So apologies, I actually wrote this over two weeks ago on the plane… but considering I’ve had nowhere to live and wasn’t enrolled in university I figured updating a blog was pretty minor in comparison.

However, I am proud to say I now have a home, I have a bike, I even have a BBQ… and I have a blog!

– date: 16-17th july – time: who knows

32, 996 ft altitude, with a speed of 581 mph and an incredibly sore ass. Hi.

Considering I’ve had minimal sleep I’m feeling pretty sweet – I’ve never flown further than France and I just experienced an airport that had palm trees, 40 degree heat outside and the most insane amount of duty free wonderland. Oh HI, Dubai.

I got so distracted people watching in the airport that I almost missed my connecting flight. There is such a crazy mix of bumbag tourists freaking out in starbucks vs. those calm, champagne-lounging jet setters. As surreal as all this dream world was though, legging it through the airport in a blind panic was a sharp shock back to reality. It turns out Dubai airport is actually pretty huge when you have to get to a gate that is supposedly sixteen minutes away in about four minutes flat. We are talking a separate train, several escalators and a final Rocky Balboa style set of stairs that nearly broke me. I was ‘that guy’ – the one sprinting through those sparkling shopping lanes screaming at people to get over the giant m&m’s and out of the way. All I could think of was how ridiculous it would be after all of the preparation, all of the goodbyes, to not even make it to Melbourne. To have to call my mum like ‘Oh hey, yeah I’m just stuck in Dubai would it be cool if you came and picked me up?’. I mean, how can I survive by myself halfway across the world if I can’t even hold it together for an hour in an airport without getting three cases of sugared dates (so cheap) and not realising that my flight number is not EK003 but EK030. It was a shock to realise that all of those annoying times when my parents would be incredibly organised and hold onto all of our passports like they were gold dust, was not ridiculous and patronising, but sensible. Particularly since I have the brain capacity of a 3 year old when suddenly faced with palm trees and endless rows of nuts in exotic flavours.

I made it though, and I learnt a good lesson. Especially since it was only when I got to the gate that I realised my dress had ridden up right under my rucksack. So, not only was I sweaty, panicking and the last one on the plane, I’d also just shown far too many people my ass…oh hey Dubai?

All things considered, we are 3h 45minutes away from Singapore and I’m feeling great. I just watched a film starring Ryan Gosling and, plot aside, would recommend it with a resounding 5star rating. Honestly though, if you’re panicking about leaving and hate flying like me, endless films is the perfect therapy. After weeks of packing and organising and goodbyes I am incapabe of doing anything other than 27 hours of nothing. There is a definite beauty in going from weeks of stress to finally actually doing it, the grand adventure that’s really just sitting here and chilling out. My main goal is sleep, which comes in jolted patches interrupted by being served questionable food and the awful snoring from the guy behind me. I am attempting to watch the whole of Mad Men series 5 by the time we get to Melbourne, which I should probably get back too. The longest flight ever is about to be over, and I won’t be happy if it ends before I finally understand the mind of Donald Draper…bye!