Well, that was a long time to wait in Singapore.
We could have taken a cab into the city and had a look around, but we thought it would be more interesting to have a good look around the terminal.
Yeah Nah! Bad decision.
Any airport in the world is boring if you are there for hours. It just is.
So we sat. And we waited. And we had a drink. And we waited some more.
And we boarded our flight.
As I said, we were split seated, but it really didn't matter, as the plan was to sleep the whole way.
The problem is that the SIN-SYD flight is about 7 hours. It leaves at 1030 at night and arrives about 0800 Sydney time, so you really want to sleep. Just like that long flight from LAX to SYD, your body is ready to sleep.
But a 7-hour flight? They want to serve you a meal, so that is almost 2 hours gone. They will start waking you up about an hour out, so that just leaves 4 hours to sleep. That's just a crappy sleep.
If we do this flight again, we have to be prepared to forget the food and go straight to sleep. BKK-SYD would have been much better. A couple of hours longer, just enough time for a decent sleep.
Anyway.
We made it, and grabbed a cab back to Sam's place. This had to be one of the worst cab rides we have had in Sydney.
First, let me say this. Remember the cab ride from my last dentist visit? Less that $5? Well this cab ride hit $5 before we left the airport. Welcome to Sydney.
Anyway, the cabs queue up at the airport waiting for work. The passengers queue up waiting for a cab. Perfect synergy of supply and demand, you say? Correct. And these two forces are brought together in perfect harmony by the guy at the end of the queue, who directs you to your cab. How many? That cab over there. How many? That cab over there.
The guy with this pivotal role has no clue how far you want to go. That remains a secret until you tell your driver your destination.
When we say we are going to Wolli Creek, we always get a predictable response. The guy gets out of the car, hails the queue master, and bellows something in his native language. There is no danger we will ever understand him, but we have a fair idea what he said.
On this occasion, the driver got back into the car and drove like a slot car driver, mumbling under his breath the whole way. Shit. Shit. Shit.
For those unfamiliar with the vernacular, this is a slot car driver.
We could have taken a cab into the city and had a look around, but we thought it would be more interesting to have a good look around the terminal.
Yeah Nah! Bad decision.
Any airport in the world is boring if you are there for hours. It just is.
So we sat. And we waited. And we had a drink. And we waited some more.
And we boarded our flight.
As I said, we were split seated, but it really didn't matter, as the plan was to sleep the whole way.
The problem is that the SIN-SYD flight is about 7 hours. It leaves at 1030 at night and arrives about 0800 Sydney time, so you really want to sleep. Just like that long flight from LAX to SYD, your body is ready to sleep.
But a 7-hour flight? They want to serve you a meal, so that is almost 2 hours gone. They will start waking you up about an hour out, so that just leaves 4 hours to sleep. That's just a crappy sleep.
If we do this flight again, we have to be prepared to forget the food and go straight to sleep. BKK-SYD would have been much better. A couple of hours longer, just enough time for a decent sleep.
Anyway.
We made it, and grabbed a cab back to Sam's place. This had to be one of the worst cab rides we have had in Sydney.
First, let me say this. Remember the cab ride from my last dentist visit? Less that $5? Well this cab ride hit $5 before we left the airport. Welcome to Sydney.
Anyway, the cabs queue up at the airport waiting for work. The passengers queue up waiting for a cab. Perfect synergy of supply and demand, you say? Correct. And these two forces are brought together in perfect harmony by the guy at the end of the queue, who directs you to your cab. How many? That cab over there. How many? That cab over there.
The guy with this pivotal role has no clue how far you want to go. That remains a secret until you tell your driver your destination.
When we say we are going to Wolli Creek, we always get a predictable response. The guy gets out of the car, hails the queue master, and bellows something in his native language. There is no danger we will ever understand him, but we have a fair idea what he said.
On this occasion, the driver got back into the car and drove like a slot car driver, mumbling under his breath the whole way. Shit. Shit. Shit.
For those unfamiliar with the vernacular, this is a slot car driver.
- Most of us start gently and stop gently, so that the ride is smooth for the passengers. For the slotcar driver, there is just a stop and a go button on the floor.
- Most of us smooth out the bends in the road, to minimise the sideways roll and make the ride more gentle. The slotcar driver places his car the predefined number of inches from the centre line, and stays there, regardless of curve or speed. Every curve is maximised for every passenger. Nice.
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