Travel to Melbourne makes for very long days. It is now 10:15pm and I am sitting down and unwinding at last. I haven’t had a shower yet, but that’ll be a thrill in its own right that only someone without a shower at home at the moment can understand. I’m going to send Abbey some thrilling shower pics… of the shower… all by itself… trust me, it’ll work.
I am not where I normally am.
Apparently there is a Grand Prix somewhere about the city and it has driven me out of my usual haunt. I think I disapprove, but at the same time I’m embracing the novel of the Novotel.
The hallways are maze-like and claustrophobic. The rooms are studio-apartment-like and face inwards to what looks like a shopping plaza far down below. But there is a certain compact charm about it. It’s weird not having a balcony though.
The taxi in Sydney was quick to hand me his card and suggest I send him my flight number for a pickup upon my return. I prefer the pot-luck of whomever is in the ranks at the time. And even if I did, he wasn’t a particularly good driver; I’d choose one of the earlier drivers I’ve had over him. He seemed a bit distracted from his driving, like he didn’t really want to be there. This also meant he was on the phone with what I think was a friend saving me from having to dodge a conversation I wasn’t interested in. I just disappeared into headphone-land with my personal musings.
The flight itself was a little rocky, but not overly so. Cloud cover at both ends, and rain in Melbourne. But the other passengers were clearly more uneasy on average than they usually are. I’m chalking that up to the Malaysian Airlines flight that’s still un-recovered. It’s odd how that makes people act like suddenly all flights are suspect… as if our plane was going to disintegrate with the very next shake or rumble.
The pilots were actually very good all things considered. You can always tell by the landing. Some just have that light touch that shines through when the rubber hits the road once more.
And now I feel a bit disoriented.
What do I normally do at this point in the first evening?
Without the internal-stair-climbing something just doesn’t click.
And then my Kindle I think.