Journey to the Land of Flying Barges

[JohnM]

Awesome TR - keep it up.

 

[Skyring]

The transfer bus isn’t that bad, to be honest. It used to be worse, with a lounge full of threadbare seats and a bus that had just left a moment ago.

This time the operation has been upgraded - not “enhanced” - and it’s only a few minutes in a lounge with padded chairs.

I enjoy the bus ride, actually. It’s a planespotter’s pleasure cruise, whipping past mighty airliners, seeing bits of undercarriage up close, checking out the airport’s underneath.

I follow the signs for immigration and security. I have “Fast Track” pass or two saved up for busy periods but it’s not.

My brand new passport gets its first brush with the system in the form of an e-gate. Smile at the camera, take my glasses off, grin at the thing, remove the glasses them from their handy position swinging from my teeth, scowl at the device and all is well.

Security is again a doddle, though I’m asked to remove my plastic belt. Another Nude-o-Scope, I’m queried over the tube of lip balm I’ve inadvertently left in my pocket - honest! - and I’m through to the other side, waiting while the guy with the X-Ray specs puzzles over three power banks, five camera batteries, three cameras, three iPads, two phones, a fathom’s worth of cables and chargers and adaptors and a spare pair of undies for balance.



I’m headed for the lounge and an appointment with a flat white. One of my freebie lounge invites burnt but the plan was for a couple of spare hours and I might as do it in comfort.



I score a seat by the window. The view isn’t near as good as the First lounge above - nor is the food and drink - but I can handle this in preference to having to actually pay for a coffee and a sandwich.





A useful selection of food and drink, spanning the spectrum between healthy and not so much. I load up a plate from my preferred end, add a flat white, and scroll through Facebook and WhatsApp instead of writing up the flight just past. That can wait for another time. Maybe when I get back home if my previous time management skills while flying are any guide.



The bar’s open, it seems. I contemplate the possibility of getting a buzz before boarding but I’m going to be cramped up in seat 52A for ten hours and probably best not to do it with my kidneys working double tides.

I pump ship in comfort when boarding is announced and farewell lounge land for a while.

 

[Skyring]

Gate 35 is a bit of a hike but I stride along, powered by bacon and beans. Pity my seat mate.

And I have one, already installed in 52B. I glance at the thin sliver of plastic that will be my home for ten hours. “Hey, I guess you’re my travel buddy.”

He’s chattier than my Uber driver, and enjoys a snort or two. I have reason during the flight to suspect that he - or someone nearby; we’re all in each other's laps - has been dining on fast food.

We’re on an Airbus 333, one with a few interior wrinkles I’ve not encountered before. Headphone and USB sockets under the decent-sized seat back screen.



I can plug in my AirFly wifi dongle for two long movies - Stanley Kubrick’s monumental 2001:a space odyssey and memorable The Shining and most of Funny Girl.

There is an immense selection of entertainment available. I can’t find any music. Maybe I’m looking in the wrong menu system or there just isn’t any. I do like to spend takeoff and mealtimes listening to some soft jazz or easy listening.

Moon River always gets me when travelling. Two drifters, off to see the world. Yup, that’s my ideal state.

I wrote a third verse once.

True lovers, drifting through the day,
We’re dreaming hours away, so fast.
We’re finding our own seas and skies
In each other’s eyes
With each fresh sunrise
Together at last.

Hopeless romantic? Present, Sir!

Travel is always better with a friend. Someone's hand to hold as one regards strange new seas and skies. And, to be more practical, someone to spot helpful direction signs in an unfamiliar airport or share the burden of working out a public transit ticket machine.

Two meals, bookending the flight with a series of unhealthy snacks in between. At one point chocolate Paddle Pops fresh from the South Pole are offered to balance the pretzel and nut mix served in foil packets that are almost too much for my aged fingers. Lucky I still have my canines.



Breakfast - or is it lunch? - is a choice of chicken or beef. The braised meat is a solid chunk that yields to plastic cutlery without too much of a fight. The vegetables are a little soggy but tasty.

I ask for a Shiraz to accompany the beef - I usually avoid Economy wine, especially red, but how can they stuff up Shiraz? - and the FA hands me a Cab Sav. Her eyesight is probably as bad as mine. To be fair, it’s not bad and goes well with the meal, such as it is.



At the Bangkok end of the trip I try the chicken in fried rice. This is pretty woeful and I leave most of it, along with the past-its-prime focaccia. Let’s face it, ten hours at altitude and any bread is going to lose whatever freshly-baked appeal it once had. Maybe a good crisp white would have helped but I have a good crisp lager instead.

I have a couple of catnaps, propping my head on the inadequate pillow provided - but where would they find the room for anything bigger? - and all things considered it’s not too bad a flight.

The economy cabin has a 2-4-2 seat configuration and my seat mate with the aid of a few shots of bourbon and diet cola is reasonably active so it’s not to hard to find a bathroom break now and again.



I must say that the view out of the window - the few moments I can lift the shade - is spectacular over Central and Northern Australia. It’s like a geology lesson in real life. Landforms, sediments, rock layers shape the surface unhindered by vegetation. Roads stand out, gunbarrel straight across the desert.





Thailand, when we reach it across a tour of the South East Asian littoral, is a whole different landscape. Green, rice paddies, houses in streeets and precincts. Increasingly industrial as we near the airport.







We make a few turns to check out all the factories and warehouses available and then we are gliding in, touching down smoothly and wheeling up to our gate. I suspect the pilot just picked the first one available because it’s a bloody long way to immigration and even further to baggage claim.

No customs check here, it seems. Just walk straight out onto the street.

A test of my AirTag. I’m not getting any reports of where it is exactly, but I can tell that it’s in Thailand so it can’t be too far away from me.

Eventually the bag that I last saw in the subzero predawn fog of Canberra makes its way into the Bangkok summer where I’ve rolled my sleeves up and wishing I had removed my cotton T-shirt beneath when I had a chance.

Flight 2308
QF 23 SYD - BKK
VH-QFG A333 “Mount Gambier”

Scheduled: 0950
Boarding: 0930 (seat 52A)
Pushback: 0956
Takeoff: 1012 to N
Landing: 1635 from N
Gate: 1642

 

[Skyring]

A couple of bonus photos from the Bangkok flight. I simply cannot do justice to the serpentine muddy river just before we hit the coast. It was like a good bit of Aboriginal art in real life. Which in many ways, these works are. Pigment and land, together at last.












A note on my photographs. I usually have two cameras with me in flight (with others in my carry-on bag which may or may not be within handy reach). I have my phone and to be frank most phone cameras nowadays are pretty good, especially if you can avoid too much in-phone processing. Shoot RAW (rather than, or as well as) JPEG.

And a little Leica D-Lux that sits in a pouch on my hip. It is a lovely little camera with a good lens and a bit of zoom.

I’m processing the shots using Lightroom on my iPad (or on the phone). A quick tidy up of level and crop, maybe adjust the geometry a pinch, then flatten out the histogram. Lift the darks, drop the lights, push the whites, pull the blacks. In that order. Maybe some dehaze, adjust the colour temperature, sometimes boost texture or blur detail, and almost always a little vignette to keep the eye from wandering off the corners.

I don’t have my big screened Mac with me, or even a laptop, so this is all being written and posted on my iPad. Occasionally I screw up or the technology isn’t up to the task or my own processing power diminishes.

I’m certain that I saw the word “coughpit” typoed as “coughpit” in an earlier post where I mentioned the captain giving an update. That stuck in my mind. Some kind of Freudian slip. I kind of liked it as a word.

But when I checked, it wasn’t there. Maybe I dreamed it, maybe my sleep deprived brain was making stuff up. But I vividly remember seeing the word on the iPad page in this sansserif font.

So, be aware, gentle reader, that I may be an unreliable witness, despite - or because of - my best efforts. I only get a day before I lose the power to edit these posts so any glaring errors are sticky if I don't catch them quick.

Write now, I’m sitting in my AirBnB in Falkirk, two cups of coffee inside, just before six in the morning but long after dawn which was about four in the morning. I’ll keep the posts coming but I’m about to get swirled into the activities of the convention

Two flights to write up yet, and let me say that the A359 ride to Helsinki was one to remember for various reasons. I'm looking forward immensely to the return flight and hoping for a window seat again.

 

[drron]

I did say I had missed your contributions on AFF @Skyring and now I know why. You have a wonderful style when writing up your reports. A real joy reading one of your TRs backed up by some really good photos.
Thanks.

 

[Quickstatus]

Thank you @Skyring

 

[I love to travel]

Great stuff

 

[love_the_life]

Enjoying this immensely. But don't rush (even though I am loving reading the report) and enjoy the convention to the full. We must be patient and wait.

 

[Skyring]

Right. How do I find my hotel shuttle? I’ve booked The Cottage Suvarnabhumi which gives the impression of being just outside the airport. Within walking distance at a pinch.

The arrivals area is a zoo. Simple as that. Arriving passengers, locals meeting arrivals, airport officials, shuttle drivers, and sundry hangers-on mill about.

I give up my fanciful notion that there might be someone holding a sign with my name on. There are about a thousand people holding up a phone book’s worth of names and they aren’t sorted in alphabetical order.

Fortunately my phone is receiving data and a quick-ish search gets me instructions for a pickup point. Gate 4 beside the AOT kiosk. Right.



I find this after a short walk through the merry throng and yes, there’s a wall full of signs for various establishments. I find the one for “The Cottage” and although several names are listed, none of them is Peter. Or Dad-Dad.

A lady sees my despair, plucks out a clipboard from a secret recess, and I find my name.

Another forty minutes for the shuttle, she tells me. I hope that she’s not fully on board with Western numbering systems and its fourteen she means, but no, she was correct.

Around me people come and go. A couple beside me - Western gentleman and Oriental lady - are apparently politely discussing the prospect of imminent coitus. He seems to be willing to duck behind a pillar but she is hesitant at this notion.

They eventually join a herd assembled by some functionary and leave in the direction of the kerbside pickup - another zoo, I might add, this time made up of passenger vehicles of every description, barked at by a sheepdog in a uniform who may be speaking Thai or English or anything really but it is curt and direct at high volume.

Their place is taken by a fellow Australian. “I have no idea how any of this works,” she says, possibly mistaking me for someone who does.

I shrug, “Neither do I, but they do,” pointing at the half-dozen locals administering the wall. In reality, I’ve got my eyes fixed on that clipboard. If anyone touches it, I want to see what they are doing.

A couple arrive and the clipboard is lifted out. I approach them once they have found a place to wait. “Are you for the Cottage?” I ask.

English is not their first language but apparently not. Bugger.

This is like negotiating with the weather. I have zero control. After forty minutes, as advertised, some signal is received and the lady sign goddess beckons me and the English-as-a-fifth-language couple to follow her to a shuttle bus marked “Cottage”.

It’s a twenty minute drive through traffic that uses a different set of rules to the ones I grew up with. Obviously I’d just missed the previous shuttle and it had been twenty minutes out and back.

The Cottage turns out to be incredible value. For 1040 Baht I got a shuttle ride, a room, and breakfast. The room was about the same as any other on the world with the exception that it had more power outlets than I had devices, which has got to be a first.



Twin beds shunted together, a balcony overlooking a swimming pool and a welcome air conditioner.

I looked around the shopping mall next door once I’d plugged all my devices in for a recharge, divested myself of my undershirt, and rolled my sleeves up a little higher.

A Starbucks - always a good sign - and more food outlets than I could try in a month. I looked around the various shops, bought a plastic building brick set at a fraction the price of a similar Danish product.



I found something to eat - nothing too adventurous - and then made my way back to The Cottage to collapse into bed and dream of my 0440 shuttle booking.

I can’t say I slept well but I woke in time to shower, shave, and shake everything back into my bags. The key to not leaving a trail of electronics behind is to check every power point in the room. This takes me a while.

There must be just the two of us booked on the early shuttle - well there are shuttle departures listed all through the night but I suspect that not all of them have passengers - because as soon as I drag my bag down to reception another guest is whistled up, our bags are hefted into the bus and we're off.

Roads are emptier before dawn - helpful tip there for young players - and we zoom along at a rate of knots. We're emptied out into the Departures area and I drag my bag a few exits along to where a Finnair sign is calling me.



Checkin is painless - I’m in the priority lane again - and I’m told that I don’t have lounge access but if I want to pay, it’s just across from the gate.



Passport control wants my fingerprints and a souvenir photo and I now have a nifty pair of stamps in my no longer virgin passport. I admire them as the start of a new collection.



Security control is no cakewalk. For some reason these guys are interested in batteries and I have three power banks and five batteries in my carryon. Because I can’t put them in the hold.

Anyway, they are all accounted for and I head off into the shopping mall that this airport terminal contains, apparently as its primary function. I want coffee.

No, I need coffee.

I find a fine Scottish family restaurant amongst the multitude of food outlets, order a flat white from the McCafe menu and what I imagine is a small porkburger.

This turns out to be a jumbo meal deal with a bucket of chips, a pack of chicken nuggets, and a container of cola to match. And five sachets of various sauces. Placed on my table by a grinning waiter.

I really just want the coffee and something to kill the hunger until I get breakfast on the plane two or three hours in the future, but I have an hour or more before boarding and I pick at the array.

I leave most of it. Honestly, what’s the point of filling myself up with fast food when I’ll be served something fabulous on the plane?

Eventually I finish scrolling through Facebook and the New York Times - that clown they had as head of state is racking up a world of legal embarrassment and the quickest way to the White House is to ride a mule - and head off to the gate.

 

[ellen10]

I have thoroughly enjoyed reading your trip report. Looking forward to the next instalment

 

[Flyfrequently]

Right. How do I find my hotel shuttle? I’ve booked The Cottage Suvarnabhumi which gives the impression of being just outside the airport. Within walking distance at a pinch.

The arrivals area is a zoo. Simple as that. Arriving passengers, locals meeting arrivals, airport officials, shuttle drivers, and sundry hangers-on mill about.

I give up my fanciful notion that there might be someone holding a sign with my name on. There are about a thousand people holding up a phone book’s worth of names and they aren’t sorted in alphabetical order.

Fortunately my phone is receiving data and a quick-ish search gets me instructions for a pickup point. Gate 4 beside the AOT kiosk. Right.

View attachment 333995

I find this after a short walk through the merry throng and yes, there’s a wall full of signs for various establishments. I find the one for “The Cottage” and although several names are listed, none of them is Peter. Or Dad-Dad.

A lady sees my despair, plucks out a clipboard from a secret recess, and I find my name.

Another forty minutes for the shuttle, she tells me. I hope that she’s not fully on board with Western numbering systems and its fourteen she means, but no, she was correct.

Around me people come and go. A couple beside me - Western gentleman and Oriental lady - are apparently politely discussing the prospect of imminent coitus. He seems to be willing to duck behind a pillar but she is hesitant at this notion.

They eventually join a herd assembled by some functionary and leave in the direction of the kerbside pickup - another zoo, I might add, this time made up of passenger vehicles of every description, barked at by a sheepdog in a uniform who may be speaking Thai or English or anything really but it is curt and direct at high volume.

Their place is taken by a fellow Australian. “I have no idea how any of this works,” she says, possibly mistaking me for someone who does.

I shrug, “Neither do I, but they do,” pointing at the half-dozen locals administering the wall. In reality, I’ve got my eyes fixed on that clipboard. If anyone touches it, I want to see what they are doing.

A couple arrive and the clipboard is lifted out. I approach them once they have found a place to wait. “Are you for the Cottage?” I ask.

English is not their first language but apparently not. Bugger.

This is like negotiating with the weather. I have zero control. After forty minutes, as advertised, some signal is received and the lady sign goddess beckons me and the English-as-a-fifth-language couple to follow her to a shuttle bus marked “Cottage”.

It’s a twenty minute drive through traffic that uses a different set of rules to the ones I grew up with. Obviously I’d just missed the previous shuttle and it had been twenty minutes out and back.

The Cottage turns out to be incredible value. For 1040 Baht I got a shuttle ride, a room, and breakfast. The room was about the same as any other on the world with the exception that it had more power outlets than I had devices, which has got to be a first.

View attachment 333996

Twin beds shunted together, a balcony overlooking a swimming pool and a welcome air conditioner.

I looked around the shopping mall next door once I’d plugged all my devices in for a recharge, divested myself of my undershirt, and rolled my sleeves up a little higher.

A Starbucks - always a good sign - and more food outlets than I could try in a month. I looked around the various shops, bought a plastic building brick set at a fraction the price of a similar Danish product.

View attachment 333997

I found something to eat - nothing too adventurous - and then made my way back to The Cottage to collapse into bed and dream of my 0440 shuttle booking.

I can’t say I slept well but I woke in time to shower, shave, and shake everything back into my bags. The key to not leaving a trail of electronics behind is to check every power point in the room. This takes me a while.

There must be just the two of us booked on the early shuttle - well there are shuttle departures listed all through the night but I suspect that not all of them have passengers - because as soon as I drag my bag down to reception another guest is whistled up, our bags are hefted into the bus and we're off.

Roads are emptier before dawn - helpful tip there for young players - and we zoom along at a rate of knots. We're emptied out into the Departures area and I drag my bag a few exits along to where a Finnair sign is calling me.

View attachment 333999

Checkin is painless - I’m in the priority lane again - and I’m told that I don’t have lounge access but if I want to pay, it’s just across from the gate.

View attachment 333998

Passport control wants my fingerprints and a souvenir photo and I now have a nifty pair of stamps in my no longer virgin passport. I admire them as the start of a new collection.

View attachment 334002

Security control is no cakewalk. For some reason these guys are interested in batteries and I have three power banks and five batteries in my carryon. Because I can’t put them in the hold.

Anyway, they are all accounted for and I head off into the shopping mall that this airport terminal contains, apparently as its primary function. I want coffee.

No, I need coffee.

I find a fine Scottish family restaurant amongst the multitude of food outlets, order a flat white from the McCafe menu and what I imagine is a small porkburger.

This turns out to be a jumbo meal deal with a bucket of chips, a pack of chicken nuggets, and a container of cola to match. And five sachets of various sauces. Placed on my table by a grinning waiter.

I really just want the coffee and something to kill the hunger until I get breakfast on the plane two or three hours in the future, but I have an hour or more before boarding and I pick at the array.

I leave most of it. Honestly, what’s the point of filling myself up with fast food when I’ll be served something fabulous on the plane?

Eventually I finish scrolling through Facebook and the New York Times - that clown they had as head of state is racking up a world of legal embarrassment and the quickest way to the White House is to ride a mule - and head off to the gate.

View attachment 334001

Really enjoying your TR @Skyring , hopefully you can keep all this for the Dad-Dad fans to read when they are older and can appreciate your wit and wisdom

Love your verse 3, would make a wonderful addition to my eulogy (not planned for the near future I might add!)

Enjoy the convention and looking forward to your next instalment

 

[Skyring]

.

Really enjoying your TR @Skyring , hopefully you can keep all this for the Dad-Dad fans to read when they are older and can appreciate your wit and wisdom

Love your verse 3, would make a wonderful addition to my eulogy (not planned for the near future I might add!)

Enjoy the convention and looking forward to your next instalment

My wife, who is reading this, is complaining that I haven’t finished the first day yet. There may be further delays now that the convention is in full swing. Next flight report will be the interesting one, I think. The Finnair non-recline seats, service, and a whole bunch of photos. Two or maybe three posts.

 

[Skyring]

BKK-HEL
This is the meat of my journey right here. The longest sector in the trip, the most - I hope - comfortable, and a time for me to relax and write.

Our plane is an Airbus 359 and I’ve researched the business class seating. It’s a new design, a lie-flat seat that doesn’t recline. Sounds odd but the reviews are overwhelmingly positive.

My “Business Light” ticket does not include lounge access or priority boarding. I’m listed as Group 3 but when boarding is announced I notice that little red oval on the sign and I join the queue.

The FA checking passes hesitates a little but waves me through. I don’t really mind when I board - there’s not going to be any scramble for overhead bin space - but I’d rather be sooner rather than later.

My seat allocation is 12D in the middle but when I notice that there are window sears left un filled once the doors are closed I ask if I can switch. “Anywhere you want,” the cabin crew head replies.

11A is vacant and has a better view than the one behind, occupied by rather a lot of jet engine. I swap over and take stock.



As advertised, the seat has no recline. This is because the seat space is taken up by an upright back and a flat bed. Some panels in the middle fold up and down to create a space for legs and feet.

The idea is to create a space like a lounge where the occupant may sit or lie or curl up in whatever position is comfortable. Because there is no recline mechanism the full extent of the space is available, minus a little here and there for storage.

The extreme front of the seat - where the feet go while lying down - is occupied for takeoff by a thin mattress, a blanket, a pillow, and a cushion.

I also get a minimal amenity pouch and a pair of (Large size) slippers.

Storage is extremely well thought-out. Beside me is a cut out in the curved seat back with enough space for a pair of headphones and a small electronic device, along with a couple of powered USB outlets. A flap covers the recess making for a seamless surface fabric. All in a dark matte mid-blue.

Very easy on the eyes, unlike (say) the fake gold and blonde wood of Emirates.

Beside me is a flat surface between me and the window. There are controls for lighting, tray table, and powered mid-seat panels.

Forward of this is a flap covering a storage bin, deep and wide enough for a full-size laptop, a book, and sundry other items.

There is another set of power outlets here: a universal socket and a USB port.

All in all, it is a sparely designed space for relaxing, sleeping, dining, working, or just lounging. I can put up with this for twelve hours, no worries.

I later discover on the inflight entertainment menu a documentary on the design process. This has not been something thrown together in a hurry.

For the moment, as I settle in after boarding, it is a comfortable chair to relax in while I watch the crew prepare for takeoff.

The inflight entertainment system isn’t so hot on movies - at least ones that I want to watch - but has an excellent selection of audio. I rig my AirFly system and swap out the airline’s wired headphones for my own wireless ones.



Half an hour after boarding we’re pushing back and I pay particular attention to the safety briefing. I have three seatbelts today. A normal lap belt, a sash that attaches to this, and a “sleeping belt” that I can use in the horizontal mode.





We liftoff and after a wonderful look at the city of Bangkok the view out of the window soon becomes full of clouds and of little interest. I don’t fight back when asked to lower my shade. For the moment, what’s going on inside holds my interest.


More to come - they have just called my next flight.



The first meal is brunch, I guess. I ask if there might be champagne to go with it.

It seems that there is some aboard with my name on it.

Can I have some coffee as well?

This is shaping up to be a good meal. There is some coffee with my name on it.

Can I have some milk with that?

Here is where things went off the rails. It is entirely my faiult, I insist later - and it most likely was - but there was a misunderstanding, and suddenly there is milk everywhere.

We mop it up with paper towels, hot facecloths and my hanky and get it all. I indicate a spot on the ceiling and she gives me a Look.

No real damage done and there’s even some milk in my coffee.

The meal itself is delicious. As is the bubbly.

 

[Flyfrequently]

View attachment 334284

BKK-HEL

View attachment 334293

View attachment 334294


View attachment 334295

and suddenly there is milk everywhere

No real damage done and there’s even some milk in my coffee.

Look forward to your side of the story with the milk @Skyring , am intrigued!

 

[Skyring]

BKK - HEL Part 2
Brunch done, I have a chance to get out my iPad and write up my trip report, edit a few photographs, sip a little more champagne.

A fine balance. A glass or two and I lift my writing. Too much and I become maudlin or banal along with increasing my typo count.



I can’t say too many movies appeal to me on the selection. Instead I look through the music. The Hollywood playlist includes a Weird Al Yankovic song that is new to me and I run through it a few times until I have it firmly settled as an earworm.



The moving map sits on the screen as I tap my fingers on the iPad keyboard in time to the music, the map changing in an attempt to make the flight over a succession of nothing villages entertaining. Now flying near Padabad in the middle of Pakistan at a height of 12 000 metres and a heading of 274 degrees.

Beautifully presented but of limited practical use. One thing I notice is that we no longer fly a direct route over China and Russia.

Pakistan, Afghanistan, even Iraq is graced by the mauve ribbon of our passage. We fly over Iran and Yazd is notionally visible. Yazd, where I climbed up one of the “Towers of Silence” where the Zoroastrians left their dead to be consumed by vultures. Yazd, where I regarded the eternal flame of the Zoroastrian temple through a glass that resisted any photographical enterprise.

I have a fondness for Persia and its hospitality, heritage, and whimsical street art. Its nutty government, not so much.

We pass out over the Caspian, Armenia, Turkey, and the Black Sea, avoiding the war zone to the north.

I lay out the bedding for a bit of a sleep. There’s a thin mattress that is cut to match the shape of the bed from broad at the rear to skinny at the foot tunnel which I notice isn’t overly generous in room. A tall bloke with big feet might find themselves wedged in by the toes.

I cover myself with the blanket, pull the sleeping belt over the top, lay my head on the pillow and zonk off. It’s very comfortable, and I try both sides. The leg and foot tunnel has a curve to it that accommodates but doesn’t love knees. One side feels more comfortable than the other. For this seat on the port side of the plane, my right side feels better.

Quibbles aside, I enjoy my nap. This is the main reason for spending a bit extra. The drinks and the food and the big screen are nice but a chance to stretch out and have a snooze is what really counts.



The lights come up and dinner appears. This is the main meal of the trip, washed down by more champagne. I enjoy the stirfry garlic prawns, big and succulent.







The cheese dish is demolished and in an attempt to maintain a healthy lifestyle I wave off the desserts but allow my champagne to be topped up.



Later on, as we near Helsinki, I look into the galley for a glass of water to wash down a couple of painkillers. They pour the last of the champagne into a glass for me.

Hello, hangover!

We pass over the Baltic as the cabin crew put away their kit and tidy up the cabin.



Helsinki appears and I look at the city with interest. I have a 23 hour layover on the return trip and intend to take a look around the city under the midnight sun, maybe see the Northern Lights.

I attach my sash belt, push all the bedding down into the foot tunnel and prepare to arrive into Helsinki. Or at least the terminal.

Flight 2309
AY 142 BKK - HEL
OH-LWF A359

Scheduled: 0715
Boarding : 0645 Gate G2
Pushback: 0713
Takeoff: 0720 to S
Landing: 1442 from NE
Gate: 1451 S49

TK: Images

 

[love_the_life]

BKK - HEL Part 2
Brunch done, I have a chance to get out my iPad and write up my trip report, edit a few photographs, sip a little more champagne.

A fine balance. A glass or two and I lift my writing. Too much and I become maudlin or banal along with increasing my typo count.

View attachment 334354

I can’t say too many movies appeal to me on the selection. Instead I look through the music. The Hollywood playlist includes a Weird Al Yankovic song that is new to me and I run through it a few times until I have it firmly settled as an earworm.

View attachment 334357

The moving map sits on the screen as I tap my fingers on the iPad keyboard in time to the music, the map changing in an attempt to make the flight over a succession of nothing villages entertaining. Now flying near Padabad in the middle of Pakistan at a height of 12 000 metres and a heading of 274 degrees.

Beautifully presented but of limited practical use. One thing I notice is that we no longer fly a direct route over China and Russia.

Pakistan, Afghanistan, even Iraq is graced by the mauve ribbon of our passage. We fly over Iran and Yazd is notionally visible. Yazd, where I climbed up one of the “Towers of Silence” where the Zoroastrians left their dead to be consumed by vultures. Yazd, where I regarded the eternal flame of the Zoroastrian temple through a glass that resisted any photographical enterprise.

I have a fondness for Persia and its hospitality, heritage, and whimsical street art. Its nutty government, not so much.

We pass out over the Caspian, Armenia, Turkey, and the Black Sea, avoiding the war zone to the north.

I lay out the bedding for a bit of a sleep. There’s a thin mattress that is cut to match the shape of the bed from broad at the rear to skinny at the foot tunnel which I notice isn’t overly generous in room. A tall bloke with big feet might find themselves wedged in by the toes.

I cover myself with the blanket, pull the sleeping belt over the top, lay my head on the pillow and zonk off. It’s very comfortable, and I try both sides. The leg and foot tunnel has a curve to it that accommodates but doesn’t love knees. One side feels more comfortable than the other. For this seat on the port side of the plane, my right side feels better.

Quibbles aside, I enjoy my nap. This is the main reason for spending a bit extra. The drinks and the food and the big screen are nice but a chance to stretch out and have a snooze is what really counts.

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The lights come up and dinner appears. This is the main meal of the trip, washed down by more champagne. I enjoy the stirfry garlic prawns, big and succulent.

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The cheese dish is demolished and in an attempt to maintain a healthy lifestyle I wave off the desserts but allow my champagne to be topped up.

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Later on, as we near Helsinki, I look into the galley for a glass of water to wash down a couple of painkillers. They pour the last of the champagne into a glass for me.

Hello, hangover!

We pass over the Baltic as the cabin crew put away their kit and tidy up the cabin.

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Helsinki appears and I look at the city with interest. I have a 23 hour layover on the return trip and intend to take a look around the city under the midnight sun, maybe see the Northern Lights.

I attach my sash belt, push all the bedding down into the foot tunnel and prepare to arrive into Helsinki. Or at least the terminal.

Flight 2309
AY 142 BKK - HEL
OH-LWF A359

Scheduled: 0715
Boarding : 0645 Gate G2
Pushback: 0713
Takeoff: 0720 to S
Landing: 1442 from NE
Gate: 1451 S49

TK: Images

I suspect the northern lights will escape you - too light and also too much ambient built up light. I remember MrLtL tried to stay awake all night in Tromso on the off chance he would see the lights - but of course being 24 hr daylight meant nada - which he did realise of course.

Finnair looks much better than when we flew yonks ago - don't remember offers of lots of champagne and I think the FAs then were very brisk and business like.
Edit - though we did think the airline was good

 

[Skyring]

BKK - HEL Bonus images.

Sent from BKK - QF24 Home delayed.

 

[Skyring]

Welcome to HEL
Helsinki as an airport is a joy. It may not have as much visual appeal from the outside as others I have seen in my travels but like the rest of the country a lot of careful thought has gone into its planning and operation.

It functions smoothly and delightfully. It is organised and efficient. There is very little clutter. At any point everything the weary passenger desires is clearly signposted and nothing is more than a few minutes away.

I love it.

I have a layover of exactly one hour, according to my Finnair documents, before my next flight to Edinburgh. I’ve been here before - shortly before that bloody volcano thing - so I know that’s a safe window and besides if something goes wrong Finnair will look after me and I have a day up my sleeve anyway.

We’re parked right at the end of one of the terminal wings and I manfully stride along, following the line marked on the floor for transfers. We’ve been shown a video on the plane describing the process and I’m watching carefully.

I’m striding along because I’ve spent the past two days mostly sitting down and I’m beginning to look a bit pudgy, quite apart from all the fast food, airline food, and Finnair food I’ve been shoving into myself.

I could use a bit of exercise and I rattle along at a fair clip, making sure I have no sudden changes of direction. My skinny stretchy flight socks have no grip on the inside of my slip-on shoes which in turn have minimal tread. I’m also balancing seven kilos of electronics and a spare pair of undies on my back and there is a high potential for disaster if I need to spear off on a new compass bearing.

At one point the lines for Arrivals and Transfers diverge and I’m into a big hall full of equipment and mercifully short queues.

Scan my onward boarding pass, empty all my pockets, dump my pack and pouch into tubs and stride manfully through the magnetic gate.

I’m striding through because these things work on total metal detected times time in field and the shorter I’m in range of the detectors the less chance of an alarm going off and a request to remove my plastic belt and slip off my slip-on shoes.

Waiting for my tubs I watch as my backpack comes through and is shunted onto a siding for further analysis.

Not surprising, given all the cough I’ve got in there, and I dutifully raise my guilty hand and watch as an efficient young Finnish chap cheerily disassembles my kit, occasionally glancing at a monitor that shows the exact location of any contraband.

In Bangkok, they were looking for batteries. Here they are targeting liquids and gels. I’ve got my liquids - toothpaste, shampoo, shaving oil - in approved containers inside a clear plastic baggie that hasn’t been changed since about 2005 and is no longer quite as transparent as it could be but apparently there are more liquids somewhere in my possessions.

We cheerfully hunt them down together. A tube of toothpaste inside the Finnair amenity pack that I’ve thoughtfully brought with me. A tiny jar of marmalade that I’ve removed from the breakfast tray so I can impress my AirBnB host with my boundless generosity and something else that the cheery blond teenage security guy can’t quite nail down but I eventually discover is another tiny tube of toothpaste from a hotel in Istanbul, which ironically was my last destination out of Helsinki in the Year of the Volcano.

Yes, I’ve been here before, I had platinum status then and spent a few hours in a beautifully designed lounge getting as plastered as I desired (which to be honest, isn’t much, nowadays) on expensive bubbly wine before walking across a short piece of tarmac to the Istanbul plane and asking myself if this bit of fresh air counted as a trip to Finland for the purposes of adding to the countries visited tally.

I’m cheerfully advised to have a pleasant trip and I head off into the international airside area. I have about half an hour to spare and I explore the shopping mall that unsurprisingly occupies a lot of the space.

Good shops but I have no time for a souvenir or a snack. I’ll be here again in a week’s time for one and they’ll feed and water me on the plane in an hour or so.

I suss out my next gate - a bus lounge to a remote stand - and look around the immediate area.

I’m impressed by thoughtful little touches here and there. One generous area where two concourse wings meet has a supply of large padded couches. Sit, lie, sleep, work, play. At ceiling level a long loop of monitors gives a 360º view of a peaceful piece of Finland. Not a still image, this has leaves moving in the breeze, ripples on the lake, birds flying. Not to mention soft sounds of nature. A little oasis. Later on I find that the scene changes from time to time. Subliminal message: Finland is beautiful and natural.

I don’t have much time to explore the terminal but I like what I see.

I head down to the gate and listen to the chatter of the staff. In English. They have a planeload of passengers and only one bus assigned to get them there. Just an Embraer E190 but still.

I’m in the Priority boarding lane and one of the first aboard. I stand at the back of the bus and the earworm I picked up on the previous flight inevitably comes to mind and as more and more passengers pile on they must be wondering what is so amusing this Aussie humming to himself.

Ridin' in the bus down the boulevard
And the place was pretty packed, yeah
Couldn't find a seat so I had to stand
With the perverts in the back

It was smellin' like a locker room
There was junk all over the floor
We're already packed in like sardines
But we're stoppin' to pick up more, look out

Another one rides the bus, another one rides the bus
Another comes on and another comes on
Another one rides the bus
Hey, he's gonna sit by you, another one rides the bus

 

[Skyring]

Finland to Scotland
My final flight of the outward journey and for one reason or another, I didn’t enjoy it as much as I might.

The Finnair cabin layout of the E190 is 2-2 seating all the way through the cabin. What distinguishes my business seat from any other - apart from the fact that they have given me an aisle bulkhead - is that I’m going to be served a meal and drinks through the flight without having to pay for them.

Another factor in my “Business Light” fare is that I don’t get a free seat selection. If I want to pick a seat I’ve got to pay for it and it wasn’t a token amount, neither.

I’m a bit slow off the mark and another bulkhead passenger asks for the vacant window seat in row 4, so I’m left without a view over some of the most scenic and interesting areas in Europe flying over the Baltic and Scandinavia to Scotland in the height of summer.

Oh well. Can’t complain. They’ll serve me booze and a nice meal and I’ve got things to read; no entertainment system, you see.



On the previous flight another Business passenger had racked up an impressive score of cans of beer and I figured it must be good, so when the pretzels were passed around I asked for one.

The lady beside me wanted bubbly which turned out to be a wiser choice once I'd tried it on the return flight, but hey, Scandi beer ain’t bad!



The meal was okay. Another beer, a smoked trout appetiser that was sublime, brown bread and butter, spaghetti and meatballs in green sauce and a small cake with something jammy inside.

Once the meal was served and the economy passengers catered for, the two FAs hung out together in the tiny front galley and chatted.

They cleared up their cabins and still remained standing until almost the final minute before landing when the captain gave the order.

What little I could see out of the windows to either side looked good. A green and pleasant land, the estuary of the Forth with the iconic bridges, hills in the distance.



We plonked down and rolled to the terminal. A remote stand for the plane, but no buses required. A short walk to a door.

First up was immigration. There were signs saying that Australians (among others) shouldn’t use the e-gates and to see an immigration officer, so I avoided the crowd to line up for personal service.

What followed was disturbing.

When I was seen, the guy took a look at my passport, checked his screen, consulted with a supervisor and then vanished.

Uh-oh. Older gent fresh in from Bangkok, must have raised some flags.

But no. Apparently my new model passport could have handled the e-gates and on return my passport was handed back.

Without a stamp.

There were two luggage belts, each serving a number of flights. I found a seat and watched the empty unmoving belt for half an hour. It had been a long day for me, beginning predawn in Bangkok, and I really just wanted to get my bag and head into town, get my head down for some solid sleep.

The whole planeload from Helsinki had their eyes on the belt. When it eventually began moving, we all watched with eagle eyes.

I’d also been checking out the other belt just in case they screwed up. My big yellow rolling duffle is easily spotted so I had my head on a swivel when what I really wanted was to doze off.

Fighting sleep, I inwardly cheered as the belt finally began to move. I watched the bags coming out with interest, as did everyone else from the flight.

But no. It was the luggage from a different flight and we Finnair pax were left scratching our heads.

Some passengers began getting upset and abusing anyone looking official, even if they were a skinny young woman who obviously wasn’t part of the baggage crew.

I took the position that it wasn’t just me, there was a delay affecting the whole planeload, and we’d get happy eventually.

My AirTag tracking app wasn’t much help. It couldn’t find the server and the last it had seen of my bag it was back in Helsinki three hours ago.

Police came in to deal with the bloke who had been yelling at the staffer, forcing a grudging apology out of him at gunpoint, and finally, two hours after landing, our bags began coming out.

Two hours!

On my return flight a week later, I discovered the cause of the delay.

A three-man crew unloaded the incoming Finnair E-190, stacked the bags on carts, pushed them to one side and then loaded the bags for the return flight before taking the carts holding the arriving baggage off to wherever these things were meant to go. It took them a solid hour to stack the plane and the passengers would have been waiting by the luggage conveyors the whole time.

I heard other horror stories of long waits and passengers forced to wait 45 minutes in their aircraft before a set of stairs could be found.
A bit of a shambles, really, and I had more problems on my departure six days later. Which I’ll list in due course.

No checking for biosecurity, just grab your bag - once you had it - and walk off. My airtag app woke up and said that my bag was on its radar when I had it in my hand. Well, that’s nice to know.

Flight 2310
Tues 13 June 2023
AY 1373 HEL - EDI
OH-LKL E190

Scheduled: 1635
Boarding : 1600 Gate 51-D (seat 1B)
Pushback: 1638
Takeoff: 1644 to S
Landing: 1702 from W
Gate: 1710

 

[I love to travel]

You have a great writing style