Travails of air travel

WHICHEVER way you look at it, 24 hours in a day is about right. When there are 11 extra, more routines are disrupted, especially in a cramped aircraft.

That was about the sum of our return journey from New Zealand last week where we’d attended our son’s wedding. New Zealand is fantastic, but more about that another day.

We set alarms for 3.45am to catch an early flight from Auckland to Sydney. Our airport shuttle arrived at 4.20am, driven by owner/operator Martin Schoeman.

Martin was a Pretoria magistrate. His wife is the daughter of a former Elliot farmer and the family holidayed at Haga Haga and Cintsa West. She is now a law professor at Auckland University. Small world.

We plastic-wrapped suitcases to deter light-fingered luggage handlers at OR Tambo Airport, and took off at 7am. All very well, but that time was 5am in Oz and eight o’clock the night before in South Africa. And so began an epic, disorientating journey of time change, listless sleep, meals at odd hours and continuous daylight.

It was 8am in Sydney when we touched down. Mrs Chiel’s cabin bag created a stir when not one, but two pairs of scissors were detected during a security check, and promptly confiscated. The inspector asked for our flight number, so I suspect Kiwi security later got a raspberry for missing them.

The Sydney-Johannesburg leg was called section by section, but strangely our seats, four rows from the back of the Jumbo jet, were last. Crew were loading a stretcher patient, we were told.

It turned out the Zambian, who had suffered a stroke, was being repatriated by his mining company employers. He had two South African nursing sisters in attendance and they quietly and efficiently went about looking after him. I tremble to think what costs were involved, which emphasised the importance of travel insurance.

Young families, mums, dads, small children and babies were dotted about the cabin, and hardly had we taken seats than the screaming started. She bellowed. Was this going to be the story of the trip home? Fortunately not, and as wheels lifted off the runway it stopped, and, I must say, all kids on board behaved very well throughout. Two hours later, lunch was served, washed down with a gin and tonic to set the tone for a bit of shut-eye.

Whiling away 14 hours cramped in an uncomfortable economy class seat, watching three-and-a-half movies, missing half their plot due to interruptions and snoozes, trips to the toilet, leg stretches during short walkabouts and generally being totally bored is hardly stimulating.

Then there’s that time difference. We had evening dinner brought at around midday South African time before landing in Johannesburg at 3pm.

How did head and stomach handle this? They didn’t. And after sitting around at OR Tambo until 7pm waiting for the final lap on SAA, then flopping into bed, we were wide awake at 3.30am.

Ho hum. Jet travel halfway across the world is a mission. Four days later I’m still zonked out at 8pm and awake again at 3.30am, but it’s getting better. Yesterday I managed an extra two hours. Long distance air travel and total rearrangement of sleep habits is not my idea of fun. However, all that said and back in my own bed, it’s good to be home.

The Chiel today is Robin Ross-Thompson. E-mail