Coming home

We are planning a last breakfast in France at the boulanger-patissier near the hotel, but of course it's shut because it's Sunday. We have breakfast at the hotel instead. Last time we flew home from Charles de Gaulle we began in an Airbnb in London, caught a cab to Euston followed by Eurostar, Metro, RER train and navette to get to the terminal. A challenge we do not feel the need to repeat, so the hotel calls us a taxi. 

The CDG experience is tedious in the extreme. It takes about half an hour of queuing just to get rid of our bags (and that's with business class priority). Further long queues at border control and at security with long walks between each queue. We finally reach the lounge in time for coffee and nibbles before it's time to board. Flight leaves about half an hour late. We manage a few hours sleep between dinner and breakfast - disembark feeling tired and overfed.

More queuing at Bangkok airport - first a long walk to a queue to reach a manual check that name on passport matches name on boarding pass, done by a very slow reader.  The queue stretches all the way back to the top of an escalator, so people coming up can't step off, nearly causing injuries before an official turns off the escalator. More walking to get to another queue for the security check. Finally we reach the lounge, but it's taken so long to get there we have less than an hour before boarding.

The next flight is an Airbus, quieter than the Boeing of the first leg. Starts with a second breakfast, which I decide is really lunch, so I have chicken and rice. Peter opts for continental brekky. Then we read. He has now been asleep for a while. I've finished my book, there is nothing in the movies that looks at all attractive. I find a TV documentary on design. Although it's very interesting I start to nod off, so I stop it and write this instead.

Four hours to go, and Australia has finally appeared on the flight path map.