Text 8875, 110 rader
Skriven 2006-12-15 21:34:00 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: Trip report finally 681
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1109 UA 307 BWI LAX 1825 2113 752 10AB

On this trip I decided not to do exit rows, because I was
with Carol, and the armrests don't go up on exit rows, so
snuggling is difficult. We had checked bags and arrived fairly
early so had plenty of time for martinis (Carol) and beer (me)
with snacks plentifully supplied by Evelyn at the club. Boarded
on time, but there was some kind of song and dance about
the bags loading, so we sat for half an hour; otherwise an
uneventful flight.

1109 UA 839 LAX BNE 2229 0730 744 41JK
1111        BNE SYD 0830 1000     41JK
1111        SYD MEL 1030 1210     37AB

We sat on the long leg(s) with an interesting Brisbane-bound person
who administered an overseas learning program at Stanford. Both of
us chatted briefly with her, and then for most of the rest of the
flight I either was eating or sleeping.

Supper wasn't bad: sort of roasted chicken (they must have
seen me coming, as my serving was almost all chicken skin),
decent mash, the usual rubbery green beans, and the usual
inedible Rubschlager roll, only this one was white. I don't
know what the other choice was, I think cheese ravioli or
something like that. Cheap wine from a Bay area winery
whose name I wrote down but lost accompanied appropriately
(it really was not that bad, not too sweet, not offensive
on the nose or palate; the Cabernet was better than the
Chardonnay). Thus fueled I slept through some bouts of
what Carol reported to me as pretty severe turbulence.

The second service was a box containing a turkey-cheese
sandwich, Ruffles, and a tiny Hershey bar.

More sleep, followed by the question of whether I wanted
pancakes or an omelet. I didn't really want either but
tried the pancakes to be a good sport. Either that or I
dreamed I did.

I was wakened by the sounds and feel of our airplane slowing
down and descending - mighty early, thought I; and then the
announcement came: owing to severe headwinds, we were having
to refuel in Brisbane. What fun, thought I. Some commotion
on board; it seems that a sizable contingent were heading to
Brisbane anyhow, lucky them, but it turned out that the
logistics of getting the baggage out and finding some
amenable customs and immigration staff at daybreak were too
daunting, and everyone had to stay aboard all the way to
Sydney, despite that that meant people would miss their
connection to Brisbane. Refueling and (I suspect) paperwork
took quite a while, and we landed in Sydney two hours late.
They were kind enough to have held our connecting plane for
us (it was, after all, the same flight number), and so that
took off and landed an hour late. The purser came to me in
the wayback and thanked me for all the business I gave the
airline. No offer of an upgrade, though!

Got some Bundy OP and other stuff at the Duty Free; this
was put to good use during the trip. You are now allowed
2.25 liters of booze duty-free. Customs and immigration
were a snap; the woman at the desk expressed concern at our
Virgin connection owing to the lateness of our flight, but
when we told her we'd booked onto a later flight, she seemed
to express actual relief on our account and pointed us in
the direction of a couple restaurants and bars where we
could relax.

First we decided to hunt up the Virgin Blue counter and get
our seat assignments; good thing we didn't wait, as the
line was huge and took a good half hour to negotiate. The
guy passed my grossly overweight carryon (with the booze),
and at length we trundled down to P. J. O'Brien's for a bite
to eat. I celebrated our arrival with a second VB (first one
was on the plane); Carol had Kilkenny, a light clean malty
brew made by Guinness. For lunch we had the bacon-wrapped
lamb and beef meatloaf, quite good, and notable for having
three meats in one blob; these came with coarsely crushed
potatoes and some long-stewed cabbage; and chilli-marinated
calamari, fried tubes that had been scored in interesting
shapes and marinated in something that tasted like nothing
at all, much less chiles, served over a mesclun-carrot salad
topped with sprouts, with a very sweet sauce Tartare on the
side. Off to explore the mall, which Carol did with alacrity
and I with some reluctance. Exhausted that and still had an
hour to go, but we decided to pass security and wait at the
gate. Security was quick and easy, but for the fact that
the screener confiscated Carol's baby scissors; upon her
protests, some goon came over, and he said they had to go.
We asked for a supervisor and were told first that there was
no supervisor and afterwards by the same goon that "I am the
supervisor." These scissors had passed at a dozen airports
worldwide (plastic-covered blades and all), most recently at
the silly transit security at Sydney before meeting their
demise at little Tullamarine. Carol protested that they had
been inspected and passed at Sydney; this might have been a
tactical error. The guy pulled himself up tall and boomed,
"This is MELBOURNE. MELBOURNE has NOTHING at all to do with
SYDNEY." I was ready to say, I hate Sydney, too, but I
didn't bother. The Virgin Blue area is sad and dark in the
same way that third-world airports such as Dulles are sad
and dark. We tried in vain to find free wireless or any
other entertainment: a slimy bar and some pinball machines
were all there was. Shortly before boarding a family with
a girl who coughed constantly every thirty seconds or so
arrived. We prayed that we wouldn't be seated near her; we
weren't.
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