“You’re going where?!!”  We look at the shocked, sceptical looks on our friends’ faces and remind ourselves that these people have heard the (true) stories of the time we found ourselves on the wrong side of the locked steel door in the back alleys of Kowloon, the guy in Shanghai clicking the hidden switch in his little shop to reveal a secret room with ‘nice handbags for you’, leaving people behind on foreign train platforms, oh, and of course the time one of our travelling companions was taken away for interrogation by the Mexican border guards.

After all of this, they still can’t believe that we have the courage and audacity to travel to – New South Wales!  Yes, we’re about to risk the shame and humiliation of crossing the DMZ into the big scary land of our southern neighbours.

“But – what if you get COVID,” they cry, “or worse, come back supporting the wrong football team?”  We acknowledge these are indeed serious risks, but we remind them we’re ‘double jabbed’, travelling by air, and when we get back, we won’t be released from home quarantine until we can prove we still have maroon blood flowing in our veins.

It’s 11:45 precisely.  The car’s packed, alarm is on, and we’ve checked and rechecked we have our masks and digital copies of our vaccination certificates.  Time to commence the epic journey into the unknown.

1:43 – We arrive at Brisbane airport. Whew!  When we get back in two weeks’ time, we can definitely prove we live within two hours of the airport, thus avoiding ‘punishments most foul’.  Grab the luggage, and off we go into the crowded terminal – oh – it’s actually nearly empty.  No frustrated parents threatening to put Johnny on the plane to Albania if he pulls the tags off his sister’s backpack one more time.  No businesspeople hurrying to get to their gates before last call.

It’s all a bit eerie.  What’s more, the ‘check-in’ for our obscure little regional airline doesn’t open for another hour, so we may as well grab one of the empty seats near that baggage carousel over there and, as the Beverley Hillbillies used to say, ‘set a while’.

A friendly policeman wanders over for a chat.  Constable ‘Brown’ tells us he and his colleagues are meant to be checking the border passes of arriving travellers, “but”, he says, “they changed the system again yesterday, so people are supposed to come over and tell us if they don’t have the right pass.”  “What happens then,” we ask.  “Oh, we sort of arrest them and escort them to hotel quarantine.  But nobody’s come over so far today, so I guess they’re all ok.”

We’re still shaking our heads when we realise our check-in should now be open.  We trundle off to the little counter tucked away behind the (empty) self-serve bag drop machines.  Another traveller has beaten us to the ‘queue’, so we wait, patiently at first, while she interrogates the check-in lady about the flight, the weather, places her grandmother visited back in 1947, oh, and occasionally presents one of her three large suitcases and sundry other items for inspection.  I turn to Nanette.  “We only have 90 minutes until boarding.  If all 19 passengers show up, at this speed, they won’t get them all processed in time!”

Fortunately, our own check-in takes about a minute, so we navigate security, noting that the federal police guys now carry very serious looking weapons, and head to our gate. 

4:20 – The gate lady announces “Attention everyone.  It’s now 4:05 and your flight to Coffs Harbour is ready for boarding”

4:22 – As we’re about to mount the steps onto one of the smallest passenger planes we’ve travelled on so far, the guy in the reflective vest says, “G’day guys.  I’m Bob.  I’ll be yer pilot today.  Help yerselves to a few snacks from the front seat as yer go past.”

4:23 – We’re seated.  Nanette looks across at me.  “Isn’t this great!”