For those of us who are less inclined to think in ideals, we still expect a certain level of comfort and convenience. The operative word in that last sentence being expect. But even in the cheapest of budget class, a packet of crisps and a glass of water wouldn't go amiss.
In a country that relies heavily on air travel to get around, not due to the size mind you but due to the lack of reliable infrastructure, it could be argued, expected even, that they would've got air travel sorted. Hhhmmm not on current evidence.
At the moment, as I type these very letters into my phone (yes my it is in flight mode thank you) we are taxiing across what is seemingly miles of runway to actually take off. Although I suspect, having been trundling around for nearly fifteen minutes that we're actually driving the 300km from Auckland to Napier, and those aren't actually runway lights I can see out of the window but the headlights of fellow travellers on State Highway 1. Admittedly I wouldn't have noticed and would've normally dozed off by now, except the flight is only supposed to take 45 minutes.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Alarm bells started ringing much earlier, not actually alarm bells you understand, but metaphorical ones, when we were asked to go to Gate 62 to catch our flight. The airport only has 50 gates. What they should've said, as it turns out, was "can you please make you way across the car park to the shed at the end of the road. Oh and by the way, don't expect a seat because there are only three and one has Albert's potted plant on it."
Maybe I'm lying about the potted plant. It wasn't Albert's it was Terry's.
So after making our way across the crowds of people who were waiting expectantly for their flight to far flung places, we weaved around the Vauxhall Novas to arrive at the departure gate.
Now call me old fashioned, but one of the features of departure gates, if not the feature, is that stuff should actually depart from here. Woth some poor weather no doubt the culprit, several flights are backed up and cant actually depart. We at least there is the lounge to errrr lounge around in. Well ok there's not much lounging going on, what with the potted plant and everything, but at least there is nice floor to sit on. It would have to be a really low rent place not to provide a nice floor on which to sit and while away the time. After all, what better things are there to do on a damp Thursday night?
Eventually all things must come to an end so, begrudgingly, we stood up and formed a queue to get onto the plane. But being at Gate 62, there is no plane. Instead, we are treated to the indignity of getting onto a bus which then proceeds to drive us back across the car park and to another far flung corner of the airport to our waiting plane. As we approach the Dash 8-300 aircraft, which I'm now reliably informed by our inflight pamphlet is our assigned vessel, I begin to wonder. Either this craft is a technological marvel or it is actually smaller than the bus that we're currently travelling on. Only without the double doors in the middle and destination sign on the front!
It's the latter. I'm not saying that this plane is small but is it normal to be able to stretch out your arms and touch both sides of the aircraft? No didn't think so. And as if to reinforce the point, we are asked if anyone with a bag larger then a 10p mix-up can make themselves known to the cabin crew so it can be put in the hold. Or on the roof rack if there's not enough space.
Which, after a slight detour, brings us back to the present and the taxiing down the runway/state highway.
Time then for the safety briefing. Or at least it would be if I could hear it. Unfortunately for the cabin crew, the propellers have started and any important instructions are lost in the noise and vibration from the engines. Being no stranger to air travel, some of the gestures look familiar but their verbal accompaniment is lost. For all I know they could be instructing us to, in an emergency, point to the windows and wave to anyone we can see outside who might be able to help.
Hurray, we're airborne. Or at least I think we are. The ground details don't seem much further away than they were ten minutes ago.....
"Hi folks, this is Terry your Captain for this flight. Today we'll be cruising at an altitude of around twenty metres where the air temperature is slightly cooler but not so you'll notice really. Can I ask that you please refrain from putting your head out of the window as it is quite dangerous and a little off-putting"
With a vehicle this small, there isn't any in-flight entertainment as such, unless you count the amusing sight of the cabin crew trying to sell food and drink and tidy up on the five minutes that they have between takeoff and landing. But who needs dull Hollywood blockbusters when you can watch the land whizzing by. And other traffic.
Still, at least it won't take long to disembark and unload. I've seen family saloons with more passengers and luggage, and we don't have the annoying children to get on the way of the process. Well not many anyway. With s flight this short, there isn't much opportunity to be delayed, but I do fear that the stiff breeze might've blown us off course. Ah well, perhaps a weekend in Tauranga is better anyway!
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