Perth Departure

As we entered the departure section of Perth International Airport, the immediate standout was the
small army of pint sized humans, all queued up for Air Mauritius flight MK 441. Admittedly they
were attached to various regular sized humans, but there was an eerie sense that at any given
universal signal, they could, and would, form as one giant  wailing, flailing mass and reduce the rest
of us to the floor in the foetal position of abject terror. Indeed, even before the flight, small pockets of them practised manoeuvres, urging each other on, incessant screaming, whining, running, manically
giggling and so on. It crossed my mind that we had broken the primary rule of travel - always do so
outside of school holidays, or pay the price of temporary insanity.


One particularly trying little toddler sat behind us, treating one and all to his limited vocabulary - "mama", "dada", "yucky" for a full half hour prior and during take off. Apparently he didn't like the seat belt. He's probably too young to appreciate that having all that legroom in a seat of his own is akin to first class. Most toddlers have the indignity of being strapped to a parent's seat belt. Mind you, having little arms and legs didn't stop him from pummelling not only the seat directly in front of him but those on either side for good measure. I know from the lofty heights of grandparenthood, it's easy enough to raise an eyebrow, give a knowing look, a slight shake of the head and/or a tut-tut. Every now and then though, the mists of time lift, long enough to recognise those desperate faces and haunted eyes of today's parents, shackled to miniatures of themselves for what seems like an eternity. Long enough to remember our less than perfect children, and, more shamefully, our less than perfect parenting. Thankfully, the curtain drops again and we can sink back in to the relative comfort of selective memory.

Early on in the flight, unfortunately I regressed back into toddler like behaviour myself. The seat belt sign had barely flickered out when the young man in front practically planted my TV screen in my lap. I think I pummelled the back of his seat slightly and roughly raised the table top to hopefully
reciprocate the discomfort. Very childish. My only defence could be that we don't travel all that often
and it takes me a while to get in to the zen state of mind required for the up close and personal
experience of economy class.

I thank the universe, and Michael's forethought, that we forked out a hefty sum to fly the second leg to Paris in business class. We had use of the top premium lounge at the Mauritius Airport, food and drink aplenty. Now here we are, lying down for the better part of twelve hours as we hurtle through the darkness towards Charles de Gaulle Airport.

Two pics taken at Mauritius airport.