Melbourne to London via Doha, Qatar
I now have a new personal best for how far I can sit in a plane covered in red wine... Fourteen and a half hours are seated in the king of the skies, a fully laden Qatar Airways Airbus A380. All was well until 40 minutes later when they served red wine, and dinner was being handed out. Disaster strikes! I was fumbling with the vast collection of plastic foil-wrapped airline food. A stray wrist clips the front corner of the folding tray table. A full cup of red wine becomes air-born, covering a new pair of cream white chinos, creating the most dramatic display of clumsiness. Fuck.
Fortunately, the meal cart was at the ready, with 100 paper napkins to triage this cockup. The flight attendants then gave me a free pair of new pants! Thanks, Qatar. So much happiness! I don't think the silent Russian guy sitting next to me was too impressed, however.
I spent the next 20 minutes after landing in Qatar freaking out. I'd already lost my passport. I had used a very poor backpack packing strategy I call "stuff it", and everything was in the wrong place after the wine spill dilemma. Found it.
Once found and disembarking, my flight should have started boarding 10 minutes ago. British Airways is now broadcasting FINAL CALL on the boards. I still have two sections of security to get past and find the gate in this huge, beautiful airport terminal. I wasn't keen on being stranded in 38 degrees. I sprinted through the massive airport and took the first passenger train I saw to the boarding gates, hoping it was the right one. I made it just.
I was now an absolute sweaty, dripping mess. I got the empty gate and found yet another security checkpoint. I made it. All this panic was in vain since people were still boarding about 20 minutes after I sat down. Ugh, 7.5 more hours.
Upon landing at London Heathrow Airport, the customs process was incredibly simple. Not a single queue or human interaction was required to cross into the United Kingdom. Great!?
I got a SIM and Octopus Oyster card, and we're good to spend another two screeching hours on the London Underground to my place in Swiss Cottage. I almost lost my shit when I head the announcement in the train; "This is a pick-a-dilly line travelling to Cock-fosters" immature snickers.
After a quick shower and a one-hour power nap interrupted by a false fire alarm in the room, I decided to shake off the severe jetlag and set off to roam the area towards Hamstead Heath. It was very nice.