Brisbane girl heads to Rome

2 September 2023

My son hugged me goodbye on the departure bridge at the airport. I looked over his shoulder to my hometown city view and recalled the night before when we watched the mesmerising Riverfire fireworks display and the low-flying roaring overhead jet flyovers. But that was then, and this is now. Off I went to check in my bag. The Airbus A380, that great double-decker beast, was already waiting at the gate, and with my boarding pass in my hand, I knew: 7,443 miles lay between me and Dubai."

Everything went as smoothly as things go in any airport, and before I knew it, I was donning my sexy compression socks just before boarding the 14-hour flight into Dubai.

With a quick final glance at my boarding pass, I felt that particular kind of dread that only a lone traveller gets when realising they are about to spend a long, long flight sandwiched between two strangers. Yep a ‘J’ seat. Grrreat! Mental note: during this night flight, be sure to control your sleep drool and keep it to yourself.  Travel Tip #1: Window or aisle — never middle. Some lessons cost a 14-hour flight to learn."

So, I arrived at row 54, flashed my boarding pass with my 54J seat allocation, smiled, and said, “I’m in here.” The lady with the already sleep-deprived puffy face in 54H frowned back with all her crushed hopes, but she did rise silently to allow me through. The lucky man in 54K looked up to acknowledge the pest who would be squeezed alongside him. This man had full-body tattooing with a clean skin face; he didn’t smile or frown, but instead, he played the smooth criminal. I decided 54K was a safer drool option than 54H.

It turns out that a completely silent 14-hour journey is duller and feels longer than one with the occasional chat. The hours passed with movie after movie and repeated failed attempts to sleep, my head lolling forward despite the neck pillow that stubbornly refused to do its one job.

As the flight reached the point where we were an hour and a half outside of Dubai, my nose popped, and blood poured from my right nostril. My street cred and cool new white top are now in tatters. After Pro Hart-ing the airline blanket, like splattered paint, and soaking several tissues and my hanky, it finally stopped. This was also a relief to the smooth criminal, who had followed me to the toilet and waited outside to ask if I was all right.

Travel Tip #2: Never judge a book by its cover...yes I should have known this one!

Thanks for the fun last night, and farewell, Brisbane!