Perth - August 18, 2009

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Tue 18th of August 2009

Well my computer says today is the 17th of August; computers are not yet smart enough to know where I am (approaching Sydney) and that a day, at least in calendar time, has been taken away, only to be returned as I leave Australia to return home.

After so many years of travelling the emotions as one leaves home remain mixed. There is the sadness tinged with guilt, well more than tinged, at leaving loved ones behind, particularly on a trip like this which is purely for pleasure and your family is left running the household, preparing for the new school year and so on. Then there is the slight sense of uneasiness in flying, yes even after over a million miles of flying. Especially across the Pacific, which goes without saying, is so big and there are so few places to land in an emergency. I was reminded of this on a trip to New Zealand some years ago when the Air New Zealand pilot came on in the middle of the night (going to Australia is 14 and 1/2 hours of constant dark; returning is 13 and 1/2 hours of constant daylight) and said we had a problem. A quick reckoning from the map in the in-flight magazine and the time we had been flying, put us smack tab in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Fortunately it was not a problem with the plane but with Ruapayo. You are probably asking yourself, as my seatmate and I were at the time, what the hell is Ruapayo. Well it turns out to be a somewhat contentious volcano on the North Island of New Zealand and it had just erupted. That we got this information at all in the middle of a watery grave is marvelous enough. I suppose it was from a satellite link since we were too far from any air traffic control. In any case having four Rolls Royce turbo engines enter a volcanic ash dust cloud in the middle of the night is not good for the engines and likely not good for the passengers and crew either. So we were off to Fiji to put down until it got light and we (well the pilots and NZ meterologists) could see what was going on with Ruapayo. I had always wanted to visit Fiji but being crammed into a somewhat delapadated terminal where the only thing to do was to stare through the grill of the gift shop with the usual airport brick-a-brac stamped with a Fiji good wish was not what I had in mind.

Anyway I have digressed. Regarding mixed emotions Now that we are approaching Sydney and the brilliant morning sun of the southern hemisphere is off to our left there is the excitement of the upcoming trip to contend with as well. Sydney’s Kingsford Smith airport is busy at 6am in the morning. There is the occasional glimpses of other overstuffed bumble bees (aka Boeing 747’s) from distant lands occasionally all maneuver around waiting for their turn to land. It will ever cease to amaze me that after 14 and 1/2 hours crossing the worlds largest body of water we touch down exactly on a spot the size of a football field. It will also never cease to amaze me that after 14 and ½ hours we have to wait until someone cranks up the runway lights or something like that. Actually it is the nose abatement procedures that keeps those bumble bees circling the honey pot.

The immenseness of the Pacific has now been replaced by the immenseness of Australia itself. Five hours by plane from Sydney to Perth. The sheer size and emptiness makes one think of the ride ahead, but again experiencing that emptiness and vastness was part of the reason for coming. There is no audiovisual of our route on this flight - well not without paying anyway. You even have to pay $3 for a cup of tea. From what I can gather we are now flying over the northern most part of Great Australian Bite. Looking south there is nothing to see until Antarctica looms before you - but that is (at a guess) 3-4000 thousand miles. I did spot the highway below a straight needle, I mean really straight needle, as the only human sign on the endless landscape. I was reminded of two events that took place the one and only time I drove that road. It was in 1975 during summer holidays while I was a graduate student in South Australia. At that time about 300 miles of the road between Adelaide and Perth, out of a total of 1800, was not paved. The road between two state capitals was not paved/sealed/black topped! It took us 3 full days to make the journey from Adelaide to Perth, including the one day of crossing the unsealed road. Slap dab in the middle of the unpaved sections was the Nullabor Station that served not only as a very large sheep station, but also as a point of survival for it was the only place to get water and petrol and to have a pleasant conversation which most of us craved after hours of monotonous driving. What I recall, and have no idea some 34 years later how true it is, of pumping gas and seeing with mild interest the approaching dust cloud signifying another weary traveler coming in the other direction. Image my surprise when the vehicle in question turned out to be a motorcycle with sidecar. The rider was in full leathers and as the red dust tinged black suited person shook themselves off and removed their helmet a shock of blond hair surrounding a beautiful female face emerged. Not something easily forgotten, even if you did dream it. What was even more surprising was the shuffling in the side car, followed by a door being opened outward raising its own clond of clinging dust and the words, “Mummy can I get out now please.” We had a puncture farther down that stretch of road that slowed us down enough to need to spend a night in the car. This was the days before those ridiculously cheap donut wheels that are only meant to get you to the nearest expensive repair shop. This was a real wheel, but unfortunately one with a very old retreaded tire (remember when they used to do retreads?) which required extra caution so as not to leave the tread on the hot road.

The road of lost memories has now been gone and been replaced by what appears to be amazing salt flats that must cover 10’s to 100’s of miles. I am ready for Perth.

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