Cruising at 900km/h 15-20,000m above the ocean is a good time to renegotiate your relationship with the scientific paradigm.
More so is the moment immediately before take-off. At that moment your faith in science must be absolute. Sitting in a
250,000 kilo tin can, hurtling at over 250km/h towards the end of the runway, hoping to miraculously lift off and soar away you
cannot help but think that if any one of the laws of physics are wrong you could be screwed. And again when you come in for landing,
there's this moment when you slow down, and it feels like if you slow down any more you'll just fall out of the sky.
It's the closest thing I've had to a religious experience.
The first time I boarded a plane it was a tiny 20 seater flying Hamilton to Palmerston North on a clear day. I had to walk out to the
plane myself, and climb up a step ladder to get on. I was ten or so, and it was extroadinarily exciting. The second time I boarded a
plane I was heading to Brisbane, Australia. I was flying ex-Wellington, and the airport that had always been part of the backdrop to
my day to day life suddenly took on a new vibe. Lu's family were there, delaying us as long as they could, until finally our names were
called over the speaker. As we went through departures and customs all the staff glared at us and hurried us along. When we finally
made it onto the plane they were practically rolling before we'd even sat down. I was twenty-four and it was extroadinarily exciting.
That flight was magical. From take-off to landing I was fascinated. Land, sea, cloud, horizon. And those bloody flight attendants.
It's like some kind of bizarre cult. You see them boarding at the airport; convoys, each with the special little luggage-on-wheels set up.
As soon as the doors close you're in their world, and they know this; they all look terribly self important. The flight from Brisbane to
Sydney was less magical and more comical. I spent the entire flight trying to verify my suspicions that all the flight attendants were transsexuals.
I'm still not sure. By the time we were flying Sydney to Wellington we were exhausted and looking forward to coming home, however
briefly.
Re-entering New Zealand was an experience in itself – our customs department is hardcore! They had a security guard patrolling the queues with a dog.
One girl was unfortunate enough to attract the attention of said dog, and had to put her sixty million carefully stacked bags down for the dog to check.
It turned out to be a false alarm and the poor girl went about reloading herself with this massive pile of luggage.
Three days later I boarded another plane, this time I was leaving home. Wellington to Christchurch domestic, transfer to Singapore airlines for the
international flight to Seoul. We were late and 12kg over our luggage allowance. We ran the last hundred metres to the gate, family in tow.
We barely had time to wave. By the time the plane started moving I was in tears. Then I looked out the window. Watching Wellington fall away
below was breathtaking. Actually, I don't think I looked away until we got to Christchurch.
In Christchurch we had a couple of hours stopover, so we parked up in the bar, played pool and got tanked. We were leaving everything behind to go
and teach English to snotty nose kids in South Korea. We were excited, sad and terrified. And drunk.
Singapore Airlines is the only way to fly. Huge seats, lots of leg room and an entertainment system at every seat (Nintendo, movies, music, news...).
It was a ten hour flight to Singapore; socks, insulating blankets, pillows, toothbrushes and toothpaste were provided. The seats were seriously
reclinable and the headrests were fully adjustable. The flight attendants were enchanting; beautiful, friendly, polite and always
smiling.
They looked just like the ones on the ads. And that was economy class! That plane was like a whole world above the world.
Changi Airport is huge. The biggest eye-opener for me was the presence of heavily armed soldiers. They were everywhere, wandering around with these
big guns looking like the wrong niggaz to fuck with. I was scared. I hoped like hell that I wasn't doing anything wrong. Despite the impressive
appearance of security clearing customs was a simple matter of exiting, unchecked, through the 'Nothing to Declare' gate.
It was nothing compared to Australia and New Zealand.
After our twenty-four hour stopover in Singapore we found ourselves back at Changi Airport waiting for the flight to Seoul, and in a little bit of a pickle.
We had bought some local beer in duty free leaving the airport the day before, and failed to drink it all. Having loaded ourselves up with whisky for the
new boss and Veuve Clicquot for ourselves we found ourselves over the (meagre) booze allowance for entering the Republic of Korea. We spent our waiting time
in the sleeping area slugging back Tiger Beer by the can, hoping the soldiers wouldn't see us.
The flight from Singapore to Seoul was six hours. We were two of a very few non-Korean travelers on board. It was a huge flight, in more ways than one.
The most amazing thing I have ever seen is the sky when you fly into the sunrise. It has this huge metaphoric potential, but essentially it's just so
damn beautiful. Second by second you wish you could catch each colour symphony on film. We arrived at Incheon Airport nervous, jetlagged and partially hungover.
Because we had checked our over-weight luggage all the way from Christchurch to Seoul we were also dressed for Singapore's sweltering heat. It was 6:50am local
time and -7 degrees. We took turns getting changed in the toilets while the other kept a lookout for our new boss.
In September we went to Thailand for five days. We flew Korean Air, which apparently has a dubious safety record. We made it in one piece, and flew into
Bangkok at night, trying to make sense out of the crazy light patterns on the ground. It's hard to decide which is better, a night landing or a day landing;
the sense of the map rising to meet you, or the maze of twinkling lights slowly forming a city. Bangkok Airport is deceptively small but there are actually
3 parts to it, each fully independent. We spent quite a bit of time at Bangkok Airport, because (due to Korean organisational
ineptitude) we had joined the
waitlist for no less than 3 flights leaving the day before our ticketted departure date. Our first lottery ticket was for 11:45pm on Saturday. We arrived
pretty early, but apparently it wasn't early enough. Check in time decides your position on the waitlist, and the waitlist gets transferred from flight to
flight, so our not so enviable position of numbers seventeen and eighteen didn't bode well. The second and third flights were at about 1:30 and 3am.
We found a good table at the all-night coffee bar, ordered a couple of stiff drinks and got out a deck of cards. We played 500 and drank liquor from 10:30 to 3:30
then headed off to Khao San Road to find accommodation.
The next night we calculated our expenses from Bangkok to Daesan and spent the remainder of our Baht on Thai rum. We played 500, watched the Fight Club and
finished the rum at a bar while waiting for the airport bus we had booked. I don't know what they put in Thai rum, but I had to stop drinking it.
I was losing more than motor function. We made it to the airport, despite the best intentions of the bus driver and were told that we had checked in late (again)
and could not be seated together. I sat next to some respectable looking Korean gentleman and tried like hell to sober up. Yet another international flight
undertaken under the influence. When the flight attendants offered me just-add-water ramien (like 2 minute noodles except ultra spicy
and fish flavoured) for breakfast I pretended
to be asleep. It was a strange sensation, returning to Korea. It was the first time we'd ever really thought of Korea as home.
In February I get to go home to New Zealand. At this stage it's looking like two weeks, then back to Korea for another year. I'm
looking forward to seeing family and friends,
eating lot of good food, and especially to seeing Wellington again. But also I'm looking forward to the flight, that sense of moving between worlds, the liminality
of the airspace. And the view of Wellington during landing.
...liminil
