Smart flying
Oct. 7th, 2008 05:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skyringSydney to Auckland
Boeing 767-800 VH-QGS
QF43
1145 - 1813
My gate’s about as far away from the lounge as possible, but I’m not pressed for time. In fact, the exercise is good for me.
Overcast and drizzle in Sydney. Our lady captain informs us, a small whinge in her voice, that higher powers have switched the take off direction from south to north at the last moment, meaning everything’s got to be recalculated.
For my part, I’m feeling no pain. There’s champagne flowing for me, and I’m receiving compliments on behalf of my companion, who wins hearts that I leave cold.
“He’s gorgeous,” says Janelle, purveyor of fizz. “He’s wearing the ribbon from a Lindt Easter bear. We have them at Easter.”
This makes sense. I was given Ringbear on Easter Friday in Shrewsbury, two years ago, and the maroon colour of his ribbon is a perfect match for the logo of BBC regional radio.
But we’re a long way from Shropshire today. The overcast extends across the Tasman, and there’s little enjoyment to be had from the view outside.
Instead I select an inflight movie. Get Smart is the obvious choice. My childhood was brightened by this brilliant parody of the James Bond genre. Mel Brooks and Buck Henry made for a sparkling satire, witty wordplay, and a string of catchphrases that smile down the decades.
Max Smart wasn’t. That was his gag. The beautiful Agent 99 was the straightwoman, the brains of the team, diplomatically suggesting the obvious solution to the many problems Max encountered (or created) along the way.
This modern movie has Max as a talented nerd, stealing the heart of a more focused Agent 99. Romance never arose in the original series, or at least not until the end, but this new Maxwell Smart wears his heart on his sleeve. And how clever of the screenplay to have drained all the wit and humour from the concept.
No Audio-Visual on Demand entertainment on this flight. Once I began, I had to stick with the film until the end. But at least there was a bit of bubbly along the way.
A pleasant flight, a good meal, a great seat, with nobody blocking access to the aisle.
There was a glimpse of Auckland between clouds as we descended and turned for the airport. Skytower needle above the city, ferries passing the naval base en route for the holiday suburb of Devonport.
It’s Sydney trimmed down to a manageable size. It’s startling green fields when we pass south of the city, cows on the grass, mudflats turning into tarmac and runways.
New Zealand makes me happy. I came here for my honeymon, and I’ve return several times, each holiday blessed with delight. It’s the scenery, the people, the uncluttered land. It’s the perfect country, tucked away at the end of the world’s airline routes.
There’s a magnificent Maori carving welcoming arriving visitors to Aoteroa, the Land of the Long White Cloud. I wish I had more time here, but I’m barely poking my nose outside the airport this trip.
New Zealand immigration and customs can be tough. I declared my bags full of Tim Tams, and the luggage scan on arrival showed them up clearly. But they passed me through. What they are really looking for are dirty boots. Bring a pair of gumboots into Auckland, and you’d best be prepared to scrub them clean in the arrivals hall.
Boeing 767-800 VH-QGS
QF43
1145 - 1813
My gate’s about as far away from the lounge as possible, but I’m not pressed for time. In fact, the exercise is good for me.
Overcast and drizzle in Sydney. Our lady captain informs us, a small whinge in her voice, that higher powers have switched the take off direction from south to north at the last moment, meaning everything’s got to be recalculated.
For my part, I’m feeling no pain. There’s champagne flowing for me, and I’m receiving compliments on behalf of my companion, who wins hearts that I leave cold.
“He’s gorgeous,” says Janelle, purveyor of fizz. “He’s wearing the ribbon from a Lindt Easter bear. We have them at Easter.”
This makes sense. I was given Ringbear on Easter Friday in Shrewsbury, two years ago, and the maroon colour of his ribbon is a perfect match for the logo of BBC regional radio.
But we’re a long way from Shropshire today. The overcast extends across the Tasman, and there’s little enjoyment to be had from the view outside.
Instead I select an inflight movie. Get Smart is the obvious choice. My childhood was brightened by this brilliant parody of the James Bond genre. Mel Brooks and Buck Henry made for a sparkling satire, witty wordplay, and a string of catchphrases that smile down the decades.
Max Smart wasn’t. That was his gag. The beautiful Agent 99 was the straightwoman, the brains of the team, diplomatically suggesting the obvious solution to the many problems Max encountered (or created) along the way.
This modern movie has Max as a talented nerd, stealing the heart of a more focused Agent 99. Romance never arose in the original series, or at least not until the end, but this new Maxwell Smart wears his heart on his sleeve. And how clever of the screenplay to have drained all the wit and humour from the concept.
No Audio-Visual on Demand entertainment on this flight. Once I began, I had to stick with the film until the end. But at least there was a bit of bubbly along the way.
A pleasant flight, a good meal, a great seat, with nobody blocking access to the aisle.
There was a glimpse of Auckland between clouds as we descended and turned for the airport. Skytower needle above the city, ferries passing the naval base en route for the holiday suburb of Devonport.
It’s Sydney trimmed down to a manageable size. It’s startling green fields when we pass south of the city, cows on the grass, mudflats turning into tarmac and runways.
New Zealand makes me happy. I came here for my honeymon, and I’ve return several times, each holiday blessed with delight. It’s the scenery, the people, the uncluttered land. It’s the perfect country, tucked away at the end of the world’s airline routes.
There’s a magnificent Maori carving welcoming arriving visitors to Aoteroa, the Land of the Long White Cloud. I wish I had more time here, but I’m barely poking my nose outside the airport this trip.
New Zealand immigration and customs can be tough. I declared my bags full of Tim Tams, and the luggage scan on arrival showed them up clearly. But they passed me through. What they are really looking for are dirty boots. Bring a pair of gumboots into Auckland, and you’d best be prepared to scrub them clean in the arrivals hall.
