For the experienced traveller, and I am one of them, the thought of long waits, impatient crowds and claustrophobic flights are usually the least looked forward aspect of travel. Until recently, for those Victorians of us living outside of Melbourne, the added burden of getting to Tullamarine from Bendigo also added on time and expense. We have extra decisions to agonise over: does one park their car at one of the many airport parks and be shuttled to the airport, then put that detail sheet in a safe place for fear of forgetting the contact number, and wait sometimes in blistering cold weather at the airport for the shuttle bus to arrive on the return flight, or go via the crowded Skybus to the train station and wait up to an hour for a two hour train journey home, all whilst holding onto your luggage after in your groggy jetlagged state. You have to really want to go to those places!
Although I must have clocked up dozens of flights, both domestic and long haul international, and around 1-2 to Sydney per year, last week’s flight presented a paradoxical sense of positive anticipation. It was one of the first flights from Bendigo to Sydney.. Pardon? Yes, the plane actually leaves from Bendigo Airport in Bendigo East, about 10 minutes’ drive from my house. And yes, there’s a return flight daily (except Sunday) - sauf dimanche if you are French!
As each daily flight to Sydney from Bendigo is a morning one, departing between 6 and 7.10am, this necessitates an early start, although perhaps no earlier than if you were aiming to catch a mid-morning Melbourne to Sydney one. After collecting my travel partner in the darkness, we navigated our way across the traffic free city and in less than 10 minutes we were inside the airport carpark; we parked directly next to the ticket machine and opposite the entrance. Parking Ticket in car window, we skipped up to the check-in desk to a beaming Qantas attendant. It seemed everyone was as excited as us about this new service. While we waited until departure time, we enjoyed a window view of the brilliant sunrise over the silhouette of our diminutive 50 seater plane. Entering the plane took approximately 10 minutes for all 44 passengers (a quick head count gleaned 6 empty seats), only a quick dance across the tarmac and up the small mobile stairway that innocently reminded me of walking up a playground slide, not an aeroplane. Comfortingly, the propeller was tied down to avoid such gruesome scenes as that which occurred in Episode 1 of Midnight Sun (spoiler alert!).
Once in the air, the window seat afforded revealing views of the landscape as the plane, unlike most, did not ascend to cloud height. City lights quickly transcended to geometric shapes and patterns in various parched, earthy colours, a grim reminder of the absence of rain for the past five months in Victoria; after an hour, the washed out colour became green again and we were afforded a rare view of the mountains of New South Wales (Mount Kosciusko maybe?). Although the flight is technically longer than the Melbourne to Sydney flight, this facilitated great views from the window and this, accompanied by an informative conversation with a Rushworth based man who was until now travelling to Melbourne fortnightly to fly to Sydney for work and now can cut his time by flying via Bendigo made time fly (no pun intended). We were all united by trying out this new concept and it seemed all were giving the thumbs up.
Upon arrival, we barely had time to visit the airport bathroom when our luggage had arrived at the baggage carousel. No waiting while 500 bags dribble out. We were ready to go!
Five days later, it was evening time for our return flight, so gave sunset views and one of the most amazing lines of red I have seen from a plane’s window. Fortunately my travel companion Andy sees the beauty of nature and, like the little girl in the seat behind us (“I’m flying! We’re in space!”) we peered out the window with new eyes.
At this stage, I opined “All we need now is some wine and cheese”, and like magic, our attendant emerged with bottles of organic red and white cheerily making her way down the 12 seat deep aisle so that we weren’t left salivating too long; oh, and there were cheese and cracker boxes too. It doesn’t hurt to be polite, so when our (over?) enthusiasm for the wine and cheese showed, she returned for a top up and another cheese and cracker box. The polite and handsome man in the seat opposite me was at least 6ft2 and was able to stretch his legs out completely, a comfort usually only afforded in Premium Economy or an Exit Row Seat, at extra cost. When I asked him if he enjoyed the extra space, he replied in the affirmative.
Upon our smooth landing, Andy applauded loudly. “It’s what they do in Greece, and they also thank the Gods,” was the excuse offered; in fact, it appears clapping plane landings is quite cultural. Romanians and Russians are both known for applauding plane landings, especially after the Romanian revolution occurred in 1989 and Romanians were finally allowed to cross the border. So they applauded to celebrate their freedom, whereas we applaud the performative elements of the landing; or just demonstrate our relief to be safe.
No sooner were the brakes on, the seat belt sign pinged off, the door popped open and we immediately exited the plane, no waiting for planes to taxi, no announcements pacifying the impatient passengers with the consolation that they can switch on mobile phones whilst waiting. Once outside we were all so deliriously happy that we almost forgot about our luggage, that final stage that can add up to an hour extra to a flight; would they take it inside the building? Would there be a carousel and chute? Nope. Only five minutes later, all luggage was quickly expelled out of the plane and onto a trolley. Passengers walked on the tarmac and grabbed them from the trolley; quite democratic. I didn’t check if the propeller was tied down…. Meanwhile, Andy was busy comforting the little girl who had been sitting behind us. She had collided heads with her brother so they were both crying. Our small group had become like family and looked out for each other rather than racing to be first away. Off to the car and we were home again within ten minutes, even though we had just flown 850 kilometres. T.S Elliot may have said “The journey not the arrival matters” but there is still pleasure to be had in such a perfect arrival as Sydney to Bendigo airport; let’s hope it continues.