Cash spent on food so far: $200.00 (@150 quid)
Cash fed into Internet kiosk at airport in order to book a hotel room: about a tenner
Actual hours I have slept since arriving on Monday: 11
Due to the fact that I have no idea where I am or who I am right now, you're going to have to live with a week's update in one. I can't promise it'll be entertaining either so you might just want to go and have a cuppa instead. All I can say is that I hope the rest of the holiday gets better than this!!
Without going into too much detail, my stomach does not fly well - it seems to lag behind and grumbles if any kind of food is forced into it at heights of over about 10 ft. Two ten hour flights is therefore the kind of intestinal torture that I look forward to about as much as my annual dental checkup with the Polish jawbreaker the NHS has currently saddled me with.
I digress. Things started off badly in Manchester. Having gone through all my printouts and paperwork I realised with horror that the fact that I was arriving at 2am on the 1st actually meant that I would need a hotel room on the 31st - either that or stay in the airport until check in time in the afternoon. I realised this whilst walking to my departure gate at Manchester airport. So I could either see what was available when I crawled into Oz or use one of the overpriced, impossible to use and prone to crashing just as you are typing in your payment details kiosks at the airport.
It's easier to get through immigration if you have a starting address so I thought I'd chance the kiosk. I put in my 2 pounds for 20 mins and spent the first 15 of that trying to work out how to get to another page other than the local taxi firm and lapdancing club (two separate companies I hasten to add - it's not a drive thru service). I put in another couple of quid and managed to find the hotel that I was going to be staying at the following night at a good price, with a 24-hr check-in on an Aussie site which was much cheaper than the English sites I had been looking at previously so I got to the payment page and clicked on the link to enter my details...page not found. I tried again. page not found. International pages were blocked so I had wasted the money I'd put into the kiosk thus far.
Another 2 pounds later and I was looking at an extra 20 pounds for the same room on the same night on an equivalent English site. At least it would mean that I wouldn't have to check out an hour or two after going to bed which would have been hellish. That was worth the extra payment alone so I put in another 2 pounds which would get me hopefully through to the payment pages and I could join my flight in peace. I clicked on 'Checkout' and heard a loud siren. I clicked again, there it was again - a siren. It occurred to me that this wasn't actually the noise made by clicking the button...
"Breep breep, there has been an incident that requires us to evacuate this area. Please leave by your nearest exit immediately, staff nearby will assist you." There was a brief moment where about four hundred complete strangers looked at each other to say 'Are you kidding me? Is this a joke? Do we have to move?" It occurred to me that the chances of English people surviving a security alert are fairly slim as we all did our best to ignore that anything strange was happening and carried on as we were.
When security guards started physically prodding us in the direction of the door it dawned on us that this wasn't a drill so I tried to save my remaining credit - with the predictable lack of success. I'd be fine if staff and passengers could evacuate the whole departure lounge, the fire crew check the alert and give the all clear and everyone come back into the area in under 2 minutes and 18 seconds. My hopes weren't high.
They didn't and I was forced to buy another magazine that was sufficiently below 5 quid to give me a couple of pounds change but was also not too embarrassing to be seen buying at the till. I had avoided 'Men's Health haemarroid special" so far but it was beginning to beckon attractively from the shelves in comparison to the competition (Top Gear magazine anyone?). I finally completed the transaction and could rest in the knowledge that I wouldn't be forced to leave my hotel room at 10.30 in order to check into another room.
So, after an excruciating 20 hours of flying and with my digestive system resembling an Escher drawing I made my way to the hotel. I checked in and made sure that the cheery Chinese guy on reception had put my other booking to run on in the same room - he assented with a cheery smile. I laughed with him and then again said as I went to the lift "because I was having nightmares about having to get up before I'd gone to sleep in order to check into a different room". Cheery Chinese smile and laugh in return.
OK.It was 4am by the time I'd showered and changed, had a cup of tea, texted everyone I'd ever met to tell them that I hadn't died and finally got to bed.
The construction work from the building being built directly under my window started at about 5am. I vaguely remember thinking "ooh I bet that's going to bug anybody who wanted a lie-in today" then lapsed back into unconsciousness. At 10.38 my phone rang. Being 10,000 miles away from Vodafone telesales who are the only ones who ring my landline I thought I should probably answer it. "Hi there, this is reception, just checking that you will be checking out at 10.30." "No, the Chinese guy said it had been arranged that I would stay in the same room as my other booking ran on". "Oh. No he didn't do that." Uneasy silence. "I'll call you back in ten minutes". Ten minutes later "Ok you can stay in that room." Two minutes later "Miss Pearson, we haven't taken payment for the other two nights, when you're ready could you just pop down to reception please." "I gave you my credit card details when I booked." "Oh yes, that was just to hold the booking. Any time you're ready, just pop down and pay."
I threw a jumper on over my pyjamas and stormed down to reception and paid with my credit card. We had to use the "Customer not present" function as I'd forgotten my pin and my face of black thunder suggested to the young girl on reception that perhaps it was best to just put the payment through quickly and let me get back to bed. This essentially meant that I hadn't needed to get out of bed anyway and could have done it over the phone. Not happy. I returned to my room to find the cleaning crew had blockaded my door with their trolley and I had to squeeze past it in order to try to get back in. I slammed the "Do not disturb" sign on the door and by golly I meant it!!
As an aside, the reason I was using my credit card was because my bank has a helpful habit of stopping my bank card every time I use it abroad. Regardless of the fact that I have sent them a letter to tell them that I will be using it on the specified dates and the fact that I have gone into the bank in person with ID in order for them to put the note onto my file. I have another $200 to last me the whole trip if it gets stopped this time - that will just about get me a sandwich and a bottle of water in this town - I'm starting to see where Jesus was coming from with the bread and fishes thing; he had obviously been to Australia on a budget.
Anyway, I went to the ATM in full hopes and guess what?! The bank had stopped my cash so I had to spend time in an internet cafe trying to find the international number to call, couldn't find it so had to call all the other numbers for the other services until someone gave it to me (it was out of office hours) and then I spent ages going through all the menus in order to speak to someone and finally managed to get it unblocked. Then I realised I'd left my sunglasses in the cafe.
So you see why I've not really felt like blogging so far. It didn't help that I spent my last flight squeezed between a couple so sweet that Disney would have turned them down as too sugary(yerk) and "here's my crotch" guy. He was this really tall; lanky guy who had an extra seat next to him so he was splayed out all over it for comfort. He looked like a giraffe on a sun lounger. Frankly I didn't know where to look so I just closed my eyes and thought of England.
On my favourite topic of airport toilets, I found that in Australia the airport toilet flush is so sudden and violent that it seems like your waste has been transported into another dimension. Somewhere out there Dr Who just got an unpleasant gift from above.
Food costs a fortune out here - you pay about $9 for a sandwich which is half what you'd pay for a night at a hostel.
Jetlag is a terrible thing; the other night I found myself watching "The Love Boat" at 2am in a vain attempt to stave off a craving for smoked cheese.
So I've spent the first few days of my trip feeling Grumpy, definitely Sleepy, there's pollen everywhere so I'm also Sneezy and I have to confess to being Dopey with the jetlag. If you've never had bad jetlag before, I can only liken it to having an imp sat on your shoulder stealing bits of time randomly so that you remember going to the fridge for the milk, opening the door, reaching for the bottle... but you have no idea what train of events led to you pouring it carefully off the balcony onto the street below wondering where your cup went to.
I'll tell you about Launceston tomorrow.
Elsie x
