Its 12.33 pm on 28th of June 2006. I am on the Piccadilly Line bound for Heathrow airport. London is hot today
and everything seems to be running as normal.

There are two guys sitting next to me. They are chatting and singing. Everybody else is quiet. They are tourists; they don’t obey the rules of silence.

Earl’s Court - as we leave central London the carriage gets empty. No more tourists, they all got off at Harrods, now just silence.

A man employed by London Transport enters the carriage. He sits down, puts on his glasses, and turns on his Ipod, which hangs neatly around his neck like a precious piece of jewellery. He picks up a paper and starts to read.

We are over ground. I see the roofs and chimneys of hundreds of terraced houses; London’s trademark
architecture.

A woman employed by Heathrow Airport gets on the train. As she sits down she reaches down into her handbag,
pulls out her official identification card and fits it around her neck (like a precious piece of jewellery). It says BAA, her name, her signature, her picture and some numbers. She is wearing a shirt, the pattern of which resembles that covering the seats.

We have arrived. Where is terminal 3?

The flow is constant. Heathrow is a maze full of people trying to leave; leave either for London or other destinations.

Outside people smoke and chat. There is a British/Indian girl on the phone.

I have to check in at zone E, Terminal 3, flight NZ 0001 for LA-Auckland at 4.15 pm

As I enter the door for zone E, I pass by a lorry unloading Xeroxes.

LHR offers everything from trash shopping to high-end trash shopping. From my seat at Caffè Italia I can see as
diverse outlets as: Tie Rack, Worldnews, Kurt Geiger, Reiss, Virgin Mega Store, Boots, O’Neill’s, Dior, Starbucks, Channel, Books Etc. and Bagel Street. Right in front of me is parked a car, a Bentley I believe. People look at it, sit in it, touch it.

There is a healthy mix of people and the atmosphere is relaxed. People are waiting, waiting to leave, in the
meantime they watch the World Cup on Emirates specially arranged screens: a triptych with results – destinations – the match.

I have boarded the plane. My home for the next eleven and a half hours is a Boeing 747-400 operated by Air New
Zealand. I am sat on seat 48H. Around me are mainly middle-aged couples and the Fijian Rugby Team. There is a
monitor sat in the seat in front of me showing images of Extra ordinary places - Mokoia island – The spirit of waking – My solitary place – New Zealand I suppose.

The flight attendants are checking everything is ready for departure, while calm ambient music comes out of the
speakers above the aisle. The captain is announcing the route: Scotland-Iceland-Southern Greenland-Canada-Las
Vegas and then Los Angeles. I wish I was sat by the window.

Snowflake
Qatar Airways
PIA
Virgin
Korean Air
SAS
Air Canada
BA
AA
KLM

We are joining a queue of 7 other planes all ready to take-off from the eastern runway, each plane takes about a
minute.

We are speeding up, there is a strong vibration going through the skeleton of the plane, we are in the air.

I can see London in the distance but not for long, I will be back.

A little girl is being carried away by her dad, she wet herself but still smiles.

The flight crew are also smiling as they hand out menus and immigration cards. They are doing their best to make
the little girl, the rugby team and the American immigration happy. The monitor in front of me now offers a wide
selection of in-flight entertainment – Watch – Listen – Games – Discover – New Zealand. Out of my armrest I pull a high-tech personal remote control. On the back it has a phone, on one side a credit card reader, on the front a combination of joystick, game control, channel control, volume control, service call and a button to turn the reading light on and off. The remaining side is almost empty or useless except for a few buttons. As I start using my personal entertainment/information package a crewmember announces over the speakers that they will have to restart the entire system as some of the screens do not respond. Instead I pick up the in-flight magazine. On its front cover it suggests to; Get off the beaten track.

Drinks are served, what a relief, the air con is drying out my face.

People around me are reading glossy celebrity packed magazines. I wonder what Posh is up to in Germany. I wonder if Angelina and Brad’s little one is behaving. I wonder if Keira really snogged Johnny. I have never tried soduko but that is another common activity.

Dinner will be served soon, there is a choice between New Zealand lamb casserole with roast vegetables and chicken with rice and a sauce.

The screens are back on.

I have got to go to the lavatories for a pee. I experience a slight confusion, a confusion provoked by a lack of space. Where is the paper and what to do with it once you need to get rid of it again? As I wash my hands the soap leaves me with a very particular and special sensation – Manika hand wash/living nature made of New Zealand with Manika oil and honey. To gentle cleanse. Very pleasant.

The dinner arrives, I went for the chicken, with pasta rather than rice, somebody must have been misinformed. As I finish the wine arrives, I go for a Pinot Noir, a good compliment to my chocolate mousse?
The woman sitting next to me decides to eat her dinner wearing headphones and watching a film. Her husband the
same.

I might try to venture into my entertainment choices. A film after dinner? Why not.

I have the following genres to chose from: Action/Thriller – Drama – Comedy – Family/Kids – Festival/Foreign – New Zealand – Classic. I fancy comedy and go for Casanova.

Casanova: I seek a moment that will last a lifetime.


The screen is very pixelated and flickering, a stark contrast to the monumental presence of Venice’s architecture.
Venice the city of eternal flow; the flow of water, once the flow of trade and culture and these days the eternal flow of tourists. Venice, like the rest of Italy, has become one big walk-in, sleep-in, eat-in, drive-in museum with a failed car industry and excellent food.

Passing over Nuuk, the capital of Greenland. Very white from above. Very white. Very vast.

A member of the cabin crew is announcing that they will have to re-start the entertainment system once again. I
wonder who gets the young signorina - Casanova or Paprizzio?

We are aiming for LA, but most people will continue their journey further west to New Zealand the country of which the nice hand soap is made. I am aiming for LAX and then later Fiji, Auckland and then later London. I am aiming for London.

The entertainment system is up and running again.

Out the window I see big chunks of ice gathering in smaller and larger groups. Ice floating North – South – East –
West. Their future existence depends solely on their destination, a destination determined by the current.

I am trying to fast forward to the point of the film by which the system stopped working, but it proves difficult and I return to the main menu. Who cares about Casanova anyway? A man that seeks a moment that will last a lifetime; something easiest achieved in Venice by purchasing a souvenir.

Route 66 – a linear village – a peoples journey.

Some watch movies, some play computer games, some watch documentaries about possible destinations, some
listen to music, some are simply just watching a computer simulation of what is underneath the aircraft.

Second round of food is being served, which means LAX is 2 hours away.

It is still perfect daylight outside; we are following the day – trying to catch up with the night.

If you can rely on anything in LA, it is that it is ever changing. Welcome to LA, enjoy your stay.

The plane is buzzing again people are awake. The estimated arrival time is 6.53 pm / 21C / west breeze / scattered
clouds.

LA, I can see your eternal stretches of suburbia only hindered by the rise of mountains and the shores of the Pacific Ocean.
I see Downtown covered in what looks like a cloud.

We have landed. The plane turns off the runway.

The Fijian rugby team have some charming light blue passports.

LAX is massive, 8 terminals arranged in a U-shape. It takes me a while to get any sense of orientation, the whole
area including car parks, highways, terminals and runways creates something that awakes previous decades utopian ideals. Very concrete, very monumental, very unfriendly. The majority of people here are Mexican, not only the workforce but also the customers.

I get $120 out of an ATM, and go for an all American dinner at McDonald’s.

The local time is 9.46 pm, which is, I don’t know, maybe 6 am in London. I am going to look for a place to settle for the night.

11.37 pm, I just had a nap but got asked to leave by the cleaners. I am sitting outside, it’s almost midnight and it
feels quite cold.
There seems to be a slight aggressive attitude here, a sort of helpfulness with an aggressive manner.
Palm trees add a tropical feel to this venture in concrete.
A constant voice is announcing bus departures by colour codes.
All the cars and busses look as if they are driving around in an eternal circle. I suppose some of them are.
A group of young Spaniards arrive. They are being guided by staff from EF language program. They are going to
spend the summer in LA learning to speak English and a lot of other appropriate things.

Airport employees leave as others arrive.

I am sat on the platform/restaurant area overlooking check-in. Close to me there is a man photographing people with a zoom lens. Stars and Stripes hang in the middle of the big departure hall, being the only authority observing him.

LAX is coming down. If it will come to a complete standstill I doubt. I am lying on the floor underneath 3
illuminated indoor palm trees. The main activity at the moment is cleaning.

It’s 5.14 am and the sun is rising over the hills east of the city. To watch the orange-red gloom through the big
panoramic window suggests cinema, suggests Hollywood. At the same time the reflections of the interior and oneself adds another spatial dimension. A wonderful scene accompanied by a sound track of security announcements in Spanish, English and French.

Just down from the window there is a man sweeping the tarmac. Above him a blackbird sits and looks after itself in a tree. Further in the distance there is another man assembling a luggage truck, they are getting ready for the first
departures or arrivals. Two fuel trucks are driving towards Terminal 2 and 1.

The first people start to arrive at the departure lounge – Asians – Mexicans – Whites – Blacks: what makes them look alike is their sporty approach to dressing and the trademark baseball cap.

As I buy a cup of coffee from McDonald’s a police officer walks up and orders a medium coffee. No sugar no milk!. $1.64 with a discount. Mine was $1.50, I went for a small.

Attention! You are not required to give money to solicitors; this airport does not sponsor their activities.

A bus arrives in front of Terminal 6. On its side it reads VAN NUYS – to – LAX. As the driver jumps out the front door she smiles and waves at me.

LA is hot today and the sky imitates the colour of a Beverly Hills Cab; light blue.

A sticker on the back of a car says: Peace through Victory. There are several other stickers celebrating US
involvement abroad. A middle-aged mother enters the car and drives away as she waves at her husband and kids.

Don’t worry about the kids! Will take good care of them.
Thank you.
Goodbye.

CNN Live, 10.21 am, 29th of July 2006: Supreme Court disagrees with the approach we have taken. 5 – 3 ruling:
Supreme Court rejected military tribunal plan…it breaks with US law and Geneva codes.

Hello sir nice hair cut, nice shirt - I am from Europe and he handed me some books about yoga and Buddhism.

A one legged woman passes by in a wheelchair, in front of her she pushes a luggage trolley on which her prosthetic is standing.

NorthWest Airlines INC LAX Team – Employee recognition program – Together everyone achieves more!

I am sat looking at the people arriving. They walk out the door in that same nonchalant/I don’t give a shit manner as a good model walks down the catwalk. I suppose every time a good model walks down a catwalk she also walks out of arrivals.

What is the point of lip jobs?

Apparently over one third of the LA area is used for infrastructure, in LAX it is approximately the same.
There is a helicopter circling above the airport trying to make sense of it all.
A big junction?

I have checked-in and I am having a coffee at Starbucks. I am sat on the terrace, a good place for observing
businessmen, families, lesbians; all shopping and strolling.

There is a young woman! Is she looking for a job or just jumping the queue?

The queue at Starbucks is never ending. Everybody knows this is the last chance to get a cappuccino before air
space and instant coffee.

As I am boarding NZ 21 the sun is setting in LAX.

We are just waiting for some luggage to arrive before we can take off.

In the meantime we watch a film about what’s awaiting us in New Zealand.

Ground speed 5 km/h
Temp. outside 19C
Altitude 35 m

I fell asleep straight away, the stay in LAX was quite tough. We just had dinner and some random film is showing. I am going to get some more sleep I really need it. We must be somewhere over the pacific. It is an 11-hour flight to Nadi, Fiji.

Good night Sex In The City Actress.

I am awake again. We are still somewhere over the pacific, I don’t know for how long we have been going, but the
film showing is definitely the second, maybe the third. Most people are asleep. It is night in LA and it will be night in Fiji when we arrive.
The plane is a Boeing 767-300 not quite as comfy as the 747 and it is lacking the award winning personal
entertainment system. Here we are left to share a screen in the old fashioned cinema way. The soap in the toilets is the same though: Manuika of New Zealand.

My nose is running. Have I got hay fever at 30,000 feet suspended between the past and the future? Is that
something making my nose run Pacific sea grass or dirty recycled air?

I fill in my Fiji arrival card.

We are now being shown how to cook mussels and make wine. Then stretches of beach, forest, vineyards, it is a
beautiful day, we are flying then cycling and back to the outdoor kitchen, set in the most picturesque of valleys.

We just crossed equator and the dateline. Greenwich and London are 12 hours away. This is where the old world
decided to position the end of the world.

Though I overslept I manage to get a breakfast. It is continental: croissant with cheese and ham, yoghurt, orange
juice and coffee.

Channel 3 – Some sort of ambient music, Radio Air New Zealand.
Channel 4 – A story about Smelly the Cat.
Channel 5 – RnB.
Channel 6 – Classic/cellos.
Channel 7 – Pop, for dancing.
Channel 8 – An interview with a comedian: Is it ok to be intelligent as a comedian? - A true artist never really knows what impact their work is going to have they just do it and that is the same in comedy.
Channel 9 – Rock.
Channel 10 – Classic pop.
Channel 11 – Rap: Wait no need to explain I’ve got a first class ticket lets just get on the next plane.
Channel 12 – Jazz.
Channel 1 – Nothing, the intense sound of nothing.
Channel 2 – Nothing.

I am wide-awake now, must have slept 6 or 7 hours. The food on offer in LAX was appalling and as I was leaving I felt weak.

The cabin is half asleep, half awake. There are 52 minutes to arrival, by then we will all be excited about the
promise of New Zealand?

There is a mother nursing her child.
There is a boy who has fallen asleep with his Game Boy in his hands.
There is a queue for the toilet.
There is a man sat next to me snoring.
There is a really gross smell coming out of the ventilation system.

Fiji who are you? What are you? You have been forgotten on this flight, in this promo-film, in this in-flight mag.
Cindy Lauber sings: Time after time, do you feel the same way, lost? Are you also waiting to get caught or maybe you just don’t care?

There is something very comforting about classic pop songs; they make you feel at home wherever you hear them. A classic pop song is like a warm unexpected hug.

There is suddenly a nice fresh smell coming out of the ventilation system, somebody must have added a bit of scent.

We are descending Nadi is 15C and the cabin crew are collecting the headphones. The screen has been turned off,
it is time to concentrate for a few moments and hook up with mother earth. The man next to me is on drugs and
sleeps forever. I can see lights underneath we have landed.

Bula – hello.
Vinaka – thank you.
The Fijian people are very nice and will look after you.
Yours to own forever.
Pure Fiji discover the south pacific secret to healthy skin and hair.
Your pace…or mine?
Experience Fiji as only bird’s can.
We have made it perfectly acceptable to run away from responsibility.

In the queue for immigration, people are browsing through brochures, looking for beach huts and possible
destinations.
It is approximately 4 am on Saturday the 1st of July and NAN is wide-awake, welcoming American dollars.

As I come out of customs, people approach me asking what hotel I will be staying at. I tell them I am in transit and they leave me alone. The arrival hall is full of beautifully dressed Fijian women with a little flower behind their left ear, all waiting to take you to their resort. Fiji is the ultimate holiday destination and you can feel they mean business as the airport is much more welcoming and friendly (and smaller) than LAX. This is the kind of place people might only come once, LAX an unavoidable junction, here they want you to come back.

The only shop that is open is a Vodaphone cellphone rental shop. My own mobile does not have any reception and it is my sister’s birthday.

HINDY GIRLS
NICE TO FUCK
(BOBS AND PUSSY NICE)

KAIVITI GIRL’S
HOLE SMELLS
LIKE
TIN FISH

INDIAN CUND IS
GOOD AND NICE
COME N SUCK IT

I go outside, the air is fresh and humid, it’s quiet, very quiet.

I sit down at The Republic of Cappuccino’s terrace. It is a wonderful morning in NAN, the birds are singing, trying to stay in tune with the constant buzz of aircon. Here there is no flow, just the random taxi arrives now and then. There are small groups of Fijians walking around and chatting, a comfortable and jolly atmosphere. A woman sits down at the table next to me with her cappuccino; she greets me in Fijian, I back in English. It is 5.10 am and my plane to Auckland is in 6 hours.

NAN is small. It still serves as prominent destinations as Tokyo, Sydney, and LA. Opposed to the utopian presence of LAX, NAN is real. Real in the sense it only has one purpose and is therefore easier to classify.

A man walks out of The Republic of Cappuccino with a take away coffee, on the back of his jacket it reads; Iraqi
freedom.

In The Republic of Cappuccino the Iraqi conflict is everybody’s conflict!

South Pacific Academy of beauty therapy, Senika Spas Fiji, is here to pick up.

When arriving somewhere at night it isn’t before the sun rises that one gets a sense of
geographical orientation. In NAN the sun rises behind the International Arrivals building.

Fiji all your girls and boys are giggling, you must treat them well?
The giggling girls and boys are all wearing what must be a Fijian trademark - a colourful shirt with an ornate flower
pattern; I might get one in duty free.

There is a picture of Ronaldo on the front page of a local paper. The Fiji Sun has Rooney on theirs.

On the way to check-in I manage to get my postcards sent. In LAX there were no stamps or post-box. In NAN there is nothing to be afraid of.

I am in the duty-free area and I am impressed by the amount of souvenirs on sale. Souvenirs that manifest
themselves in anything from t-shirts, to woodcarvings, to toy-turtles, to surf gear, to key rings, to whatever. It all
carries the slogan: BULA FIJI.

Fiji is a Pepsi country. It is funny how countries are either the one or the other.

I buy a t-shirt from Fiji T-shirt. An employee of the shop tells me that Nicole Kidman and her new husband will be coming on honeymoon soon. He didn’t know when exactly. He said he lived in LA and showed me his Californian ID card. He said they are crazy the black ones.

NZ 53, the time is 11 am and I am about to take off.

What is a bestseller? Bestseller of the week – month – year?
I don’t know

Watching yet another safety induction.

I am suspended between spots again. I can see a beautiful tropical island, but it is not real. I can see the wing of
the aircraft, it follows me or I follow it? It is part of my existence we exist and move together. We are suspended
together, but only for now. Now is everything.

Now there is only water. Water the mother of all flow.

Clouds: they are always merging, always moving, always separating, always changing shape and form. They have a purpose and after that another purpose.

I am finally going to touch down in New Zealand in about 2 hours. Am I off the beaten track or just going home?
Home to all the great promises of the Air New Zealand promo package.

I feel sick.

I put on the headphones channel 6: pop/rock classics. I really needed a hug.

Twist in my sobriety

And then jazz, its fast, its precise, its playful. Like a naughty boy, a naughty boy who one day will become a naughty man and then eventually die.

Chicken please!

Why do clouds so often simulate cauliflower and never iPods or skyscrapers?

Spicy tomato juice! The only way to get any fresh vegetables! What a lovely celery.

Whalewatch.co.nz

Local time 2.05pm, landed in Auckland.

Emirates
Singapore Airlines
Air New Zealand

On leaving the aircraft everybody is talking about home and about 100,000’s, which is something you eat.

My urine smells like the food I had aboard the plane.

I am met by fake bird song, images of vast New Zealand landscapes, Maori woodcarvings, free coffee and a nice
woman who at the sight of me says; welcome home! Thank you I reply, I know everything about you.

As I sip my coffee I continue my progression through checkout, first immigration: what’s your purpose? Then food, animal, soil under shoes check and then the warm welcome by a couple of hundred people waiting for their relatives whilst watching the World Cup. I go outside, sit down: New Zealand, wow, the sun is hot but the wind cold. It is obviously winter here.

I go to the Jean Batten food court where I buy a pizza slice and an apple with 20 US dollars, I get 23.14 NZ ones
back.
I am not sure who Jane Batten is, but I have already been introduced to her on several occasions by photographs,
small displays, signs and on the second floor there is a minor museum in her honour.

A family is saying goodbye and photographing each other with their phones.

AKL is by definition a shopping centre forward slash cafeteria. I want to explore but I am too tired, I need to sleep. I have completely lost track of time, my body and mind doesn’t seem to agree with the fact that it is only 4pm in New Zealand.

I have been told you can get a key to a shower from the flower shop on the ground floor. I need it.

It was nice.

It is 10.32 pm I have been sleeping for 3-4 hours. AKL is cold, cold and conservative, cold and middleclass.
Anywhere with such a good reputation has to be cold and middleclass.

People are still awaiting new arrivals to march out on the catwalk; one by one, couples, larger groups. They all know the pressure is on and they do their best to look confident and happy. Happy about returning, happy about what they have achieved while away.

AKL has a sense of flow, but again a conservative flow. It isn’t radical, it isn’t challenging, it isn’t accelerating, just constant enough to keep people happy without frightening them. Middleclass is deadly because accelerating and decelerating are regarded the enemy, the enemy of the unknown and eventually the enemy of the new?

AKL has everything, there is a play land for kids, contemporary art on the walls, there is a golf course just outside, there are huge screens showing the World Cup and classic films, there are shower facilities and a top floor
restaurant, there are numerous shops selling merchandise and souvenirs, there is sushi, Italian and Asian cuisine
but it all closes at 10pm because the flow is conservative. McDonald’s is still open though; at least one can always rely on ones American allies.

The flooring in the arrival hall consists of four different coloured vinyls. It is arranged in shapes and patterns that
suggest sea, land, wind, sailing. It has a predominant graphic presence. It is pathetic.

The departure lounge is empty now except for a woman cleaning, a couple of backpackers talking and a man with a broken arm. A fat boy with a hat is playing on the escalators. Another man with a little baby dressed in purple and an older girl dressed in pink comes up the stairs, immediately after they descend again. Another boy appears and then a family of three arrives, the girl has her face painted like that of a cat.

Sounds – Artport – Samsung – Café down under – Sunglasshut – Rip Curl – The great New Zealand shop – Natures window – flying saucers – Merino – Made in New Zealand LTD – Duty free New Zealand galleria – oceanic art – Sbarro the Italian eatery – Splinnker – taste of Asia – The Espresso bar, they all have their shutters down. I am about to sleep in a shopping centre like a tramp, like a homeless misfit lost in time.
AKL and Jean Batten good night.

Its 5.01 am on the 2nd of July. Two Japanese men are busy preparing sushi for the day, people are sat around
drinking coffee and the first announcements are being made for people who are running late; the whole scenario is
revealed to me as a reflection in the enormous windows looking towards Arrivals. I am still lying on the bench
protected by tall bamboo plants and a single bird yelling. The bird is very busy and very small; bits of bamboo leaf fall on my notepad. I am going to check-in. My flight is in 3 hours and 7 minutes.

Affectionate meetings, was inspired by the greetings often sighted at airports around the world. Depicting two people holding hands, the Quantas commissioned sculpture celebrates both the departure and arrival of family and friends. By the well-known Austrian artist Terrance Plowright. It is made of thirty individual pieces of stainless steel.

Check-in is not open yet. I walk outside. It is absolutely freezing.

I am drinking my coffee looking out onto the runway. Behind the runway there is landscape; hills, trees, houses. On the wall next to me are hanging four big photographs of trademark New Zealand: rugby on the beach – bungee jump – sheep - colourful seashells. Brazil-France 0-0 my flight is boarding in 45 minutes, I want to do a bit of shopping.

Bought a t-shirt.

The aircraft displayed above you is the Percival Gull monoplane in which Jean Batten, New Zealand’s most famous aviator, made her historic solo flight from London to Auckland in 1936. The elapsed time of the 14,224-mile flight was 11 days, 45 min.

Bra-Fra 0-1

As I walk towards Gate 7 I pass the chapel. I walk in. Nobody is there.

As I am being sucked into NZ 103, I realise how the jet-ways are designed for the traveller to have absolutely no
physical or visual contact with the outside. To fly is a journey in architectural solutions. Solutions meant to keep the traveller at a safe distance from nature.

I am sat on seat 12F, which is right next to the emergency exit. A stewardess asks me if I am willing to assist in
case of emergency. You just have to listen for the command – EVACUATE-EVACUATE-EVACUATE - and please if you could read the special instruction sheet.

The plane accelerates. We are in the air.

The woman serving me breakfast is the same as the one who served me lunch yesterday. A rendezvous in the air.

A film starring Bruce Willis is showing.

I am being assured by the same stewardess who asked me earlier to assist that nothing is going to happen! I look at the engine. It sits neatly under the wing. At some point we experience a bit of turbulence, the wing and the engine looks as if they are vibrating slightly, but nothing is going to happen.
And it is true nothing is going to happen, after all this is a condition not just a journey. If it were a journey there
would be the chance of not arriving at the chosen destination; the possibility of failure. A condition is absolute and whatever the vacuum brings that will be its destination. But thanks for reassuring me!

I need a good lunch in Sydney. A good Australian lunch, whatever that is? Australia, the new world; what is your
classic dish? You used to be British but hopefully you have come up with something else, something less greasy,
something that reflects your tropical condition. Show me what you are capable of, show me that you are special,
after all you were before you became, the rest is simple branding.

A young boy is helping the cabin crew handing out sweets.

I can see the shores of the new world. A new world that is no longer new but old and forgotten. The vast stretches of land, of desert, of nothing? Of truth?

We are doing a full circle above Sydney; there must be a queue. The cruising makes me realise how superior the
technology is, nothing can happen.

I suddenly feel like leaving the airport to discover the city; the old city where that overexposed armadillo postcard is to be found. In Auckland that same feeling was completely absent. It is the desire of the unknown, Air New Zealand told me too much.

A man in customs questions my journey and asks me why I don’t spend more time at each destination. I tell him I
am going to London.

Arriving in SYD feels like being back in a metropolis. Here is a flow and a diversity that gives me comfort. The noise level is high, kids are playing, adults are chatting and coffee is being made. It almost has the feeling of Southern European plazas. This is a place for relaxing, for socializing, for encounters. What a delight it is having left petit bourgeois AKL. The local time is 11.45 am my flight to Singapore is tomorrow at 8.05 am.

Just off the commercial high street you find cosy quiet areas with plenty of stools and couches, here you can sit
down and unwind. If you go up the stairs you can take in the views of take-off and the Sydney skyline.
I went all the way down past check-in section 10-18 and found this wonderful Italian place Bar Coluzzi, I can’t
recommend it enough the coffee is superb.

The three girls sitting next to me are talking about leaving, about travelling, about changing. If you are living in a
condition of constant movement, constant change then what happens to your persona and character? Will that also be ever changing or manage to stay at a constant? How can one have relationships? How can one manifest a physical presence?

The famous Bar Coluzzi may represent the best in Italian coffee culture, but luckily for Sydney siders it is situated not far from the heart of the city on the fashionable café strip of Victoria St. Darlinghurst.
Bar Coluzzi was established by former middle-weight boxer Luigi Coluzzi and his wife Elini 45 years ago and today there are two other cafes bearing the name in Sydney CBD and Randwick, but it is Victoria St. store which is the original and best known. The walls are adorned with photographs of famous people who have paid a visit such as comedian Billy Connolly and actor Danny De Vito and the café is a mecca for customers from all walks of life.

From where I am sat I can see a large Aboriginal painting. I wonder where it fits in too western art history? Obviously nowhere. The distance has simply been to far, with no possibility for exchange and comparison. No possibility of becoming part of the great western narrative.

There is a lot of art on display in SYD. I was somewhat surprised to be met by big light boxes with art photographs on my arrival, and not adverts for HSBC.
What all the pieces had in common though was how they referenced Australia in one way or another. Not random art with random subject matters, but rather an advertisement campaign disguised as something more important?

People are still checking-in, the flow is not chaotic but cosy or maybe just organised. The architecture here is not
grand but gentle, it leaves you with a weird feeling of belonging. It is not a shopping centre for shopping as much as one for dwelling, I wonder which model has the biggest revenue?

A family of four sits down. At Coluzzi you get a number on a stick to identify your order. They have number 1. I have number 4, the first time I was here I had number 19, the girl next to me has number 26, she is on the phone
talking. A man joins the family, could it be signor Coluzzi?

It’s time to write some postcards.

I order Coluzzi’s soup of the day. I get no 19 again, how lucky!

As I walk towards the post office I buy a Sydney t-shirt, I pass the departure gate entrance; it’s all goodbyes.

Hawaian HA 452 Honolulu 20.15 53 Closed
Emirates EK 413 Dubai 20.40 61 Closed
Thai TG 993 Melbourne 20.35 59 Go to gate
Thai TG 994 Melbourne-Bangkok 20.35 59 Go to gate
Gulf Air GF 149 Singapore-Bahrain 20.45 60 Go to gate
Olympic OA 8149 Bahrain-Athens 20.45 Go to gate
Egypt Air MS Bahrain-Cairo 20.45 60 Go to gate
Cathay Pacific OX 138 Hong Kong 21.25 34 Go to gate
Quantas QF 21 Tokyo-Narifa 21.40 35 Go to gate

In SYD you have a special area for people who intend to spend the night here. Tonight it seats fifteen. Nobody
can sleep; it is rather uncomfortable and cold. We are an odd bunch, just sort of minding our own business,
looking into the night. A night illuminated by fluorescent lights.

3.58 am, the gates go up and the security man announces that the airport now is open and we can go upstairs.

The man next to me spends the first moments of his day polishing an apple on his leg. The girl opposite me, in the yellow and green Australia top, keeps on reading her fashion magazine. The three Chinese girls in the next row of seats just keep on sleeping, they must have found a comfortable position. An airport employee arrives and sits down; he pulls out his portable Playstation. I am off to the toilet.

Upstairs I sit down and watch Earth TV. A TV channel dedicated to showing temperatures and weather conditions for possible destinations.

The head of security passes me and says have a good journey.

At Starbucks you can purchase The travellers limited edition city mug. An oversized mug with a picture of Utzon’s opera house.

As I am photographing a detail of Emirates World Cup display, a man asks me why? I say it is a substitute for my memory. He says he learned to play the piano at the age of 3 and can still remember. Your generation is relying too much on technological equipment. I walk away thinking he is obviously wrong, but it is not his fault.

It is 6.40 am and the sun is rising behind the tail of a Korean Air 747. In the distance I see a double-layered
motorway. It is busy. The old city and the new city interconnected.
The jet-ways emerge out of the terminal building like an octopus’ arms. They spout out human beings into aircrafts, away to other destinations, other shopping centres, other cities.
Two big Aluminium containers are being unloaded from a Malaysia 747; the way they move is fantastic, they have robotic presences.

When looking at the outside world only through huge panoramic windows, the outside becomes somewhere else,
somewhere beyond, somewhere filmic, somewhere fictional.
You watch the sun rising and setting, cars travelling to and from the city, birds flying, buildings rising and grass
growing - all to a soundtrack of announcements about elsewhere. The airport’s reality is ambiguous. It is trying to
embody and be what we know - abusing the panoramic format to propose another world, a desired world, one the
airport can only suggest but never become. A promise with the intention of becoming more than just a simple
waiting area. A promise that validates its own existence, and prevents revolt?

A stewardess is handing me a hot towel, it is refreshing and nice. I feel revitalized.

UPS – Worldwide service – Synchronising the world of commerce.

290 km/h. We are in the air.

I am flickering between World Cup highlights and the Australian landscape, both equally fascinating. A geisha
collects my empty plastic cup. All three equally fascinating.

The choice of breakfast is between braised egg noodles with roast pork and Chinese greens, and cheese-chive
omelette with veal sausage, grilled tomato and potatoes.

The highlights are now being repeated. A repetition that is equally evident in the landscape and in the white
powdered faces of the geishas.

The wing on a 747 is about the width of a two-lane motorway. The aircraft is so steady in its movement that it looks like the perfect balcony.

The landscape has changed to red. It is a perfect imitation of an Aboriginal painting. The narrative is evident; it is
getting more and more complex.

Radio Singapore Airlines plays a song by American Pop Idol Karen. The senator of Oklahoma thought Karen was
such a good role model that he decided to name a day: Karen day.

The landscape makes me think of my journey so far. I am physically and mentally exhausted. I have lost track of
time and patterns. I am lost in the abstraction of paintings and arial views. Lost in the repetitiveness of movement, of nows. I must at least have come two-thirds of the way, another two days and I will be back in London?

The cabin crew all have perfect white teeth, maybe a special Singaporean trade?
The whole promotion thing that happened on every single Air New Zealand flight is completely absent here.
Singapore Airlines doesn’t bring anybody home they just help distributing. Singapore is a refugee camp in the
middle of South East Asia. But rather than a political motivated camp as those of prior decades, it is a camp where the main objective for staying are money generating activities. A melting pot of cultural diversity. A city suspended between three major religious believes and an Eastern contra Western set of values. One of the world’s biggest banks and restaurants. A good place to set up a dentist practice?

I see what the turbulence does to the wing. Suddenly I get a fear of dying, of crashing, of never returning. If
something is a condition does that make us immortal? What if the vacuum suddenly reaches the point of
exhaustion? Will we then crash down into the Indian Ocean? And if we do so, then that Tropical Island might after all become very real and our only chance of survival.
My back hurts, let me out! Please, Tropical Island I want to lie on your beaches dead or alive.

There is a nun speaking to a little baby. Do small girls still become nuns? And if they do, is it possible for them to
exist and practise their task as intended when suspended between traditions and the vacuum?

Stir fried beef, please!

At the heart of progress: Connectivity – Living - Harmony.

We have crossed the equator again, another 201 km to destination.

We enter a cloud; light is being reflected forth and back, I am being blinded.

2.01 pm we have landed.

SIN is overwhelming. It is Huge. It is beautiful. It is perfect.

I go outside and it is hot hot hot and humid as fuck. This is a city by the equator, it is fantastically warm. I want to find the swimming pool.

At Pacific Coffee Company the thought of the day is: There is a loftier ambition than merely to stand high in the
world… it is to stoop down and lift mankind a little higher.
Quit a few young Chinese kids seem to be doing their homework in the café. Two girls are obviously fancying a boy that sits just outside the café; one of them tries to get a picture of him with her mobile phone.
Several of the students have left their stuff behind while going elsewhere. Is this a city without thieves?

I am walking from Terminal 2 to Terminal 1. Between the two I lie down under a palm tree on a little piece of well
kept grass. Taxis and buses drive around me, I am in the middle of a roundabout but it doesn’t matter. There are
other people relaxing, mainly Indian construction workers.

A bus pulls up outside Terminal 1; the crew of a Qantas carrier gets out all neatly groomed for the occasion.
The sun is setting as I venture down to the supermarket in the basement where I buy OK Magazine (Singapore
edition).

Upon arriving to SIN, I realise that there isn’t any reason to distinguish between old and new city. Singapore is one of the few developed cases where both seem to be a logical extension of each other. Singapore is by definition a junction. A junction where three main roads from China, India and Malaysia meet, and then smaller lanes are
leading to just about anywhere in the world. When Terminal 3 begins operating in 2008, Changi Airport will have an annual handling capacity of more than 64 million passengers. While transiting in SIN, I am being offered a free
sightseeing tour by coach, it requires a transit time of more than 3 hours. If so, all the modern or post-modern or
maybe just post skyscrapers are right there to be photographed through yet another panoramic window. In this
fair/zoo/shopping centre called Singapore, this is probably the closest I will ever get to see a wild Singaporean
Geisha.

Just had a nap outside Caffe Ritazza – Cambodia – Sao Paolo – London – Paris – Malaysia – Stockholm – Singapore.
The woman sitting opposite me is copying something in Chinese.

I am trying to get to the escalator, but there are a hundred Chinese girls looking in their bags at the same time.

Yves Saint Laurant
Tommy Hilfiger
Clinique
Estee Lauder
DKNY
Kenzo
Lancome
Jean Paul Gaultier
Issey Mayake

The true Language of the airport, each manifested in its own branded typeface.

Do you speak Jean Paul Gaultier?
Do you speak DKNY?
Do you speak Issey Mayake?
The language of the pristine haute couture souvenir.
A language less literal? The language of appearance. The language of identity. A language that doesn’t care about
nationality and geography?
Functional signposting done in minimal sans-serif fonts ala Helvetica. These are signs that shouldn’t be
misunderstood. No sex, no irony, just plain action.

As I am checking my email, two people leave the café and walk in different directions.

An Indian man delivers sandwiches, the Chinese barista signs.

At Changi Airport we guarantee all prices no higher than similar off airport outlets, established department
stores and fixed-price shops downtown; otherwise, we’ll refund you double the price*

It is 8.23 am Tuesday the 4th and I just woke up in the Oasis in Terminal 1. A relaxation area with Discovery
Channel, Star Movies, Media Corp TV, massage chairs, comfy chairs and Internet.
Discovery Channel is at present showing a program about surviving a plane crash in Africa.

Flights are taking off outside, SIN is busy.

There is a Chinese man doing gardening and another group of Indians and Chinese doing maintenance work.
It takes a big effort to keep SIN the perfect city - the city of exquisite pleasures - the city of constant mutation.

The following fish swim in the pond of Koi:
Kohaku: red and white Koi. Especially loved by the Japanese whose national flag shares its colours. It is the most
popular variety of Koi in Japan.
Showa Saiushoku: tri coloured Showa’ Koi. Named after Japan’s Showa era from 1926-1989.
Shiro Utsuri: White and black Koi. This Koi has large imposing black spots against the white body, this is giving it a striking contrast.
Kin Matsuba: Golden metallic pine cone’ the rich golden colour of the Matsuba with cone-like coloured scales are
treasured for its all specious glow.

I sit down at the Caffee Ritazza right opposite Sweet Treats. I order a cappuccino, a banana and a chocolate muffin.
Two geishas are relaxing before going to work. A third joins them she is without uniform. The geishas uniform
suggests and refers to a cultural tradition, and the geishas of SIN, SYD and LAX are indeed traditional, they too
drink cappuccinos, just like anybody else.

I can see a man with a long peculiar stick watering the trees in Koi Garden. He doesn’t wet the roots but the trunk.

Robosapien
Bambi
Cinderella
Bob The Builder
Nemo
I-Dog
Winnie the Pooh – are all awake, they too live in SIN, we are all living in SIN, the world lives in SIN.

A woman sits down and starts to eat rice out of a bamboo leaf; Bob The Builder looks slightly surprised, Winnie and Bambi couldn’t care less, Robosapien thinks its old fashioned and absolutely pathetic, Cinderella seems to admire this ecological correct method, I-dog looks annoyed by the amount of attention this NONE-woman suddenly gets.

The woman working in KABOOM! Is dusting the boxes containing Bob, Bambi and Robosapien. She knows they want to leave, everybody needs to leave.

I am going to post the postcards.

I continue towards the outdoor sunflower garden on the second level. As I go outside the heat hits me, something
even the moist-fans can’t prevent.

Movie theatre for passengers only.

At Plaza Premium Lounge they offer massage, gym, pedicure, lounging and napping facilities. Opposite is the
Ambassador Transit Hotel and Transpa. A double bedroom is $64.70 for 6 hours and then another $13.90 per extra hour.

Newspapers direct Singapore. Over 200 titles from 50 countries in 30 languages. Today’s edition from around the
world.

I am looking down the corridor that took me from T2 to T1. It awakes memories of standing at The Louvre looking out Champs-Elysées towards La Défense.

I pass Remembering Singapore. I buy a t-shirt.

I spend the afternoon by the swimming pool on the roof with nice views over the runway.

Afterwards taking the Skytrain back to T2.
In the evening I watch CNN while listening to a jazz band that is playing just down the terminal.
In SIN you can get a McDonald’s delivery.

23.25 pm the geishas are handing out hot towels.

I am sat in the same row as a fat man, which means nobody is next to me, except half of him.

We are expecting clear sky in Dubai, but clouds over India. I recommend you to always keep your seatbelt fastened.

Lasagne for late dinner.

Any duty-free items?
No thanks.

I am looking out and I see lights - cities. These are places with no names.

I push the attention button by accident, trying to make myself comfortable in my sleep. Within 10 seconds 2
geishas are at my service, a man and a woman. Outside is India, only tomorrows.

The fat man is coughing. My journey is coming to an end, only Dubai and then London, another 15 hours. Where is Dubai anyway? What is it? Living in London, Dubai is a property poster. A place somewhere hot where you can purchase artificial islands. Islands named after and looking like the world just in a slightly less significant scale. The difference being, that no matter on which continent, in which country, in which city you chose to live, there will be a palm tree in your garden, something London can’t quite boast yet.

I hope Rod and David will be around!

The light is on and hot towels are being distributed, it is time for breakfast.

2.30 am local time, 31 C. We have landed in Dubai.

Italy - Germany 2-0.

DXB is completely awake and everybody is shopping like crazy. In the distance I hear a mosque calling to prayers. We are in the Middle East in a wealthy desert state. The variety of people here is complete: Arabs, Asians, Europeans, and Africans. Everybody is happily shopping, drinking cappuccinos and watching the World Cup together. If one didn’t know it would be very difficult to determine who are natives and who are visitors. The airport itself is very modern and sleek with a few attributes suggesting what might be outside.

JUMEIIRAH ESSEX HOUSE is uniquely individual. With outstanding service, art deco sophistication and
breathtaking views of Central Park. Offering you the luxury of personal space in the world’s most distinctive city, and the most memorable experience – your own. NEW YORK – LONDON – DUBAI.

Dubai is this one of your castles?

Here you can eat Thai, Indian, Lebanese, French and American at the same time.

A black woman enters Costa Coffee, R’n’B is playing from her mobile phone. I decide to stroll down towards gate 43. People are sleeping everywhere on the floor. I pass the Irish Village: Finest ales & stouts. Opposite is the mosque, it has a male and a female entrance, next door is the pharmacy.

In DXB it feels as if nobody even considers leaving the airport; simply everybody is transiting.

A large banner suspended in the air claims: Dubai Airport Cares.

I pass The Marhada Lounge; it has an authentic Arabic look.

Exactly 0% of passenger jets can be fuelled by wind, solar or nuclear energy.
So what is the alternative?
WILLYOUJOINUS.COM
CHEVRON
HUMAN ENERGY

6.31 am the sun is rising in DXB, it is a misty morning.

Making coffee is not only science, it’s an art.

Bought a t-shirt.

On the bus from the terminal to the aircraft there was a kid crying constantly. I am on Virgin Atlantic flight 401 to
Heathrow. I am sat on seat 52A.

Cartoons do the safety introduction; they have a very cool attitude in the most annoying of ways. As we transit
towards the runway two members of staff walk up the aisle each spraying with an air refresher can.

Outside DXB, a second terminal is under construction this place is getting big, apart from that only desert.

The aircraft makes the sound of an animal.

Have a look at some of the fantastic products we have onboard today!

Can I have a spicy tomato juice, please!

Ground control to Major Tom, take your protein pills and put your helmet on.

London to London

Is the truth to be found in the contradiction?

London to London: where are you in-between? I thought I meet you.

A journey in nows?
A journey in instant observations?
A journey in barcodes?
A journey in junctions?
A journey in wishes to return?

What’s the limit? What’s the limit?
Limits have nothing to do with me.

Track 7/19 Elapsed 43:19/03:15
Ziggy Stardust

Everybody on this flight looks exhausted. People are sleeping in awkward positions. People are watching movies in awkward positions. People are playing computer games and reading books in awkward positions. People are eating in awkward positions. People are shitting in awkward positions.

The geishas of SIN have been replaced by something slightly trashier. They are still smiling and still fulfilling their
task, but geishas they will never be.

The white guy sitting next to me rubs his belly. The man on the other side of the aisle adjusts his headphones. The woman behind me sleeps.

With a population of just under 8 million, London is Europe’s largest city, spreading across an area of more than
620sq miles from its core on the River Thames. Ethically it’s also Europe’s most diverse metropolis around two
hundred languages are spoken within its confines, and more than 30% of the population is made up of first, second or third generation immigrants.

We are experiencing some turbulence please return to your seat and keep year seatbelt fastened.

It’s my desire to give myself to you sometimes.

The London area is pretty busy at the moment; we can expect a 10-15 minutes wait.

It is Wednesday the 5th of July. We have landed in London, Heathrow. The local time is 12.45 pm.