Viking 2012: Out of Brisbane

"Australia is a lovely place to live," Peter said. "It's just a pity it's so far away from everything else."
We all agreed with him.
Peter, an English water engineer, was born in London but now lived in Hervey Bay, and even a boy from Brisbane thinks it's the arse end of anywhere. He and his wife, Julie, were seated next to me for the first two of my three-leg trip to Frankfurt. We were sharing an exit row as far as Dubai, where they would stop for the night before heading on to London.
"To see the Olympics," Peter said. "And the kids, obviously. But really, the Olympics."
"What was it like in Sydney during the Olympics?" Julie asked me.
I didn't know, I wasn't there. I took a guess. "Hectic."
"London will be, too."
When we turned off our entertainment to make the descent into Singapore, Julie asked why I was heading to Frankfurt.
"I'm not, I'm just stopping through on my way to Stockholm."
"Oh lovely," she said. "Have you been before?"
"No."
"Is it just a holiday or are you going to visit someone?"
I told her why I was going.
"Well, that's fascinating," she said. "Our eldest son has just taken a year off work to write his first novel."
"Oh, what's it about?"
"He doesn't know yet. He's renting a house at the seaside and taking the time to figure it out."
Ah. That kind of novel.
"Good for him."
The Kenyan-born hostess sitting with us had family in Stockholm. "But I haven't been since I was a baby," she said. "I would love to go, but we don't fly there."
"I know."
She let me try on her hat but I had stowed my camera and my phone, so I don't have a photo.

Instead here's a photo my mum left on the camera of her living room.

When I arrived in Frankfurt I had been travelling for a hair under 30 hours. There had not been time for a shower in Singapore, but I had changed my shirt and socks in Dubai which meant I didn't smell as much like a gym bag.
"Purpose of the visit?" asked the German customs officer.
"Uh- to- uh- a holiday." I had slept four hours on the flight from Brisbane to Malaysia. My body thought it was 3 AM. There was no way I would stand up to questioning.
"When is your departing flight?"
"To Australia? Twenty third of August." Damn, wrong answer. I fly out the 21st.
He smiled at me and I think I smiled back. "Have a good holiday," he said.

The stunning view from my airport hotel. There haven't been heaps of great photo opportunities yet.

Reckon I will.