Once, a few years back, I had an extraordinary stopover in Australia. I tell you this in case you should ever find yourself in such a position. My itinerary was: London/Melbourne/Auckland/Melbourne – I needed to be in New Zealand for work reasons, immediately after a brief visit to the UK. Nice, I thought. I’ll spend a relaxing night in Melbourne, see some friends, and be in Auckland for lunch the next day. Forty-eight hours with the Kiwis, then back to Oz.
Photo by pat_ong
Ah, the best-laid plans. First, I nearly missed the plane at Heathrow. This is very hard on the heart. It threw me into a panic that didn’t subside until somewhere south of Europe. I couldn’t sleep on the flight, sat upright all the way and arrived in Australia exhausted. The hotel was in central Melbourne; quite luxurious. I’ll call my friends as soon as I freshen up, I thought. First, I’ll stretch out on that very inviting bed. Five minutes in a horizontal position...
What seemed like ages later, I awoke in panic. I’d gone out like a light, and was now on the verge of missing my Auckland connection. This was too terrible to countenance; the meeting had been arranged and rearranged numerous times. Within minutes I was at the reception desk, begging for my bill. They seemed surprised, but I wasn’t in any state to care. Luckily, there was a taxi at the door. I urged the driver to hurry, hurry, hurry, and he obliged, poor man. Half-way to Tullamarine he announced that he was going to take up smoking again. I said I’d join him.
The airport check-in desk was empty; not a good sign. I’d mislaid my ticket during the smoking session in the taxi, and, as I desperately searched for it, implored the staff member to get me on the flight, ticket or no ticket. I told her the flight number. She frowned. “That flight went yesterday,” she said. We stared at one another. “Or it goes tomorrow – I need your ticket.” I couldn’t find it. She thinks I’m mad, I thought. I’ve missed the flight anyway; I’ll go and have breakfast. And find my ticket. And phone Auckland. And relax.
Photo by DWZ
The café wasn’t serving much in the way of breakfast food; I grabbed a coffee and cake. Weird, I thought. Who wants to eat fish and chips at dawn? Resigned to returning to Melbourne and paying for a second day’s accommodation, I went outside and sat on my suitcase. My ticket turned up in a coat pocket, but the light was poor and I couldn’t read it. What depressingly dark mornings they have here, I thought, gazing at a pitch-black sky.
Back at the check-in counter, the woman studied my ticket with a frown. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to do. You only landed here a few hours ago…” “No, it was a day ago! Maybe two days ago! I don’t know how long I was asleep!” My brain began to spin. “You got here this afternoon…” “No!” “Yes.” Very, very slowly, the penny dropped. It wasn’t morning – it was night. The café wasn’t serving fish and chips for breakfast; it was serving dinner. The mornings weren’t absurdly dark in Melbourne; it was around 8 in the evening.
Yes, you’ve guessed the cause of this whole sorry saga. I’d arrived exhausted, spent a few minutes asleep in my hotel, checked out almost immediately and returned to the airport. It’s frighteningly easy to do when you’re suffering from jet-lag. It almost happened to me in Singapore once, too; I stopped myself just in time. Sigh if you like, but one day it might happen to you…and you’ll be sorry. Believe me, you will.
Photo by jimmyharris
So anyway, I slunk back to my Melbourne hotel. The receptionists were pleased to see me; they’d been wondering if I’d found their beautiful establishment insufferable. “Because,” they explained, “most of our guests stay more than quarter of an hour.”