THE FLIGHTS.
Everyone arrived at the airport well before the deadline of 4.15am and the Virgin check-in girls were still getting organised.
At the sight of our luggage mound I really think several ducked under their counter a bit too often, hoping that a colleague would be ready to start first so they could get the more normal passengers behind us.
The winner (or should that be the loser?) turned out to be really nice and very helpful. Herself, nursing little Made Maeve, did the organising bit, presenting tickets for all, directing baggage onto the scales at the start of the belt and preparing to negotiate any possible concession on the cost of our excess baggage weight. This excess amounted to 20Kg's that Garuda had allowed us as ‘charity freight' and another 20+++Kg's that ‘just couldn't be left behind'. As it turned out little Maeve of the big blue eyes and long blonde curls did a bit of negotiating in her own way while climbing onto the desk and our expectations of paying $20 per 10Kg's turned out to be waived with a pat of Maeve's cheek and a little kiss.
As I said, nice and helpful.
The flight to Melbourne was uneventful.
All the grandies had flown before so I was the only one to get at all excited about it, but then I'm from another era. Flying has always been a fascinating thing for me, perhaps brought about by my atheistic Grandmother who always crossed herself whenever a plane flew over our backyard.
At Melbourne, although Garuda had told us our baggage would be through checked to Bali, this was not to be. Rounding it all up, getting it all downstairs to the Garuda check-in (especially the big roll of wall maps from Willunga High School to the Negara School that went a different route through the very small and secretly hidden ‘OVERSIZE LUGGAGE' desk) made us feel as though we now deserved this holiday.
At the Garuda check-in little Maeve was released to do her brand of negotiating again and it worked! Everything through, and no excess to pay.
Never try to tell me that Garuda does not have a heart and soul at the real worker's level.
The flight to Bali was long but uneventful, all of the kidz having been organised with lots of new stuff to hold their attention.
Uneventful, that is, until we were all buckled up for the landing at Ngurah Rai.
Grandson, Wayan Declan, who was sitting next to me by the window so he could be first to see the coast of Bali and then the Tuban reef as we came in, suddenly and behind my back, decided to throw up. Not all of the prissy little, non-moisture-proof, brown paper bags from our seats and the seats around us could contain the mess and at last a big plastic bag appeared from the galley and the Flight Attendants were then quite happy to retreat and leave us all with it.
This was just the start of a problem that was to be with us on and off for a few more days to come.