Sleep No More…

Planes, Delays, and the Latte That Saved My Sanity.

                                                                        Parramatta

    It all started out perfectly. Our bags were packed with snacks and lunches, we arrived at the airport on time, checked our luggage, and breezed through security in under ten minutes. To celebrate how smoothly everything was going, we grabbed pints of Guinness and relaxed in anticipation of the adventure ahead.

Then—our flight was delayed.

The plane was coming from Winnipeg and had left late for reasons unknown. We only had a one-hour, forty-minute window to connect to our Qantas flight in Vancouver. When I asked WestJet staff about this, they reassured me: don’t worry, Qantas will delay departure—17 passengers are heading to Sydney.

We took off an hour late and landed in Vancouver with forty minutes to spare. It wasn’t enough. If Qantas had waited just half an hour, we’d have made it. Instead, we sprinted—me lugging the bags while Dom ran ahead. Fifty gates later, breathless and hopeful, we reached the gate. No plane in sight.

WestJet rebooked us on a Cathay Pacific flight connecting through Hong Kong. Our 25-hour journey instantly became a 36-hour travel marathon. I could feel myself teetering on the edge of a “Karen moment,” but reminded myself the ground staff were doing their best. So we hauled our bags from domestic to international and checked in again.

We didn’t have seats together for the 12.5-hour leg, but luck was on our side—one seat was in the exit row. Dom sacrificed the legroom for me, which is true love in its purest form.

The flight itself was…surprisingly good. The seats were comfortable, the food edible (actually good), and I avoided the traumatic flashbacks of my last food-poisoning incident on a France-bound flight years ago.

We landed in Hong Kong around 5:30 a.m., and I have to say: this airport is one of the best I’ve ever seen. The bathrooms were spotless, the food options endless, and the coffee—life-changing. One latte turned this grumpy, travel-worn hag into a new woman. Add in the mountains and striking architecture surrounding the airport, and I’m already planning a proper trip back.

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Onward to Sydney

The final nine-hour stretch to Sydney wasn’t too bad. I drifted in and out of sleep, avoided the clock at all costs (watching the time on a long-haul flight is like watching water boil), and studied my score. Maria Callas and Giuseppe Di Stefano’s La Bohème kept me company as I chunked through text for memorization.   

When I return home, I dive straight into rehearsals—four intense days after one crash session with my coach. Luckily, most of the cast already knows this score inside and out.

At last, Sydney! Bags arrived quickly, customs took minutes, and we were warmly greeted by Dom’s aunt and uncle. Then: collapse. Ten glorious hours of unconsciousness.

The next day, I met up with a dear friend and director in Parramatta. We talked shop—opera, theatre, and the challenges of today’s arts world. It’s oddly comforting to know that so many artists and companies, at all levels, are navigating the same storms.

Then came my audition. The trek to Opera Australia was bright and sunny, and I treated myself to a delicious flat white on the walk from Central Station. I have to say—I love Sydney’s public transit system. It’s fantastic.

When I arrived at OA, I changed into my singer disguise (otherwise known as audition attire) and met a lovely mezzo who kindly helped zip me into my dress. She had brought her baby along, who instantly won over everyone passing by. We wished each other luck before heading our separate ways.

I sang Lucia’s mad scene and was genuinely pleased with how it went—even though a head cold ambushed me almost immediately afterward. Thankfully, my body had the decency to wait until after the audition to fall apart. I’ll take that as a win.

Now we’re in full adventure mode. I’m writing from Darwin, in the Northern Territory, where we’re staying with Dom’s step-cousin and her family. It’s been wonderful to spend time with them and get to know them better.

Darwin itself is both rugged and beautiful. The outback stretches on—vast, intense, and humbling. The city has a gorgeous waterfront, but the heat is absolutely relentless. Carrying water isn’t optional, it’s survival. I can’t help but laugh that so many tourist shops here sell sweaters… in a place that only has two seasons—wet and dry—with temperatures sitting anywhere from the high 20s to the high 30s year-round.

And that sparkling waterfront? A bit of a cruel tease. The waters are home to both crocodiles and sharks, which means swimming is more of a quick, cautious dip than a leisurely lounge. Crocs, after all, are ambush predators. Damn dinosaur buggers!

Stay tuned—next week I’ll share more about Darwin, Litchfield, and Kakadu National Park!

A sunset we saw last night in Noonamah at the Rodeo.