Surviving a Long-Haul Flight
(An honest recap.)
It had been over four years since my last international flight. Almost 10 years for Haavard.
I started second-guessing myself very quickly: ‘how much liquid can I take on again?’ … ‘am I allowed to take more than one power-bank?’ … ‘what if I leave my passport?’ … ‘what if we f*cked up the Visas?’
As we stood at the self-check in and bag drop for Singapore Airlines, one of those fears was confirmed.
PROCEED TO DESK
We didn’t have physical visas, just e-Visas. But that was okay; I had the print-outs. I was so organised they were stapled.
We were directed from one person to the other, until a kind attendant took us to her computer. I handed over the paperwork and our passports, and held my breath.
The Visa process for India had been tricky (another story, for another day), so there was some validity to my anxiety.
“These are just the applications,” the attendant voiced, and pointed to the documents. “These are not the Visas.”
My heart began to pound. “But when I clicked on the link in our email – the one that said ‘Granted’ – the only thing we were able to print was that,” I tried to explain. “That’s all we could print.” Had I read it wrong? Had we actually been accepted?
When travelling to India from Australia, you need to receive your Visa no less than 4 days prior. If we didn’t have visas in that moment, we were stuffed.
We’re barely 10 minutes in – when did travel become this stressful?
(It’s me, hi, I’m the problem it’s me.)
I frantically began to search through my email provider (stupid Titan; when I get a minute to redirect email traffic I’m jumping ship to Google) and my ‘Granted’ email was nowhere to be found. F*ck. Haavard was trying to locate his in Gmail (and he did, because, you know, it’s a better platform. I digress).
The attendant said something along the lines of ‘being able to bridge my visa over with the application number, so she could print out my boarding pass and get the bag tags’, and …
I remembered in my exuberance a month ago, I’d sent Haavard a screenshot of my Visa acceptance. Thank god. I rummaged through iMessage and found it. “Here’s the ‘Granted’ email!” I held my phone out with a trembling hand.
“Perfect, that’s what we need,” the woman responded. Within moments, everything was fine. Boarding passes and bag tags printed. Suitcases on the belt towards our plane. Crisis averted.
Passing Security
International airport security in Australia is not for the faint-hearted.
I don’t know about you, but much like driving past police 10 kilometres below the speed limit, I’m always worried I’ll get pulled up for something ludicrous I was unaware of. Or even walking into a grog shop at age 27, and having this bizarre trepidation that they’ll ask to check my ID and I won’t have it on me.
Same energy.
(But Sir, I didn’t put those nail-clippers in there! I know they’re supposed to be in my checked baggage!)
This probably stems from a vivid memory I have on a family holiday to Byron Bay when I was around 8 – where I’d picked up a fake green rubber snake, I dubbed ‘Snakey’, and proceeded to wear him around my neck everywhere because I watched The Crocodile Hunter too many times with my older brother. To my complete devastation, Snakey was pulled from my neck at security at the Gold Coast airport, for fear he would ‘frighten’ other passengers. I watched him get stuffed into the nearest bin, and from that moment onward, felt even the purest of intent could be punished.
The same could be said for the poor first-time international traveller in front of us; a burly bloke that would make me cross the street on a regular day. He folded like a cheap lawn chair in front of us, the moment security pulled him aside and confiscated his liquids. Moisterisers, sunscreen, aloe vera or something of the kind – and a very expensive cologne (perhaps the most heart-breaking of all, because it was only half full). His travel companion consoled him as the guards scooped up the armful of bottles and chucked them in the bin.
We picked up Haavard’s backpack – which had a secondary screening for a grand total of 5 seconds (whew) – and we were on our way.
On the Plane
Image sourced from Sam Chui.
First thoughts: Singapore Airlines had bigger seats than I remembered, and decent legroom in standard economy. Also, these planes are enormous.
We were lucky to be in Group 4, boarding just after First, Business, Premium and all the other important frequent flyers (some day …). I know it doesn’t mean you leave any sooner, but I like getting settled before everyone squeezes in. Haavard and I took up our seats, but moments later had to move aside for our window-seat companion (Bugger! There goes a row to ourselves). I don’t know why I was hopeful; Melbourne to Singapore is one of those routes that is always chockers.
I started visualising the Boeing-737 we were on the day before, fitting inside our current plane (an A380 or similar).
The whole concept baffles me to this day; a tremendous feat of human engineering (or an idea planted by aliens at some point, perhaps) that these incredible, humongous machines can fly. And I know, I’m incredibly lucky to be doing it.
“Travel of any kind is a privilege,” Haavard reminded me, with the squeeze of his hand. Ever steady and optimistic.
But as the tranquil Singapore Airlines safety briefing began over the speakers and screen, my lip quivered.
I love travel so much – so why is this happening? But all I could think about was my dog, Piper, and how far away I’d be from her, and my family, and our little Cottage, and our calm country town where it takes 5 minutes to get anywhere important (but we have all major supermarkets and a Bunnings, so it’s really not that small) …
And as I fought back tears in the dimmed cabin while we taxied to the runway, I realised:
We have been living in a world that, for the last few years, cautioned everything to do with travel – but more than that, saw us cocooned (or cooped up, choose your player) ‘safely’ in our homes. Interstate travel hadn’t prepared me for this, because things are still familiar, and you can easily cross a road to the local Woolies if you forgot to pack something.
So I had to forgive myself for the overwhelm, and being out of touch with the entire process. This was a big step forward. Others were lucky to go overseas straight away at the end of the pandemic, but some of us have been in stasis, waiting ever since the borders opened.
I was also heading somewhere completely foreign to me (even though we had friends waiting for us on the other side) and I’d admittedly watched too much YouTube and dissected everything my traveller gurus had done, to prepare myself for the trip. (As if I’d almost forgotten how to do it … I was convinced I had.)
With the enormity of the machine, I hardly felt us lift from the ground.
And then we were away.
A Long Layover
I had forgotten how HUGE Singapore Airport was.
(But I hadn’t forgot the humidity. I’m sure there’s airconditioning in the terminals, but it’s as stuffy as the first time I transited through on a school trip in 2011.)
The swirl of brown, tan, orange, yellow carpet underfoot (or a similar psychedelic blend of colours) made my head spin, as we ventured from Terminal 3 towards Terminal 1. We had a 3-hour lounge pass booked through Klook, and ended up jumping on the terminal train because we were already running late.
It was a birthday present, and I hadn’t ever purchased a pass before – but jeepers, was it worth it. We had access to soft furnishings, lots of charging ports, food, water, bathrooms with no queues, and free wifi. There was a bar – but I learnt at age 18 that alcohol and flying do not marry well together:
“Just like a bag of peanuts mid-flight, air pressure changes will cause you to inflate. A build-up of gas can lead to bloating, constipation and stomach pains … [and] booze slows down your metabolism making it even harder for your body to absorb oxygen.”
Yeah, no thanks.
Singapore Changi Airport Lounge Service by Plaza Premium Lounge, booked at a discount via Klook.
The lounge made a bit of a dent in our 7-hour layover, and it was sadly time to leave. At 3:45 AM local time, we cruised down the travelators (and mostly walked, my iPhone said 12,000+ steps) back to Terminal 3, in a deserted airport. We were refreshed by our experience, and ready to wait out the remainder of our time at the gate.
Which felt like 7 hours in itself.
Because this was where the trouble started.
I had the night watch while Haavard lay at my feet with shocking virtigo and stomach cramps (I had departure syndrome at that point, so the whole world was pulsing and swaying around me). Minutes scraped by and felt like hours. I felt helpless, because aside from water, Gastrostop (I’d thankfully put in my backpack, thanks to my grandmother’s insistance on my last trip) and staying awake to watch our bags, there was nothing else I could do to help him.
I tried to scroll Instagram, Pinterest, anything, but my head bobbled and flopped as my body fought for sleep. We’d been awake for over 24 hours, by the time security screening finally opened.
At nearly 7AM, we proceeded to our gate, and could see the light at the end of the tunnel.
The Last Leg
No matter what Seat Guru or those other sites tell you – we booked one of the unique rows with only 2 seats up the back of the plane, and it was heaven. I think at that point, we were so exhausted that we didn’t care about the bustle in the galley or the queue to the loos. We were on one of the refurbished planes (around 2021-22), with advanced air filtration (that puffed out like clouds from an air diffuser) and newer seats. It was a much more comfortable flight.
(Why does Australia always get the worn-out planes?)
I almost passed out a couple of times before takeoff (Haavard certainly did!) but I’m so glad I didn’t, because I saw the most amazing sight. Morning had broken through the clouds, and I’ve never landed or taken off from Singapore in daylight before – so I had never seen what was below.
Earlier that morning, I’d referred to Singapore as the ‘gateway to the rest of the world’ for us Australians – and not that I’m some kind of poet (just a writer that ‘slaps mayo on everything’, as my brother says) – but from the air, my description had never been more true.
Hundreds of cargo ships were moving through the Singapore harbour below, and it was one of the most amazing things I’d ever seen:
So to be a complete cliché, there are silver linings. I’ll never forget that sight, and how my iPhone just couldn’t do it justice. (If you’re keen to learn how to use a real camera too, check out my course here.)
And on a funny note, when the seatbelt sign switched off, I nudged Haavard awake so I could get out to the loo.
“Shouldn’t you wait until we’ve taken off?” he mumbled.
“You’ve been asleep for at least half an hour,” I laughed. “We’re up in the sky now.”
His bewilderment was endearing.
After sleeping for most of the flight, finishing my film from the first leg, and chatting gently to Haavard a while, we commenced our descent through clouds and into a smoggy haze, where Mumbai became visible.
And so it began! More on our adventures here in India soon.
I’ll be putting up a full review on Singapore Airlines Economy Class in mid-June, so make sure to pop your email in below if you’d like to be notified first!
Thanks for reading!
