Friends, you know that I love discordant juxtapositions, and my flight over to KL was no exception. I was stuffed in the back section of the plane with half of eastern Europe butted up against the
Rewind a moment. As I boarded the plane, a very nice lady pointed out that I might want to dab my tear-stained face with a tissue, and when I looked at myself in the mirror, I thought that it had been very polite of her NOT to point out that I looked like a half-drowned swamp monster. When I took my seat, the man I was sitting next to was a little elderly, and could see that I had been blubbering, and in that reassuring grandfatherly way called me “good girl” every time I said anything, and “luv”, as only Aussies can.
He turned out to be the coach of the Saints cricket team – a man by the name of Neil Danzie, who played cricket for SA for 20 years, and was a state selector for 30 years. He was an absolutely delightful man, salt-of-the-earth, and kept me company throughout the flight (and I taught him how to use the inflight entertainment).
Anyway, cut to random plane full of Europeans. The whole row behind me were Albanians and then to my left and the front were Croatians. Those who saw me off at the airport, may remember the Albanians for such things as – having 2 screaming children (one who threw herself on the floor for a good 10 minutes as I was checking in!) The children did scream for a portion of the flight, however thanks to a good combination of Sudafed, Red Wine and Neil Young on my ipod I managed to ignore them, and ultimately befriended them (they gave me lollies – or “caramelle” in Albanian). They were only little after all – 1 and 2½ . The older one insisted on talking to me in her guttural accent that made absolutely no sense to me of course, but it was endearing. She won me over. I must be getting jelly-hearted in my old age….
Anyway, as I disembarked with Mr Danzie from the plane, the Saints boys all cheered him on (he threw his arm around me for good measure) and the little Albanian girls bid me adieu. I then realized that my bloody bags should have been checked all the way through to Colombo, as I had to do a dodgy at immigration and come all the way back out to the airport hotel having collected my bags (involved an intra-airport train ride and lots of stares – “Why has SHE got her suitcase on this side of immigration!?!”) It was one of those times where speaking a little bit of Indonesian (Malaysian) helped me to a) jump the queue b) get assistance and c) bend the rules. I knew that semester last year wasn’t wasted!!
So yeah, I am actually in KL in one piece, practically catatonic, throat swollen and very sore, in the airport hotel typing this on the delightful 1970’s bedspread, waiting for morning and wishing I had some Aspro Clear.
The first leg is complete.
