The 'F' Word

Now hold your horses there folks, don't think I'm going all potty mouth on you. I'll save that for another day when I've really got something (or more likely someone) to rant about. No, I'm not talking about that one. I'm talking about the 'F' word that becomes so familiar to us cabin crew, so much a part of us that it's everybody's middle name, and its one we can't avoid - as much as we try.


Fatigue.


Yes, to a certain extent we get used to living this way, flying at ungodly hours of the day or night, across time zones, into different climates, cultures and conditions. We drag ourselves out of bed, put on the make-up, pack the suitcase, inject ourselves with coffee and work our butts off on that aircraft. Then we get somewhere incredible (I'm writing this in a hotel room in Hong Kong) and shrug off the weariness, scrape off the make-up and, allowance in hand, shake our over-worked booty out the door for some form of sightseeing activity, ignoring "The Big F". We see and do things that a 'normal' job would not allow us to do, and to some it may seem very glamorous and exciting. And some days it is.


After arriving home from Paris last week, I had days off stretching luxuriously into the future...there was two of them. In a row. Glorious dreams of sleep, housework, laundry and season 2 of 90210 filled my mind - until 1 phone call changed everything. New plan: road trip to Oman. Sigh...what's a girl to do?! So, 2 days of housework / laundry / 90210 were suddenly condensed to just a few hours, with a hot dinner date at the IKEA sale squeezed in the middle. Minimal sleep would see me through - I was off to Muscat!

Self-appointed navigator for our all-female team, I toted my dodgy map and firmly insisted that the 'E44' highway would take us in the right direction. After driving for about an hour, the Burj Khalifa appeared in front of us - an excellent clue that we were heading in completely the wrong direction. Of course, like all things Dubai, the roads are hostile and confusing to newcomers. We drove down the same road 4 times before we managed to find the point to merge onto the right road...you know, the one that actually goes to Oman. Celebrations were short lived, as we arrived at the Omani border bearing passports open for a new stamp (yes!) and were told we would need a visa. Right. After a quick pit stop at the consulate, including the most unsanitary lavatory encounter never to be discussed again, we got the visas and headed off. Beware border-jumpers and groups of clueless female road-trippers, there are 4 customs stops between the UAE and Oman. It gets confusing. Luckily, after all these problems, we were informed to turn right at the next roundabout and drive straight for 250km. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Quick stop for some petty when the light came on turned out to be an issue - I voted we stick a straw in the sand and fill up that way but we went for the more traditional gas station. We got some Omani Rials out of the ATM (no receipt, thanks ATM), saw the number on the pump that said '37', generously rounded up, and paid the guy 40 Rials. Off we went, singing songs we didn’t know the words to on the Arabic radio. Who knew that countries so close in geography would be so distant in currency? The '37' was indicating litres. 40 Rials is actually the equivalent to 382 Dirhams, or 96 Australian Dollars. Oops. Would've been better off with the straw. Once finally in Muscat, we headed for the hotel. Except, of course, we had no idea where it was. A street name, yes, but no street map to find it. I don't know how other people travel, but if I'm looking for the Beach Hotel in Muscat, I damn well expect it to be standing right in front of me when I drive into Muscat. Instead we had to make a couple more stops to ask for directions, swipe a map, and take pictures of someone's pet monkey cruising the beach in their Jeep. Naturally, when we found the hotel they hadn't received our booking. Thankfully at this stage something went right and they had a room available. We ate a delicious but slightly expensive Thai dinner next door to the hotel (not as pricey as the petrol though) and crashed out, the three of us "F'd" to the max.

Unfortunately, our angry Arabian neighbour and his ongoing domestic dispute, along with some unnatural and very creepy sawing noises in the wall of our room kept us from sleeping as much as we planned - I for one hardly slept at all, convinced we were going to be abducted and sold as exotic prostitutes or, worse, maids. Determined to make the most of our quick trip, however, we were up and at 'em early in the morning, off for a stroll on the beach before our price-inclusive buffet breakfast at the hotel. It sounded perfect but, true to form, the temperature was already in the high 30's, and our relaxing beach walk turned into a sweat-fest with no relief - conservative dress codes in Oman seem to be a little stricter than Dubai, and we felt a little conspicuous in bikinis, opting to stay out of the water in public. Buffet breakfast by the pool was calling us.

Unfortunately, we get fairly spoiled in the Marriotts and Hiltons of the world when it comes to buffet brekkies. The stale croissants, watered-down juice, and Indian curry-fest of the Beach Hotel just didn't really cut it. We checked out and headed into the old town of Muscat to check out souks, forts, and palaces (mainly from the air conditioned comfort of the car, big bunch of sooks we turned into). A little bit of wandering around satisfied our curiosity and we voted to head back to Dubai, using the combined navigational skills of our memories to get us there. Another 4 border stops, 1 vomit stop and 1 (much cheaper) petrol stop later, we were home. What took us 7 hours on the way over took only 4 on the way back, which is a handy travel tip for anyone else planning a similar journey: take a map (and someone that can read it) or preferably a GPS. It's worth it. Once again, "The Big F" was taking control. Unfortunately it had to wait; I was having one of my last dinner dates with one of my best Dubai ladies who is leaving me in just 5 days from now. Fatigue or no, I was making a pig of myself with her - its tradition.

Although it was a lovely dinner, it meant that I didn't get a chance to catch up on the sleep I'd missed out on since arriving back from Paris. I managed to stay fairly lively on the flight to Hong Kong the next day, but typical onboard dilemmas left me hanging out for a glass of red wine to ease the nerves before bed. A few of the other crew members and I relaxed in the hotel bar playing pool and sharing stories, and before I knew it I was crawling into bed at 2am...only to be woken 4 hours later by the delightful sounds of my very in-love neighbours expressing their love through the paper thin walls. "EFFFFF". Unable to get back to sleep, I went downstairs for the free (re-read: FREE!!) buffet breakfast which poops all over the Beach Hotel's, then headed out with a few other crew to explore Honkers.


We decided that since it was such a beautiful clear day (it's often cloudy and overcast in Hong Kong) we would go to The Peak, an observation deck atop one of the many mountains on the island, with a great view over Hong Kong and Kowloon. It was such a beautiful day, in fact, that the 6 of us were sweating up a storm very very shortly after getting out of the air conditioned train station. Apparently Dubai has not hardened us against heat whatsoever, we were all grumbling and complaining like spoilt children! The view was worth it though, it is amazing to see such a tiny island so crowded with towering buildings, a beautiful harbour and the frequent sight of planes coming in to land at Hong Kong Airport. We took the tram back down the hill - it's such an old tram that the seats face only one way and you sit backwards going down the very steep hill - and wandered over to the SoHo area for dinner. It's a long but narrow alley stretching up a hill, plastered all along with multi-cultural restaurants and bars. It's fabulous, and most of the bars offer Happy Hours anywhere between 3-9pm every day of the week. After a long day full of walking, sweating and whingeing, a decent sit-down and a sizeable meal pushed all 6 of us over the brink. We were now all totally and completely "Effed". After such a busy week, with less-than-minimal sleep, I was incapable of talking anymore. The quick nap on the train gave me just enough energy to stagger back to my hotel room, turn on my laptop and compose this long-winded piece on the benefits of getting enough sleep. If I had not been so under the influence of "The Big F", I would have made way less spelling and grammatical errors and it would have been done ages ago.

 

So in summary: yes, I love the fact that I get to travel to amazing places with amazing and fun people. I don't care if things happen that would stress most other people out because I know these are the things that make the best stories (except paying $100 for a tank of petrol - that's just silly). I will endure any condition, illness, sleep-deprivation or weather in order to have the adventures and experiences that I do.

BUT.


If I don't get enough sleep tonight, and more before the flight back to Dubai tomorrow night (THANKS GOD for sending me a 2-day layover, sometimes I really do think you might just have my back), that "F-word" is going to get me. I could make a sleepy mistake, overlook some tiny detail that most people wouldn't even notice, or not be able to think quickly enough to react at a critical moment, and it has the potential to involve lives. With 500 passengers and 26 crew onboard this aircraft, I can't afford to be tired. If I'm "Effed", we're all Effed.