Fighting to sleep

I failed to heed my own advice and didn’t stay awake for long on the flight; I was unconscious by halfway through Miss Congeniality (just like the scriptwriters, ironically enough) and slept soundly for eight hours. Which meant I woke about midnight Singapore time and couldn’t get back to sleep, and so I arrived home at 7am with all the joy squashed out of me. Continue reading “Fighting to sleep”

Up up and away again

I had an anthropology graduate drive me to the airport today, so that meant I got to talk to somebody about colonialism for half an hour. Roughly half my Lyft drivers have been interesting on this trip, and the rest hardly spoke; there was an ex-domain broker, a political agent, an ultramarathon runner and a man who didn’t want to go on holiday with his family to Boracay because it’s too expensive. So that was an interesting view into another life. Continue reading “Up up and away again”

Back to Palo Alto

The flight to San Francisco only took 14 hours (I guess prevailing winds are a wonderful thing) and I was through Customs and picking up my bag before 9am. It was touch and go for a bit; they have automated machines at SFO to collect your information before you hand your passport to a person in a bulletproof vest, but for some reason the camera and the flash on the machine weren’t playing nice. It kept taking a picture of me so over-exposed you could almost make out my pupils and jawline, and nothing else, and then complained that the picture wasn’t clear and would have to be taken again. Technology, I love you.
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167 hours to go

I got up at six and went straight to the airport, sneaking out without a shower to avoid waking anyone up. The ride to the airport was in an electric car, near silently swooshing past darkened housing blocks all the way to Changi Terminal 2, which seems to be a madhouse on Sunday mornings. Crowds of people wandering around, sluggishly getting in the way at every point like they’d never flown before. I’m not sure if that is because there are certain flights that are only scheduled on Sundays, or everyone is just too knackered to think straight this early.
Continue reading “167 hours to go”

Leaving Australia

We had another round of coffees and babycinno in Dunsborough before we left, in another coffee shop. This time, the girls got straws and a hunk of banana bread they devoured, while we had a piece of salted caramel chocolate shortbread, then drove out and away. Dunsborough had woken up on Saturday; after being soporific all week, now the car parks were full and there were people everywhere. Was it the Jazz Festival? Were they celebrating us leaving? Who’s to say?
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Wonky Windmill Farm

It was raining this morning, so we dressed Destroyer up in her wet weather gear and the two of us went out to fetch the family’s coffees. I had to balance her on my shoulders for most of the journey, otherwise she yelled and screamed. When we got back, she turned her nose up at her babycinno. It’s almost as if she doesn’t​like steamed milk beverages. What can be going on?

What Destroyer and La Serpiente both do like is the Wonky Windmill Farm.

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Let me tell you all about the Busselton Jetty

Today we tried to stay local in Dunsborough, rather than drive across half the state. That was fine in the morning, but there just isn’t that much going on here midweek in the winter, so after a morning of drinking coffee in every café in town (including one named after Nikolai Tesla where they didn’t spell him name correctly:

) we all had a nap and then drove down to Busselton.
Continue reading “Let me tell you all about the Busselton Jetty”