Unfortunately, we didn't start taking pictures until we actually got to Tasmania, so there aren't any pictures to illustrate this section. But there are lots of photos to see in the following sections! You can safely skip this preamble if you want to get to the good stuff quickly...

"Would Mr Babbas, Mr Babbas in Seat 37A, identify yourself to the cabin crew please."

Odd sort of announcement to make while we sat on the ground, already 15 minutes past our scheduled take off time, I thought. The stewardesses were dashing about the aisles and I saw a small huddled group of cabin crew flipping through a passenger manifest in puzzlement. Time ticked by and the captain got on the mike again, coincidentally as my seat started to shake with an ominous rattling from the bowels of the 747 as the baggage containers were rolled about underfoot.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we apologise for the delay, we will be moving off soon after we offload some baggage of a passenger who hasn't boarded the flight."

I think everyone on the flight stopped breathing that instant. I know I did. But then again, maybe many of the passengers weren't too concerned at all. Actually, I know for sure the extended family seated in the rows immediately behind us didn't even hear the announcements, cos they hadn't even paused for breath, yabbering nonstop in high-pitched and 110 decibel Cantonese to each other, but that's not the issue.

Yi Peng and I shared a look.

Elderly woman in seat 44B continued her cross-cabin conversation with middle-aged woman in 45G, while their assorted grandkids screamed and shrieked. More rumbling and rattling from just under my seat as they looked for Mr Babbas' luggage. That was when it dawned on me that I had seen Mr Babbas earlier.

Not that I was about to associate myself with a possible terrorist, so I didn't volunteer the information to the cabin crew. No thank you.

He looked lost and more than a little bewildered, and he acted like he thought his boarding pass was a map of the airport. We had been walking behind him part of the way to Gate E8 at Singapore Changi Airport. Yi Peng and I were rushing to get to the Gate as we were concerned about possible delays due to the increased security in the aftermath of September 11.

Gate E8 was of course, the furthest gate from the passenger concourse entrance, literally at one end of Terminal 2.

The very moment we walked up to the Gate, the disembodied voice on the PA system announced that everybody boarding flight SQ231 to Sydney at Gate E8 should now go to Gate E28 instead, and everyone on Singapore Airlines flight whateveritwas to Frankfurt at Gate E28, should now proceed to Gate E8.

You guessed it. E28 is at the opposite end of the terminal.

We were not amused. Turning around to trudge back down the long long terminal, I saw that same bewildered man getting off the travelator at Gate E8, looking ever more puzzled.

Halfway down the terminal, our little regiment of disgruntled passengers collided head on with another disgruntled phalanx of Germanic faces going in the other direction.

Poor Mr Babbas never made it. Must have been wandering around the airport for hours after that. It was our idle speculation then that the whole swapping of gate numbers routine was designed just so as to weed out bumbling would-be hijackers.

Anyway, we were finally on our way to Tasmania on our long awaited honeymoon. The excited newly-wed couple we were, collapsed asleep before we had reached cruising altitude.

***

Like someone turning on a stereo with the volume knob accidentally set at maximum, I was suddenly awakened by 45G's instructions to 44B to get the chicken and not the beef. This sparked up the rest of the extended family and a lively debate ensued over the relative culinary merits of each menu choice. The stewardess didn't seem fazed at all by the convention of jackhammers all around her. Another day in the life of, I suppose.

Anyway, it was a good thing in the end, cos we got to eat our in-flight meal. The polite stewardess might not have been able to rouse us otherwise.

The captain did his usual welcome-to-Sydney-the temperature-outside-is speech and we dutifully reset our watches accordingly. We had been told at the Singapore check-in counter that we need not have collected our baggage at Sydney as the luggage would be routed directly to Hobart. Of course, we were set right by the airport staff at the arrival hall, in a tone that suggested that they thought we were too stupid to be allowed to travel unless accompanied by a responsible Caucasian. So we waited to pick up our luggage before heading to the Transfer desk.

As it was already past 10 am, and our connecting flight to Hobart was at 2:30pm, we decided to just stay at the airport instead of touring the city. We bought some magazines and wandered about the shops until we'd seen them twice, had an early lunch and then sat down to read. Time passed slowly. Yi Peng dozed. Men with big guns and an even bigger dog scrutinised us with exaggerated nonchalance.

At 1:40 pm, bored to tears and glad it was finally time, we strolled over to take the free shuttle bus to the domestic terminal. As we sat there waiting for the next one, I was staring at the big clock for a long while before I realised my disconnected brain was telling me something was wrong.

The clock said 12:42 pm in big red LEDs.

Mental note to write a strongly worded letter to Singapore Airlines about setting their clocks correctly and paying attention to the finer details of daylight saving time, et cetera. Of course, there were two twits just wandering about the airport, passing numerous clocks, and not once noticing the time difference either, but that's besides the point.

So here we were, sitting at the domestic terminal, with another hour and a half of unmitigated boredom ahead of us, and I am haunted by the look of puzzlement the cheerful lady behind the Transfer desk had when we rejected her suggestion to take in the sights of Sydney and instead wanted to just hang around the airport.

By now, we were no longer lucid enough to care that there was a further delay because the aircraft we would be using hadn't arrived yet…

***

The approach to Hobart was beautiful. The sun broke through the clouds and illuminated the countryside and outskirts of the city giving everything a nice warm glow, with a pretty rainbow as an added bonus.

So here we were, 18 hours after leaving Singapore, in Hobart, Tasmania. At last!

Go to Part 1 - Hobart & New Norfolk