Well it's time to say farewell to Western Australia and fly on to Southern Australia. I had a cup of coffee and shave (not necessarily in that order), checked all my drawers, cupboards and wardrobes, and when convinced that I had left nothing behind, I went downstairs and checked out at 10.30am. The shuttle bus was due at 11.10am so I sat in the lounge and checked my e-mails on the iPhone and found Mark wanted to know flight departure times for our flights in Australia. By the time I had sent those it was 11.00am so I decided it was time to go and wait on the pavement outside. Just as well, because the shuttle bus pulled up just as I went out. I paid my $15 for the ticket and boarded the bus. There were only four other passengers on board, and I was the last pickup. Slim Dusty regaled us with a series of his chancons, until a passenger at the front inquired who he was. The answer occuppied the driver virtually all the way to the airport. He was obviously a fan who had done his research, for he spun off his complete lifestory: Born in 1927 of Irish immigrant parents, his real name was David Kirkpatrick. He cut his first record in 1942, The Song For The Aussie. At this point I chipped in with the fact that he had a big hit in Britain with A Pub With No Beer. And sure enought a few minutes later two versions of the song were blasting over the bus' loudspeakers. This all saw us happily though to the Domestic Terminal where I disembarked.
I was somewhat baffled by the total absence of check in desks. Eventually I discovered that there were check in terminals. I typed my name in and sure enough it came up with all the trips I had booked with Qantas. I then had to click on "Adelaide" and my boarding card was printed out. Now with a name like Adam Komorowski I can understand that it would be unlikely that more than one of us would have booked the same flights. But what of the Joneses, Browns and Smiths? No ID was required to be shown. With the Boarding Card, you then had to go to the Baggage Self Check-In, swipe the boarding card, which prompted an adhesive barcoded strip to be printed out which had to be attached to the suitcase handle, and a baggage receipt form for the traveller to retain. The case then had to be pushed onto the conveyer belt whence it disappeared into the great unknown!
After phoning Steve Jones to let him know my arrival time (I only got his voice mail), I duly boarded the flight at Gate A11 as it stated on my boarding card, and found that we were served with luncheon on our 3 hour flight. I was sat in the middle seat this time, and the chap in the window seat intoduced himself to me as Craig or Greg or some such name (a recently promoted geologist) and asked me if I was going home. I explained that was not the case until next July, and that I was on a round the world trip. This induced quite a lengthy conversation, at the end of which I had promised that I would try the South Australian speciality of a "pie floater", shared in a bottle of red wine (having already had two bottles of white of my own), and pronounced the muffins served with the luncheon as "quite nice". My companion seemed pleased by my assessment and told me that in that case he would take his one home and give it to his wife as a present. It was that or the bottle of body lotion he had taken from his hotel bathroom!
Much to my amazement my suitcase arrived promptly on the carousel and I arrived in "Arrivals" in no time at all. Of Steve there was no sign. I had had a kind of premonition that this might happen, and with some trepidation phoned his mobile. To my relief it was promptly answered. I announced that I was at Adelaide Airport. "Ah, you'll want picking up then?" "Well, that would be very nice", I replied. "I'll be with you in half an hour", came the reply. I purchased a cafe latte and sat down near a Chinaman who was furiously working away on his laptop. Eventually his wife and daughter (at least I assume that that was what they were), turned up and had an animated conversation in Chinese, which ended up with the teenaged daughter bursting into laughter. Well it all helped pass the time. After 25 minutes I emerged from the terminal to stand on the road outside, and sure enough Steve duly turned up in his 4x4 towing a trailer with one of his employees, Greg inside. My case was dumped in the trailer, and I piled in. Steve did confess that he had completely forgotten about me arriving until I had phoned, but as he was on the last day of completing a 5 month contract for a criminal lawyer, who had a $1000 a day penalty completion clause, I guess it is understandable. Anyway he not only completed the contract on time, he also picked me up, so all's well that ends well. Further up the road Steve pulled into a bottle shop and invested in a six-pack of West End, which the three of us proceed to demolish on the way home. The empties joined a pile of similar empty cans that were to be found on the floor.
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