The Bar in the Sky

Armed with a litre bottle of gin, two bottles of wine and a couple of already overweight cases, we were delighted to discover at check-in that Australian domestic flights do not enforce the carry-on baggage liquids rule. We were therefore able to avoid paying extortionate excess baggage fees and the risk of opening our cases in Perth to discover that our two expensive bottles of wine had broken, spilling their contents all over our clothes so that we not only had to walk around with red splattered apparel but smelt like alcoholics. Of course, that also meant that as well as a laptop case and a large (very heavy) bag each, we also had to lug around the bottles of booze but, in my opinion, that was definitely a price worth paying.

After nearly missing the flight thanks to an overly helpful assistant in the optical shop who insisted on describing in minute detail the benefits of every pair of sunglasses they displayed before we were allowed to make our choice, we finally plonked ourselves down in the tall-person-heaven emergency exit seats. We were then told by an air steward, who must be the only person under the age of eighty to use brylcreem, that the fate of the entire plane rested in our hands in the event that we start plummeting to possible death, which really put us at ease. Luckily though, the flight attendants came round with drinks soon after take-off and a mini bottle of wine was passed into my grateful hands. I do love Australia. On our eight hour flight from Kuala Lumpur to Adelaide, I was presented with a dribble of pretty awful wine in a plastic cup and then was never asked again. On this three hour flight I was given an entire mini-bottle of excellent vino and then asked if I wanted another when they came round to take away our food. I hesitated for, oh, perhaps a second before replying that I did. Well, it would have been rude not to. All I can say is, I’m glad that everyone on board did not end up relying on me to provide a safe passage off the plane.

We were driven from the airport into the centre of Perth by a very chatty taxi driver. That is to say that he was chatty with The Husband but, as I don’t know anything about cars, he managed to ignore me for the entire thirty minute journey as that seemed to be the only topic of conversation he was interested in. That was fine though as it gave me a chance to take in the scene passing by the window. Unfortunately, as with most city airports, it was quite a way out, and we mainly drove through dull and dreary industrial areas, bypassing the centre altogether and arriving at the hotel from the outskirts, so I didn’t really get a feel for the city at all.

As soon as we pulled up outside the hotel we realised that this was no Amari. Unlike our arrival at the five star Amari Orchid on our first day in Pattaya, there was no bell boy waiting to open my door and swiftly take our cases away. There was no beautiful, smiling woman greeting us before leading us to the swanky lobby, settling us on a plush sofa and presenting us with welcome drinks and cool flannels. No, we had to haul our suitcases up the steps ourselves and wait in the narrow lobby to check-in behind a queue of others, before heaving our four items of luggage into the tiny lift. The room was clean and adequate but was hardly luxurious. The ridiculous thing is that this hotel probably cost the same as the Amari. I don’t think we’re in Thailand anymore, Toto.