1 - The Flight

I struggle painfully for the seventh time through this seemingly endless corridor of Singapore Airport, which must be admitted, is very beautiful to look at.

All sorts of announcements boom in mystical Arabic languages through the speakers, which seem to be placed in front of each of the perfume shops, before me.

Unfortunately, no one is able to tell me where I can pick up my damn boarding pass "A38" aka. LK404 (connecting flight to Darwin).

The lady at the counter in GateA sends me to GateC and from there I am directed to GateB.

At first glance, it may sound like complaining at a high level, but you should consider that there is also a small train here that connects the gates with each other.

So, I have to cover several kilometers.

No problem, I have been sitting long enough.

Now everything has worked out at GateB and I stomp at a furious pace over the horizontal escalators towards GateD because the flight is about to depart.

(Time-wise, this whole ordeal wouldn't have been a problem if you had walked from gate A to D in classic Sesame Street style – with D being a completely voluntary choice!)

Unfortunately, time is getting tight now, at least it should be... I think...

It's hard to say at this moment, because my watch on my wrist has been set to Northern Australian time ever since I arrived (they say you adjust quickly), and my phone hasn't made the terminal leap from the small town in Northern Germany yet.

Well, Singapore is nowhere in between.. so I'll just quickly admire the essential tacky tourist attractions of the local public transport: the rooftop garden, the butterfly park (unfortunately closed!), and what I would call the fairy tale forest.

Done and finally at GateB42 with a 10-minute buffer.

Australia, here I come!

In retrospect, the first two flights were unbeatable in terms of luxury!

Along with the finest, albeit somewhat digestively challenging, grub, occasionally, they served either vacuum-sealed water or a damp towel.

Well.. as for the grub, water, and especially that old towel, I can do without them.. I'd rather have my own TV screen in the seat back of the passenger in front of me.

But the biggest challenge of Flight Number 3 is actually due to t he aforementioned grub from the first two fellow passengers.

I have bloating!

And not in a cute way, apart from the feeling coming back every 15 minutes that my tracksuit bottoms are about to burst, I'm pretty sure that the accompanying aromas will also put the noses of 3-4 unsuspecting fellow travelers to the test..

(If only I had chosen the pig instead of the chicken.. well, it's too late!)

When I arrive in Darwin, everything suddenly happens very quickly.

I have apparently answered the three or four questions about meat & cheese, nuts, and firearms correctly, because with a snappy "Row 1, please", I pass by everything that the Australian airport has to offer: full-body scans, suitcase X-rays, 10+ tables for individual evaluations with a dog, but as I said, I pass by them on the left. (probably for the last time in a while)

Past this really long line of similarly exhausted travelers, and, to make matters worse, right behind the man who sat behind me with my flatulence for over 6 hours.

That's embarrassing.. well, he surely has his mind on something else.. after all, two young men in uniform have just hooked their arms through his and are surely going to take him to his next destination, along with new metal bracelets.

At least my conscience is feeling somewhat better now..