Dubai to Sydney

It's a long, long thirteen hours home from Dubai but adding at least an hour and a half at the airport made it very difficult for passengers and crew alike. Perhaps it was nervous excitement which got us through the reverse leg on the way to France or perhaps it was fear but on the way home, our chief companion was boredom. We both watched movies, listened to music, sent emails, ate our meals, tracked the progress of the flight ... Sue got so bored, she not only read the inflight magazines but she also knew where all the safety exits were and practised the brace position from detailed information on the safety card.

We did manage some sleep but not as much as the bloke in the window seat beside us. Much shorter than us, he seemed to be able to get his feet up behind his head in the "sleeping upward dog" position and curled up for the hours between feeding times.

About eight hours into the flight, the announcement was made that anyone who has watched movies about doomed aircraft flights dreads. "If anyone on board the aircraft has medical training, would they please notify a crew member." Luka Kovac and Jim Kildare rushed forward, but were rejected as escapees from the inflight entertainment and were usurped by a veterinarian nurse from Collaroy. Visions of a "Flying High" crisis loomed and I was glad I had followed Sue's advice and not chosen the chicken. It's always those who have chicken who get sick.

We were in need of Leslie Neilsen and it wasn't long before I wondered who would be delivering all the corny lines.

At then end of the flight, the sight of a steward with a bandaged paw and a wet nose exposed the mystery and also explained why service had declined in the last third of the flight. As a result, we were both peeing orange from dehydration in the stalls as Mascot.

Our traveling companion had been away from family for three weeks and our delays in Dubai looked certain to rob him of matching with his connecting flight home. When we enquired where home was, he asked "do you know of Tamworth at all?" It might be a small world but its full of big coincidences.

If it had been good crossing the Australian coast near Kangaroo Island and seeing the lights of Adelaide in the nose camera of the plane, walking out into Sydney sunshine as we went in search of a taxi was just bliss. Dorothy was right.

We retreated to family at Maroubra and a secreted key allowed us into the house seven hours before they came home and most of those we spent sleeping. After the best pie, peas and mashed potato I have tasted was rinsed down by my favourite wine, we crashed for more sleep and the start of the process of bringing our bodies back into the rhythm of home. Minds might take a tad longer.

Two nights in Sydney and then we fly the last leg home to Tamworth.

Day 2 - Arriving in Paris

It was a mammoth day which started in Tamworth and ended in Paris about 27 hours later but I managed to take that bright eyed little girl from Roberts Creek all the way to her dreams.

If there were two things which marked that passage of time, they would be Sue's constant wonder - reinventing itself at every new experience - and my unexpected calm. To Kym, a person no one outside the family knows, my thanks for you confidence and sooth saying. Not one moment of anxiety.

Our flights in the monstrously large A-380 were both pleasant and surprising, given that each of the two legs held 20% more than the Capitol Theatre does for a full performance. The meals were higher quality airline food than I would have expected but I was surprised how many people at the chicken. Don't they know that if you eat the chicken you always die on planes? I didn't want to be turned into a dribbling, farting unconscious fool like Robert Stack so I chose the fish. Sydney to Dubai was long ... really long with nothing to look at as the entire flight is through darkness. Movies and TV shows help but sleep is what you need and we couldn't afford to let Sue drift of. I kept her walking and stretching and she survived with nothing more than sore shoulders but then, when you are carrying the weight of expectation she is, that's not surprising. Her planning and pre-reading meant than the special stocking and exercises stopped any swelling in our legs and feet. Sun glinted off the starboard wing as we were on approach to land.

Dubai

Dubai airport is beautifully designed. Sometimes lots of money can be well spent and there's not a hint of garishness. We had the worst cup of hot water, chocolate syrup we have ever had. They had passed it through coffee grounds from three weeks earlier and then topped the last two inches with pressure canned whipped cream ... but the staff were pleasant. Sue wanted an apple but they told me the stack of apples on the counter were "for display" and if I wanted an apple I would have to by the pre-made fruit salad. We did: it had lovely melons, pineapple, pomegranate seeds ... lots of fruit and really delicious ... but no apple. Another place had seafood on the menu, with large lobster swimming in the taking checking out their new homes. Whist waiting to board, we changed undies and freshened up, which, on reflection, might have been better done in the toilets.

The largest eye openers - as it were - was in the toilets. In the gents, apart from the standard urinals, the stalls offered the choice of a porcelain squat hole (with supporting rails) or an oversized sit down with the bowl half full of water. Both were meant to function that way. Must be hard for folks from these parts when they come to Australia? I was greeted by the toilet attendant, who although speaking no english, was one of the most pleasant people I have ever met, all be it briefly. He turned on the taps for me, pulled out the paper towels and placed them on my hands and muttered his only words, "Australia wonderful" - forgot I had my T-shirt with the list of Australia greetings shaped into the map of Oz!

Our second leg took us up the Gulf of Oman and straight over countries who have been subject to wars as a norm. Briefly over Kuwait, then Iraq and Turkey before we reached the Black Sea. They were odd hours spent travelling up the Tigris River, passing just to the north of Baghdad with Iran a constant neighbour to our right. We had finished our late breakfast, which was sumptuous even in economy, whilst 38 000 feet below a history of warring which goes back before recorded history lay across the landscape. Trapped by geography, culture and that ancient history of practised self destruction, mums and dads and their children with big brown eyes which never smile - other people's children as Eric Bogle calls them - wouldn't even notice as we sped paste at 900km an hour.

As we crossed the Black Sea toward Romania, a three year old began singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", as sweetly as any child could serenade their mother. Another, of similar age and a few rows away, joined in for the encore. The first was in Arabic, the second French.

On board GPS technology and cameras located on the tail (forward looking) and the nose showed us punters in economy what the captain was doing. The landing at Charles deGaule airport revealed a runway which looked unfinished and more dirt than asphalt. Customs were quick but bored and Ahmed, our driver, soon had us whisked away to our hotel ... right beside the Seine!

After orientation, bag opening and showers, I trotted down stairs to buy a few beers, attracting smiles and polite laughs because I was in bare feet.

The Pont de Tolbiac

We went out into the early evening, with no idea of where we were until we discovered the Seine across the Quai de Bercy which is a major road running beside the river. Over a crossing and there we were, standing on the Pont de Tolbiac looking at a river we have heard of in song, watched in movies and read about in books. It was "a moment". Another came twenty minutes later when we walked along the Port de la Gare, that section of the river front between two bridges. Restaurants on old boats were filling with Friday night Parisians, small cafes and bar served locals who sat on folding deck chairs or the ground, talking and laughing their day. No drinking restrictions here, as people lounged and talked ... and not a tourist to be seen. We stopped for fajitas and red wine and a seat at the water's edge as music started on the far side of the cafe. We were immersed in animated conversations, not understanding a word but drinking it in like a dying man does eternity.

Pont de Bercy

Should you think Paris escapes what we see at our own Circular Quay, forget it. Make do bedding under under the arches of the Pont de Bercy signified the homeless are abandoned in even the most romantic city in the world.

We crossed the Pont de Bercy bank to the right bank, passing Palais Omnisports de Paris-Bercy, an indoor arena which hosts sports and popular entertainment. In the next few months it will host the world climbing championships, Radiohead and Justin Beiber. We followed the Quai de Bercy, venturing into the edges of Parc de Bercy - a large suburban green space which has community gardens and performance spaces, as well as walking and running pathways. We turned left before the hotel, into the Rue Francois Truffaut - film buffs will note the name - and into the Bercy Village, a collection of small cafes, restaurants, grog shops, specialty clothing ... all fronting a cobblestone pedestrian street with dining en plein air. It was colourful and vibrant and everyone's dream of a Paris evening.

TODAY'S PHOTOS

Back at the hotel, we collapsed in spasms of cultural ecstasy and the effect of a 24 hour clock whose spring had been unsprung.

What a day!

Sydney - Saying Goodbye to Mum

12 to 17/08/08 Sydney 222(7004) kms

June Daphne Langston -
my heroic, crazy mother.

We drove from Derby on the 11th August and met up with a friend from Tamworth, Sharon Gosson, who had moved here a few months earlier to take up a temporary posting as a mid wife. Thanks to her kindness, we were able to leave our car and trailer safely in her care whilst we flew to Sydney on the 12th in a direct flight.

We returned to Broome on the 17th August.

I wrote only one blog in Sydney. It follows.

15/08/08 Camden

My dear old Mum passed away on Monday morning with her mate of more than sixty years with her. We knew it was coming but were devastated anyway. The funeral was held on Thursday in Camden, with over a hundred people in attendance at the Camden Baptist Church. Family members all had a hand in the planning of a service designed to celebrate Mum's achievements in life and show her character and personality. Man, there was some love in the room!

From the moment the eldest grandsons from four of the families (Jayden Cummins, Tim Blaxland, Jeremy Orchard and Chris Langston) carried Mum's casket in to the sound of a recording of Mum playing "The Entertainer", this was a special service which recognised Mum's faith and great capacity for love. My sister Sue Blaxland bravely read a wonderful poem about Mum being chosen to be a new seedling in God's garden and I spoke of my memories of Mum.

We sang the "The Old Rugged Cross" and "The Day My Lord Hath Gavest" but perhaps the most poignant moment was a recording of Mum playing and singing "May You Always Walk In Sunshine". Mum, herself, was helping us out with the celebrations. A line in the song, sung straight to my heart, had been a theme she had returned to again and again throughout my life ... "may you always be a dreamer, may your wildest dreams come true" ... was a reminder of the faith she had in my ability to both dream and survive. I'm not sure where I will find that external confidence from now but I must try.

Of Mum I said his - "Heaven sent, heaven bound and glory in between."

The family would be quick to thank Brian Stewart who led the service and spoke of the need for us to build up our eternal behaviours and relationships and set aside many of our ephemeral ones. Brian was a great help in the planning of the service and support for Dad.

Whilst all members of Mum's immediate family contributed to her being sent to rest with great dignity and in a way which reflected her character, my brother Art was the rock upon which all the organisation was built. Thanks to my many friends for their expressions of sympathy and support.

Now comes the difficulty of starting everyday without her - harder for each of us by degrees but hardest for Dad. Their love affair isn't over. In 1992, Dad had a quadruple bypass but the doctors didn't manage to cut Mum from his heart so I can't believe her death will be any more successful. We will struggle to make each new day beautiful but Mum's favourite saying should act as a final instruction to us all: THIS TOO WILL PASS