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The many flights we took on the Cessna Grand Caravan mentally took its toll on me. The same old actions at each stop as we flew down the East coast - land, get fuel (for both the aircraft and ourselves, I would eat alone whilst these guys went off and ate together), board the Grand Caravan again, fly another few hundred kilometres over rainy Australia, land....you get the point. It grew tiresome, and when they spoke those magical words "You know what you're doing - don't let us down," I was ecstatic. I knew that there was a very long flight ahead, but these Caravan hops were worse.
It wasn't long before we arrived at Sydney. It wouldn't be long before I was going to leave Syndey, heading for the crisp, wintery France.
The aircraft taxied up to the apron. The door swung open, and I was handed by suitcase, containing the oh so precious cargo of which I was "not allowed to see" and my flight tickets, all pre-paid. How nice, I thought, as I quickly headed over to the main terminal to catch my Europe-borne flight.
I took my seat on the 747. Wow, first class sure was comfy, I thought. For a middle-class Australian, living in the suburbs of Cairns working at the local dock, first class was a whole new experience for me. As was this job I was running.
I thought about what I had been told on the Caravan flights. The instructions they gave me were to "fly to Paris on the next Qantas flight that leaves, then find our European contact (who'll be wating for you with a sign with your name on it) and you'll be given information from there. Take the suitcase onboard with you, tell the attendants that it's a laptop, do not, under any circumstances, think about opening it, and enjoy the flight."
I had also asked these men why they chose me to run this shuttle mission. They told me that "with your experience of having worked in a charter cargo airline, you are the rightman to do it". I don't know why they chose me. All I did was fly on the aircraft, making sure the cargo was OK - I didn't even touch the controls of an aircraft. Hell, that's what I'm doing now, I thought. I'm sat, on an aircraft, making sure some cargo is delivered safely.
I sat back, put the latop case on the floor and read the safety manual of the aircraft - this was going to be a long flight.
The warm glow of the sun enveloped the aircraft and began to blind me. I closed the blind on my window, put the manual down and went to sleep.
It was dark and I felt a tapping on my shoulder. Then my eyes shot open. I looked around to find myself onboard an aircraft. Great, I thought, same routine as when I was disturbed because the in-flight meal was ready. I looked up to see a stewardess. "Fasten your seatbelt, sir, we're landing shortly".
At last, I can get off of this cramped aluminium tube, I thought as a breathed a sigh of relief.
Within at least 5 minutes of being told we were landing, I felt the wheels of the aircraft screech on the runway and saw the spoilers on the wing rise. I was in Paris.
The door of the aircraft opened and I was met with the brisk air of Europe. I forgot that i only had my Hawaiin shirt and shorts on - it was much warmer, although much wetter, back home. And here I was, on the other side of the Earth from my family, who I had no idea if they knew about this. Clutching the suitcase in my hand, I entered the terminal building. I was quite nervous - I had no idea what awaited me.
