or whatever it is) minute time gap between each take off… which we got, I am happy to report.
And that is where I closed my laptop and laid my head back and closed my eyes.
Sam has a liking for telling me what time it was and how long we had to fly, despite me telling him that I don’t want to know the time, or look at the time when I am on a long flight. It amuses him. I am sure he thinks he is being funny. I just give him dirty looks and object for the umpteenth time.
I read my book for quite a while, but then they dimmed the lights, as if to annoy me.
The last two hours seemed interminable, not the least because of Sam’s annoying time keeping… and sharing.
We were exhausted when we climbed into the back of the Statesman taxi and directed the driver to where we wanted to go.
I turned off the bedside lamp at 1.11am.
There is a certain anxiety when you have to get up early, pick up everything, pack it up and catch a plane.
The next time my eyes opened and I glanced at my Nike band, now on my wrist, it was 5.29am. Lovely.
Yay. There is a certain relief when the hour arrives. There, it is done, no need to worry about it any longer. There is a completion, no matter how much you may not want to go home.
We had half an hour. I had a shower, which took five minutes. Sam had a shower, which took twenty five minutes. And then it was 6am. We were good to go, as Sam had packed everything he could before we went to sleep. I’d have offered to pack and even if he let me, which is doubtful, he’d only take over halfway through, a quarter of the way through, as I begun, with “No, no not that way,” or, sigh, “You are not doing it right,” or, “Here, let me do it.”
We hit the foyer at 6.03 and our booked taxi was already waiting out the front, in the still, only-quiet-early, Ho Chi Minh City morning light. Our driver hunched over the steering wheel, gazing upwards towards the foyer desk, strumming his fingers on the dashboard. I struggled out the door with the suitcase, as Sam hesitated at the desk while the receptionist headed up to our room to check the mini bar contents. Not one bellboy in sight. What was that about, I thought, as I struggled down the steps? Bump, bump, bump. The taxi driver didn’t rush to my aid either, what does a boy have to do, I thought? It was kind of unusual, I have to say, usually, they are hovering around you like seagulls trying to snatch hot chips from your paper plate, as they reach for any bag you may have in your possession.
The roads were clear, well, relatively, but still we drove slowly. A Lexus 4WD set the snails pace despite nothing in front of it. We crawled along behind it. “Come on Auntie. You drive Lexus. I could shit faster than this,” I said to Sam. He laughed. (There is a YouTube video, look it up)
All the streets were relatively empty, just a few hundred motor scooters in either lane whizzing somewhere, why did we have to drive so slow. Come on. Look at the watch. Go around him. Look at the watch.
We turned a corner, away from the Lexus. “Just one moment, so sorry,” said the driver, suddenly. We were stopping for petrol. What the? We had plenty of time really, but still the traveller angst spoke to me somewhere inside. The driver chatted to the petrol attendant as though he had all the time in the world. I noticed that he had a nice smile and he laughed easily. His eyes sparkled when his face beamed.
The morning then seemed free and easy and relaxed. A smile, shiny like the sun, makes the world spin easier. Always. Okay, maybe I’m shallow.
Ho Chi Minh City airport was surprisingly quiet. The sun was crisp.
We hadn’t checked in online, where usually we do and just do a bag drop, but this morning, the check in line was far shorter than the bag drop line. I guess, everybody is checking in online nowadays which now appeared to be defeating the purpose, lucky for us.
There was a girl in front of us with excess luggage. Of course. There’s always one. She had on boots, what looked like electric blue baggy sports shorts, a black singlet and a black hoodie. Her skin was a little too fake tanned and her black hair was a little too wavy, made so by some sort of hair appliance, no doubt. She was given the options by the check in girl and she just stood there trying to decide. Come on, today would be good, I thought. And she just stood there. She asked all the same questions and was given all the same answers and she just stood there again. Then she ask the same questions yet again and she was yet again given the same answers. And she just stood there. What do you think is going to happen, I thought? Was she waiting for some sort of divine travel intervention? Then we all stood there still and silent, until the check in girl suggested she move away to ponder her options. And yet she just stood. My mouth was forming into words, I was about to speak, when the check in girl again suggested she move away, with hand movements, as though she was directing traffic. And finally Miss Excess Baggage stepped away hesitatingly… and the travel world breathed a huge sigh of relief.
We ordered Pho and watched the planes take off and land. The Pho turned out to be four times as much as normal and, in fact, more expensive than the Pho we buy in Victoria Street back at home. We didn’t have enough Dong to pay for it. But they accepted all currencies, which was just as well considering the price. A complicated negotiation ensued where we used all of our Dong, three hundred thousand, and we used Australian dollars, 20 of them. We seemed to be handing over a fist full of dollars. Still, we were getting the food we wanted.
“How will you give the change, as we don’t really want Dong, as we are, obviously, leaving the country?”
“The change will be in American dollars.”
The soup was passed to us. The Vietnamese coffee was handed to us. And we were given one, crisp American dollar in change.
“One dollar?” I said to Sam.
He shrugged.
No idea, I thought.
We ate our food and gazed out of the window, gazing down at the shinny parked jets.
“You don’t see any Jumbos around much any more, do you?”
“No, I guess not,” said Sam. “Too old.”
And right at that moment, I kid you not, a bloody big pale blue Jumbo appeared stage left, exactly on queue. They are huge, they really are. It looked like a huge 1970’s American sedan, compared to the sleek 2000’s European sedans parked at the gates, as it trundled out to the runway.
The flight seemed to go quickly and we landed in KL. As we landed, there were hectares and hectares of some sort of crop.
“What is that,” I asked Sam. “Is that palm oil?”
“That is palm oil,” said Sam.
There they were, palm oil crops as far as the eye could see. No really, to the horizon. Still, I guess, as long as it isn’t taking away native habitats, it’s okay. Isn’t it? It is the orang-utans that is the point of contention and not the palm oil itself? It being unnecessary and bad for us, withstanding.
“We’re going to the shitty KL airport,” complained Sam. “The shit airport on the way over and now on the way back. Why not the good airport?”
“We’re only here for two hours, don’t worry.”
Grumble.
The plane landed on the tarmac and we climbed down the stairs onto the bitumen. There were covered walkways that wend their way to the buildings some where in the distance, passed a huge number of parked passenger jets, any number of them potentially being refuelled. And some idiot lit a cigarette. None of us said anything to him, we just grumbled. One of the ground staff yelled out to him from across the way, but our smoker just ignored him and the ground staff didn’t follow it up. I was amazed. I imagined an explosion and a a fireball at any moment... still, I could have told him to put it out, I guess.
Everybody walked like sheep, at the speed of the person in front, which, unfortunately, was slow. “Oh come on!” I hate slow walkers.
“Don’t make my ears bleed,” pleaded Sam. “Nobody else ever listens to you.”
“Well, um?” I could have been hurt, but I knew what he meant.
The barricades that penned us in, suddenly broke open on either side and we were able to over take the morons in front who couldn’t set their own pace in an empty paddock. They broke open several times at varying places and I was able to shoot ahead even leaving Sam behind. I shot in the door and headed up the stairs two steps at a time. I looked back once I’d got to the top to see Sam at the bottom giving me “that look” pointing at the door I had sprinted passed in my rush to be the first to the top of the stairs, just to prove my point. Sadly, I had gone the wrong way and then I had to come back down the stairs sheepishly with my tail between my legs. Boo hoo.
The smoking room at KL must be the worst. “Of course, it is the old airport,” Sam said. That look. No sympathy what so ever. I knew where it was from the trip over and I headed straight there.
We bought cakes, two custard buns and a piece of layer cake. The problem was that we were just short of cash, by 20 ringgit cents. A nice Aussie chick gave us 20c so we could buy the three cakes we wanted. Sam noted that the prices were back to normal, he was still cross about the soup. He had 50 ringgit… always organised. We'd already used it to buy two Nasi Lemak earlier.
I headed back to the smoking room, for one last gasper before the flight.
Then it was time to board. The skies had turned black beyond the terminal windows, we wondered if that meant for a bumpy take off? Or, at least, Sam predicted it was going to be a bumpy take off… but, it wasn’t.
We left right on time, 13.40 to the minute. Does that ever happen in Australia?
There were five planes in front of us on the tarmac, three Air Asia, a Jumbo cargo plane (yes, another one. I guess they are flown as cargo planes now a days) and one Malaysian Airline. I timed for the 1.25 (or whatever it is) minute time gap between each take off… which we got, I am happy to report.
And that is where I closed my laptop and laid my head back and closed my eyes.
Sam has a liking for telling me what time it was and how long we had to fly, despite me telling him that I don’t want to know the time, or look at the time when I am on a long flight. It amuses him. I am sure he thinks he is being funny. I just give him dirty looks and object for the umpteenth time.
I read my book for quite a while, but then they dimmed the lights, as if to annoy me.
The last two hours seemed interminable, not the least because of Sam’s annoying time keeping… and sharing.
We were exhausted when we climbed into the back of the Statesman taxi and directed the driver to where we wanted to go.
I turned off the bedside lamp at 1.11am.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
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