The Long Not-So-Good Night

It you thought it was a long way to Tipperary, then it just takes a journey from New Zealand to the UK to put that into perspective. Tipperary, no matter how far it is proclaimed to be is a walk in the park. And a relatively short walk at that.

Although I apologise for the seemingly whiney tone of this entry, especially in light of just how lucky I am to be able to just decide to hop on a plane and head home for a week or two, it’s something that I have to share. There are some out there who will have experienced this particular itinerary, but for those who haven’t, or are contemplating it, read on.

If a 28 hour journey seems daunting, then good. It should be. Just a relatively short time ago, a trip such as this would’ve taken months and would’ve consumed a families life savings. In other words a one-way trip of necessity. Air travel, on the otherhand, is much more forgiving and less life threatening. But I guess everything is relative. 

I certainly wasn’t feeling over-positive when I boarded my first flight yesterday evening, a simple four hour hop across the ditch to Melbourne. So far so easy. But it wasn’t that journey that was bothering me. Nope it was the next leg of the journey. A butt-numbing 14 hour slog from Melbourne to Dubai then, for deserts, after a short two hour stop in Dubai another seven-and-a-half hour final leg to Newcastle. 

In theory, sitting in a chair watching movies or binging on box sets whilst you are served food and beverages seems like an ideal way to spend some down-time. Ordinarily, particularly after the last twelve months I’ve had, I would’ve snapped your hands off. But no thank you. Not this time. Not in this way. You see it’s not the time, once you get your head around the idea, that’s easy. Nor is it the surroundings because that doesn’t really matter. It’s the darkness. The seemingly endless night. 

That’s one of the major downsides to travelling east to west, the sun never seems to rise.  It was dark when we took off from Melbourne at 8:30pm and remained so for the rest of the fourteen hour journey. God knows what it’s done to my body clock - we’re not only 90 minutes out from Newcastle and the sun is shining. Broad daylight. I think it’s Thursday lunchtime, or at least that’s when were due to land. Or as I prefer to call it, Friday morning, as that’s what time it is in New Zealand. Conventional wisdom says that you should try and convince yourself that it is the time it actiually is in your destination. That’s great advice except my body clock isn’t listening. Doesn’t care. It wants me to sleep evening though its broad daylight and, judging from experience, it will equally expect me to rise from my well-deserved slumber at some god forsaken hour tomorrow. 

Listen to me go on about the perils of long-haul air travel. What a knob and yes, I’d be the first to admit it. Actually I think I just did!