Fieldnotes: Tasmania: Transitting, December 9-11, 2013… a fugue

16.12.2013. On Monday, 9 December, we flew from Toronto to Hobart, a journey that took roughly 34 hours door-to-door, and involved three different planes. Time lost its usual shape and flow, and we lost a day, arriving Wednesday, 11 December, without having passed through Tuesday. When I think about the trip it seems like a long darkened corridor, filled with various anxieties, indistinguishable voices, vague shapes of people dozing and walking, movie scenes, more food than necessary, and a continual white noise—a surreal passage.

The surreal quality established itself almost instantly, at Pierson Airport. We entered the Air Canada departure lounge to find, not a waiting room, but a low-lighted restaurant with iPads mounted on the tables and a very few chairs crammed in around its edges. At those tables people studied, napped, ate, chatted, stared into space.

Our San Francisco flight was announced delayed, then on time with a gate change. We joined the wave of people gathering possessions and heading as directed towards the new gate, only to come to a set of large—and locked—glass doors. Like sheep we stood, shifting from foot to foot, exchanging glances without speaking. The wait stretched to 10 minutes and general restlessness moved towards panic when boarding for the flight was announced. The doors finally swung open and we raced to the gate. The plane was an hour late taking off.

And it arrived in San Francisco late—our Sydney flight on the verge of leaving. Eight people were hoping to catch that plane. The chief stewardess and then the pilot came on the intercom as we taxied to the gate and asked passengers please to stay seated while the Sydney-bound folks got off. To my surprise people made way for us as we hauled carryon luggage down the aisle and into the terminal, where a young man led us at a jog along corridors, up and down stairs, to the plane.

We scrambled on, breathless, found our seats—but not a trace of space for hand luggage. Finally things were stowed in three different places, and we squeezed into the middle two seats in a bank of four. And there we sat while the crew bustled about closing bins, settling people, answering questions… and still we sat. The pilot announced he was waiting for an electronic visa clearance “for a very small person.” Some minutes later it arrived, the plane backed up, then stopped. After several more minutes the intercom crackled and the pilot spoke again: a passenger was unable to make the flight, we would return to the gate for her to deplane. Then her suitcase was located and unloaded. We took off two hours late.

After hours and hours of drifting in and out of sleep we arrived in Sydney to clear blue sky and brilliant sunshine, a long low bank of cumulous clouds piled up along a horizon, and the airport jammed with flights. We were unloaded in a bay and bused to the terminal to clear quarantine and customs along with thousands of other travellers. By then we weren’t in a rush, we’d long ago missed our flight to Hobart. Rebooked via Melbourne, we had time to stroll about the airport enjoying its brightness and lack of crowds.

Sydney Airport, beside our departure lounge

We landed in a wet and cloudy Melbourne and had time to wander, finding a terrific latte at Hut and Villa. Melbourne prides itself on its changeable weather, and sure enough the sky cleared and sun shone as we were boarding the plane. Then rain fell as the luggage was loaded. Not long into the air the clouds thinned and I could watch the sea below.

Melbourne airport

Rain again, and airport luggage carrier

On this final leg of the flight I watched shadows of clouds moving across the sea below us, and then across Tasmania, seeing its patchwork of fields and hills and forests flow beneath me. Then a rainbow blurred the view—a sign we were nearing Hobart, the city of rainbows. We flew in across the bluest water and lovely curve of beach, bright in sunlight.