That Blur. 21 May 2018 Brisbane to Hong Kong to Paris

There’s not a lot to like about long distance flights.  

fSome of our friends pretend that they are not a big deal, but it’s difficult not to think that when they wax lyrical about the amount of sleep they have had and how fresh they felt on arrival, that the delusory effects of the jet lag have had a rather large part in the composition of those remarks.  

Admittedly one of us always fares better than the other in the sleep and comfort stakes.  Without naming names, she’s the one with sleeping skills honed from years of slumber in the front seat of the car on any journey that is longer than the one to the supermarket.  Therefore, before the seat belt lights go out, and in some cases before the safety demonstration has commenced, she becomes happily oblivious to the whinging from the seat beside her, waking only to eat or perhaps watch part of a movie until she nods blissfully off once more.

By the half way mark and that interminable wait for the connecting flight, it’s difficult to focus on anything much beyond one’s immediate surrounds.  The simple act of reading signs and following them to the next departure point becomes something that requires extremes of concentration, but the air conditioning and carpet and the cross word puzzles remind us that we aren’t being particularly intrepid after all. So like our friends, we pretend we aren’t affected at all and eventually we arrive in Paris after almost twenty-four hours in the air, yet mid afternoon on the same day we left Brisbane, in the knowledge that after a hot shower and a good night's sleep, we probably won't feel any better at all.