We touched down at Brisbane International Airport right on schedule, tumbling out of the aircraft at the civilised hour of 7:30 am.
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| A short hop home to Australia |
The overnight flight itself was uneventful, which is exactly what you want when hurtling through the sky in a metal tube. We were reasonably comfortable for cattle class, although one fellow passenger (who was seated directly behind us) treated the cabin to a recurring cough concert throughout the night. His dedication to the performance was admirable, if not appreciated.
Airlines have clearly embraced the art of financial minimalism over the last decade. Compared to years gone by, meals, inclusions and little extras have become rare and precious commodities. Still, the food was perfectly edible, the service was adequate, and nobody starved.
Customs and immigration were surprisingly straightforward for English speakers, although we couldn't help thinking it would be considerably more challenging for international visitors. It was quite a contrast to our recent experiences in Japan and parts of Europe, where the process felt more streamlined and visitor friendly.
Australian border officials are apparently passionate advocates of physical fitness. After joining an impressively long queue that snaked around the terminal, we managed to rack up a respectable step count before officially entering the country. With hundreds of people packed together, the temperature also suggested we might be participating in a low-intensity cardio session.
The process itself wasn't difficult, just lengthy. Eventually, we escaped into the main terminal area around 9:00 am, victorious and slightly sweaty.
With hours to spare before our 2:35 pm flight to Townsville, we headed to DFO Brisbane, where we successfully converted several hours into absolutely no useful achievements whatsoever.
The next adventure came courtesy of the premium airport parking we'd thoughtfully booked in advance. Upon arrival, the QR code refused to cooperate. A helpful remote support operator informed us there was a known system bug affecting customers who had used international parking on the same day. Following a treasure hunt around the car park, we eventually located a suitable "premium" space. There's something uniquely frustrating about paying extra for a premium service and receiving an experience that feels distinctly economy class.
Back at the airport, we checked our bags and cleared security without issue. The process was smooth enough, although the screening equipment seemed determined to savour every moment, resulting in another wait while our hand luggage slowly made its journey through the scanners.
At the gate, we settled in for departure. Naturally, about 30 minutes before boarding, both the gate and aircraft were changed, leading to a modest 30-minute delay. Once again, we found ourselves admiring the punctual precision of Japanese and European transport systems and wondering if we could perhaps import some.
Our transport for the next leg was a Boeing 737-800, which demonstrated that engineers can indeed fit more seats into an aircraft than should reasonably be possible. The seating was impressively cramped (according to Cos), but a few scattered naps helped pass the time.
We finally arrived in Townsville at 5:10 pm, collected our hire car, and headed to the Mercure.
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| Parked at the Mecure |
The hotel is a familiar stop for us. We've stayed there many times over the years while visiting family and friends. It's nothing particularly fancy, but it's comfortable, convenient and close to the people we're there to see. Sometimes that's all you need.
After checking in, we took a drive along The Strand in search of dinner. We eventually returned to a trusty source of Greek street food that has somehow survived every trend and fad since 2006.
On a more serious note, after fortifying ourselves with food and a healthy dose of optimism, we set off to drive past Cos' parents' old home. What followed was an unexpected collision between nostalgia and reality, with reality landing the first punch.
People say you should never look back, and for a few moments it felt like they might have a point. Memory had preserved the house in glorious Technicolour, complete with all the warmth and comfort of childhood. The real version, however, was more like revisiting the set of your favourite childhood movie and discovering it needed a fresh coat of paint and a visit from the maintenance crew.
For Cos, the nostalgia arrived in full force, closely followed by an unwelcome tag team of sadness and anxiety. Looking at the old place stirred up memories that had been tucked away for years, some happy, some bittersweet.
But then came the unexpected bright spot. The lights were on. The house wasn't sitting empty as a monument to the past. A new family was inside, living their lives, creating their own stories and memories within those same walls. Somehow, that made it easier.
As we drove away, it felt like a gentle reminder that while some doors are best left in the past, it's comforting to know that life keeps moving forward behind them. Still, that didn't stop us from slowing down for one last look, purely for historical research purposes, of course
Armed with food, supplies and rapidly diminishing energy levels, we returned to the hotel.
Twenty eight hours after beginning travel mode, we collapsed into bed and fell asleep with the enthusiasm of people who had spent an entire day sitting down, standing up, queuing, waiting and then repeating the process several more times.
It was not the most exciting day of the trip, but it was a solid reminder that modern travel is less about the destination and more about discovering new and creative places to stand in line.
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