Wait, Fly, Repeat.

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Tasmania turned on sunshine for our last day, just to prove that it was possible.

We didn't have to get up early after all. Instead we took full advantage of the late check-out, spending some time commiserating with a forlorn Spanish couple who had taken delivery of their camper van and promptly crashed into another car while avoiding an animal. They were having a decidedly expensive and not enjoyable start to their holiday, and sunshine or the lack thereof was the least of their worries.

Having finally left the hotel we set up camp at the airport, sampling airport lunch and watching airport activities (planes go up, planes go down). People came and went. I walked the length of Hobart Airport and back again, all 4 (sorry, 6) gates of it.


Eventually we wandered out across the tarmac and got on a plane.



I had a window seat this time, allowing me to take lots of photos of dubious quality and to spend the flight with my nose squashed against the window, picking out landmarks down below

The trifecta: Hobart City; Mt Wellington; bridge over the Derwent.

Some cute little lenticular clouds.

Lakes on the central highlands. Miena is in there somewhere.

Flinders Island.

Did we fly straight to Adelaide? Of course not! We were on a roundabout route, so after an hour and a bit we landed in Canberra.

Telstra tower and Lake Burley Griffin.

Where we waited for our next plane.

And waited.

Canberra airport had big windows to facilitate plane watching, not many people, and lots of spots to sit which was good, because we spent lots of time in Canberra Airport.

I walked the length of the airport several times. Canberra Airport had 14 gates, more than twice the walking distance of Hobart airport. There was one drinking fountain, a sprinkle of predictable airport food, and lots of public toilets which always seemed to be closed for cleaning. Roger had a brush with celebrity, exiting the loo as the Treasurer (in mufti, pretending to be a nobody) was walking in. "Hi Treasurer!" stammered Roger, donning his best fan boy persona but totally forgetting the poor fellow's name.  

Look at us, swanning around airports like nobody's business and casually saying g'day to politicians.

More swanning.

Qantas kept sending us cheery messages telling us our plane was delayed. Roger tracked the plane in real time, confirming the delay. Entertainment in the form of more politicians was sadly missing.

Eventually our plane arrived. We waited some more, watching it through the window. A disembodied voice informed us via loudspeaker that we could board as soon as the engineer had checked the plane. That was reassuring.


Eventually we got on our plane, and waited some more.


And then we flew to Adelaide but by then it was dark outside so my window seat did me no good at all. Our pilot dodged expertly around thunderstorms, the seatbelt sign pinged on and off as turbulence came and went, and going to the loo became an adventure which doesn't bear describing.

Upgraded! How the other half lives.

We came in to Adelaide in a big loop over Hallet Cove, out to sea, and back across the beach just north of Glenelg.

Adelaide, looking north.

Back on terra firma we zipped through our third airport of the day, found the car, negotiated late check in to our accommodation, and crawled into bed just a shade before midnight.

It was a long day.

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