(In which Taro begins as he hopes not to continue)
- Gentlemen, we do not stop until nightfall.
- What about breakfast?
- You’ve already had it.
- We’ve had one, yes. What about second breakfast?
- I don’t think he knows about second breakfast, Pip.
- What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? He knows about them, doesn’t he?
- I wouldn’t count on it.
(from LOTR:FOTR by Jackson, Walsh, & Boyer, after Tolkien)
Brunch
For one who’d not had a lot of sleep in the previous week, what with coughing up half a lung and all, I woke relatively early on the morning of my departure. The room at my parents’ house is both light and warm, the general suburban clamour generally unfamiliar, and the blinds mean that if air is to enter the window, even more noise and light is provided. Nonetheless, after pottering about for a couple of hours, and brunching -- cereal; fruit; egg -- and pottering about a little more, I welcomed a post-prandial nap that imposed itself upon me.
First Dinner
With last-minute double-checking done -- no leaving my Visa card on the photocopier this time around, thank you very much -- we left for Sydney airport. We’d aimed to get there two hours before the flight, and managed to arrive significantly earlier thanks to the multitude of tollroads that link Sydney’s northwest and Mascot. It was past 6 by the time I’d checked in, and more than 6 hours since brunch, and I wasn’t going to happily last another few hours, so we went down to the public food hall area. The kebab stall was probably the pick of the bunch but I had a strong suspicion that I’d be eating a fair amount of Levantine cuisine shortly. Instead I went for some Asianesque food - Teriyaki Chicken and Red Curry Chicken - which my father, damning with faint praise, described as “not the worst Chinese food he’s ever had”; I ate what I could stomach.
Eye Candy
I was in seat H, and the guy in seat K had been immediately behind me in the check-in line. Our row was at the front of the compartment, so lots of leg room. “Seat J will probably also be a guy”, said Seat K, “You know why?”. I shook my head. Pessimism? Statistics? No: apparently single guys are a good choice for stopping anyone from trying to open the exit door mid-flight. Thankfully noone attempted to open the door, and Seat J turned out to be female and shapely and revealing a surprising amount of tattooed back for someone heading off to the Middle East to see the rellies.
Second Dinner
The plane had come from Christchurch, and those who had embarked there had had their First Dinner on the Christchurch-Sydney Leg. Second Dinner for them and for me came once the flight was underway: Chicken pasta, with banana cake for afters.
Liquid Refreshment
A stop at Bangkok Airport to exchange passengers and refuel provided an opportunity to step off the plane, and walk briskly to the transit hotel two floors up, where I had a quick but nonetheless glorious shower before reboarding the plane rather happier than I’d left it.
Dinfast
Back again on flight EK419, having turned 3am Thailand time, it was time for another meal. This was labelled as “Breakfast”, but an intermediate term such as “dinfast” might be more suitable. This was a omelette with cheese, potato, mushroom and tomato. Only the cheese was part of the omelette; the remainder sat awkwardly beside the eggy concoction. I picked at it a bit, examined the flat hard croissant, and then finished off the fruit salad.
Breakfast
Dubai has not only the tallest building in the world, but also six of the top six tallest hotels. On the principle that bigger is better, perhaps, its Terminal 3 is apparently the biggest building by floor space in the world - 23 minutes’ walk from the hub after the arrival hall to the start of its gates, warned its map. I went and had an American breakfast, more for the juice and coffee included than anything else in the meal -- hold the bacon (pork) and sausage (pork)... please.
Pork in an Islamic area? Well, Dubai might be somewhat firmly Islamic, but the airport is not exactly Dubai. Earlier this year, an unmarried western couple were deported for kissing in public and fined ￡200 for drinking alcohol (and were apparently lucky to escape a flogging), but the most popular breakfasting establishment in the airport at 6am was the Ye Olde Oirish Pubbe down the way. This was pretty full, perhaps on the principle that it was 6pm somewhere, or perhaps because the tipplers were thankful for an opportunity to drink in public and have change from their ￡200.
Second Breakfast
Emirates Flight 901 was a shorter flight, with a breakfast of egg and turkey bacon. Turkey bacon? Well, let’s just say it’s no Soy Bacon, thank frob, but it’s not a strong argument either in convincing someone to give up the meat of the pig. I normally don’t sleep on flights, and I’m pretty sure there wasn’t very much tryptophan in the Turkey Bacon, but I did manage to doze for an hour or so somewhere over India.
Weight Loss Solutions
In Amman, I rid myself of over 13 kilos by leaving both backpack and daypack at the hotel, and taking just my Jordan travel book in a pocket of my coat. After a trim and shave from the barber opposite the walk up to my hotel, I had a walk round the downtown area.
First Lunch, Second Lunch
Cairo Restaurant is recommended in my guidebook; I found it literally by following my nose, as the scent of charcoalled chicken wafted up the lane. Food is prepared at ground level; its tables are upstairs. I studied the menu and tried to match its contents with the memory of the food-piled trays on display below. Chicken with potato and vegetable?... and biryani? Oh, did I want a half serve? Yes, just the one lunch would do fine; I thought it was a pick-and mix thing. But even with half-serves it was still too much, and at the the end of lunch I’d eaten no more than was left. Satiated, I walked over to see the Roman Amphitheatre in the middle of Downtown, and thence to the hilltop ruins of Jebel Al Qala’a overlooking it.
Shy Iraqi, Forward Iraqi.
The day was miserable, with fairly constant drizzle, and cold enough for breath to frost in the winter air. Having walked down to the bottom of Jebel Al Qala’a, sky darkish even though 5pm had yet to arrive, the first side street had a hole-in-the-wall with a sign advertising Iraqi Tea, Arabic Tea, Turkish Coffee, and other beverages. “Shy Iraqi”, I requested.
There was a group of 8 or so inside, finishing their beverages as I collected my tea - a heap of sugar in a tiny glass cup topped with tea. Jordanians like their tea sweet. “Where do you come from?” inquired one of the group as he stepped outside. “Ana Ostraalee”. “Every time we play you in soccer we win”. Well, that’s blunt, but fair enough -- not a lot of disputing that, and I’m not even sure which country you are.
Jordanian? Qatari? No, Iraqi; here for professional development.I’m here for tourism, not business, and definitely not as part of the Australian Army... No, I won’t be visiting Iraq this holiday... Oh, your colleague said I should come visit... but you think I should come as a tourist, and not part of the Australian Army or I’ll... “go elsewhere, eh”?
Ok...
Well, I am unlikely to be joining the Australian Army.
Or, for that matter, the Australian Soccer Team.
Evening Snack
Early evening is the time for sweets. Many are the shops around which sell their baklawa and halwa and a less familiar assortment. A shop near my hotel has throngs outside eating its kunafa from plastic plates. Kunafa involves crunchy stringy pastry on top of chewy white cheese all drenched in an evil amount of syrup. Oddly tasty, but I’m sure that there’s ever increasing chances of early onset diabetes setting in.
Third Dinner?
Jordanians have dinner quite late - after 9pm is apparently fairly standard. While this is my kind of standard dinner time, the prospect of sleep seemed like it would better fill immediate needs and so: to bed.
