We hit the road by 9am, heading for the Peugeot drop off centre, near Leonardo da Vinci airport. Due to past experience, we decided to trust MapsMe over the SatNav and were taken on a merry tour cross country and to the west coast of Italy. Along the way, tolls were few, traffic was light and thus, Rod drove down the wrong side of the road for about 200m. Some road signs were confusing – often pointing to Rome in both directions. So I guess it’s true what they say…

We arrive at the car depot with plenty of time and without delay, are whisked back to the airport by the courtesy vehicle. Check in and customs are unexpectedly smooth and quick. Our carry-on luggage consists of one back pack each. A small tram shuttles passengers between terminals and here we hit our first snag. Hamish has left his backpack on the platform and this is noticed by one of our fellow tram travellers. Hamish lets out a blood curdling scream, much to the shock and horror of everyone. The door will not open. Someone outside the tram is holding up the “George Pig” backpack. I point in the direction of the next terminal, hoping they might bring the bag with them. However, just to be sure, I leave Rod and Hamish at the new destination and stay on the tram hoping to retrieve the bag myself. When I return to the scene, I am told in no uncertain terms by a guard, “Senora, please get off the tram and head back through security.” I try to explain that I am just getting my son’s bag. Doesn’t matter. Rules and rules. Suddenly Italy has rules.

 

Now I am in a different part of the airport, nothing is familiar. Fortunately, I am holding all passports and boarding passes – without these, I would be unable to get through security. I set off the metal detector and two female security officers say something about my underwire. I am frisked, mostly around the chestal area, very hands on (it’s the Italian way). I then set off to find the shuttle tram. There is no tram. There is now a shuttle bus. I get a text from Rod, “We have the bag” – they are still standing on the platform waiting for my arrival. I hope I am heading in the right direction. My text back to Rod includes the word “nightmare” prefixed by an expletive. We finally meet at the gate. George Pig has been returned to his rightful owner and everyone is happy.

 

Our Emirates flight to Dubai is a sweet 5 hours and we fly over Cairo, the Red Sea and Saudi Arabia at 43 000 ft (not Syria, Israel, Iraq, Jordan, Saudi Arabia as the on-board flight map shows us). We have a three hour stop at Dubai airport and buy a cup of fruit salad and an egg sandwich which costs us $30. Hamish is busy doing his activity book from the previous flight. We have hooked into the free wifi. Once checked in, Hamish introduces himself to some Australian children and proceeds to entertain everyone with tales of the Brandenburg Gate, Berlin Wall and my Christmas presents. This helps the time fly and before we know it, we’re on our way to Malaysia. This is a 6 hour flight, but seems to really drag. Hamish sleeps for half of it, Rod and I get about an hour of light napping.

 

At Dubai, another Australian family gets on the plane, but these parents have the loudest, most distressed 2 year old in the world. And they are sitting two seats behind us. This child screams so loudly, it is impossible to hear the movie you are watching. I feel sorry for everyone: the child, the parents, all the passengers – but especially us. It’s relentless for no less than 2 hours at a time. We are more than happy to get off the plane at Kuala Lumpur, even though all we are doing is going through another security check and hopping back on the same plane, in the same seats for our last 7 hours to Melbourne. The family with the devil child follow us to Melbourne and everyone looks disappointed as we reboard and the child resumes its inflight entertainment. This flight, although pretty bumpy, seems to go the quickest, perhaps just because I know most of it is over Australia.

Arriving in Australia just after 2am we quietly throw around a few high fives, to the family motto of “Did it!” Customs is quick and we are positive we will be out of the airport and into our beds in the Park Royal before 3am. Wrong. We wait an hour for our bags and are among the last people from our flight to leave the airport.

 

Everyone has showers at the hotel room and we’re in bed by 4am. We have a midday check out and all sleep soundly till the alarm wakes us at 11am. Dad and Jess pick us up and before long, we are back in Wangaratta like we’ve never left.