Travelling Pains

I love starting out on a journey and reaching the destination. The beginning of a journey is full of excitement and fun, especially to a new place. The searching of exotic getaways, great deals and finally booking the package creates an adrenalin rush. The luggage comes out of the store room, clothes are neatly packed and liquids are stored in a transparent bag.

What I do not like is the travelling in between especially if it is many hours by air or by sea. Somehow the inner biological system shuts down when air flight time hits anything above 10 hours. Travelling by sea is even worse for me as minutes after the cruise ship has left the dock, and the waves become choppy, I would be yearning for a quick return to shore again. Even the wonderful dinner buffet in the dining room becomes an indescribable blur.

There are good days and there are bad days. On good days, I can tuck in and relish every piece of morsel served on board the plane. I can even watch three movies and then fall sound asleep immediately after. But on bad days, which are becoming increasingly more often, I cannot even watch anything on the screen except to check on the flight route. More often than not, the graphic plane on the screen seems to be stuck at a certain location. This is made worse by my constant checking of the watch to see how many hours I have flown thus far. Believe me, as if in cohort with the stationary plane on the screen, the hour hand hardly moves.

Recently I was seated on the upper deck of a splendid Airbus A380. This is a double-deck, wide-body, four-engine jet airliner and the world's largest passenger airliner.  It promises the weary traveller everything that she wishes for. But then again I could never agree with the varied smells within an enclosed area - three very distinct ones are grease, perfume and medicated oil. Covering my head with a blanket to block out the smells for the most part of the journey rendered little help. Tablets for air sickness did nothing for me. Seeing that I could not consume anything for the 12 hour flight, the concerned air-hostess made me a cup of hot chocolate. Sad to day, I threw that up as well.

I know there are bags for air sickness but because vomiting is an involuntary action of the body to empty the contents of the stomach we sometimes end up throwing up in the toilet of a plane instead. Now this is tricky business. It is completely awkward to be down on the knees and throwing up into the toilet bowl. The alternative is to stand up and make sure the involuntary projectile is directly aimed at the toilet bowl – a mean feat especially when you are groggy and cannot even stand straight. It is also utterly useless to throw up in the basin especially when the gooey stuff refuses to flow smoothly down the sink hole and you would need to manually soak up the gooey stuff with tissues and then throw the tissues into the toilet bowl. ( whereby you will regret not throwing up straight into the toilet bowl or into the bag in the first place) Finally, you will need to wipe down the basin with a good blob of liquid soap and warm water in order to leave it respectable and clean for the next passenger.

What is it that makes travelling so difficult?

As I fly over Asia, Europe, the Middle East, Africa and the Americas, I feel like my body is disintegrating like thin wisps of mists over the continents and the oceans. It is as if I am leaving a part of me here and there. Ridiculous idea - of losing parts of me in Capri or Monte Carlo - but until I can fly with the ease of a bird; that helps explain the nausea and the discomfort that I feel incessantly.

Even when the plane lands, the ordeal is not over yet. I am talking of long queues at border controls and the strict screening of luggage. The last thing you would want is a straight faced immigration officer who glares or makes fun of you.

I remember a few decades ago, an immigration officer asked me where I was studying and I said the name of a university in Malaysia. He quipped, ‘Are there universities in Malaysia?’ Even now, I meet the occasional over enthusiastic immigration officer who takes pleasure in torturing the weary soul with a snide remark.

Once we step out of the airport we face the intense heat and humidity or on the other extreme the biting cold and the chilly wind. Then we go through jet lag and when others are sound asleep we stare at the ceiling and when others are happily photographing the orang utan  on the feeding platform, we wish for a platform to rest our sleepy heads.

So why do I still plod along across continents and oceans?

When the ordeal of a long journey is over, it is also forgotten by and by. Just like child birth, when it is all over, we go on to have another.  Yet another day arrives and I find myself queuing at the airport counter to check in and to get the boarding pass.

As the departure gate closes and I enter the plane, I say a silent prayer that this time round there will be no smell of grease, perfume or medicated oil.