AIRPORT ENNUI

Thursday, 14 January 2010. Melbourne Airport.

I’m sitting in the departures lounge at Melbourne Airport, “cushioned” by the white noise of an escalator proceeding steadily downwards. When I checked in this morning, an hour or more ago now, I was told there was a plane delay—I think the plane is late arriving here and so will be late leaving and therefore I will be late arriving in LA,, my re-entry point to North America. Not all bad news however, since they’ve rebooked me on an Air Canada flight direct to Toronto, saving me the LA-Chicago-Toronto legs of the original booking.

It’s the usual odd schmozzle of anxiety and boredom getting into and out of airports and finding flight information and clearing customs and security. Katharine’s Quantas flight is just now backing away from its ramp—about 20 minutes behind schedule. I made it into the departures area in time to see the still-long lineup of passengers waiting to go through the extra security clearance which involved a full search of hand luggage and a body check. I’m not clear on whether this flight will face the same lengthy scrutiny, but it would be odd if it doesn’t.

Yesterday we had a lovely time in Melbourne, even if the morning felt mournful as we had our last breakfast with the McGuires and then trundled out to the Hobart Airport. We were able to get the Best Western Airport Motel shuttle bus from Melbourne to our motel and even check in early—then the shuttle dropped us at Broadmeadows train station and we road the train downtown to Flinders Station, and made our way on foot to the Australian Ballet School. Katharine had arranged for us to have a tour of the school, which shares quarters with the Australian Ballet Company. It’s busy with summer programs at the moment, and the studios were full of dancing young people.

From the school we walked into the CBD and found a good salad lunch at Il Duomo Café in one of the Arcades – than window-shopped and ambled about, eventually ending up in Carleton Gardens where we parked on benches and read our books quietly for awhile. We had to pick up a forgotten camera lens from 55 Webb St., the apartment we had stayed in for our all-too-brief family visit to Melbourne. Then we went to Woolworth’s (a food store here, not a five and dime) for Kath to buy white chocolate timtams and Buderim ginger to take home—poked along Smith, Johnston, and Brunswick Streets until we met poet Andrew Sant for a drink at The Provincial, a nice pub. He suggested supper at a Greek place across the road from it and we shared good Greek tapas, a bottle of retsina, and fine conversation for the next couple of hours until we caught the train back to the station and called the motel shuttle bus to pick us up. The final event of the evening was to repack suitcases for the long ride home … which will commence eventually I suppose. There are alarmingly few people yet disposed about this lounge for a flight that was originally scheduled to leave in half an hour …