None told me that Virgin Australia business class could just mean a 2A seating with 5cm extra leg room while sipping milk tea in a ceramic cup.
Color me not impressed.
—
I caught myself staring—unable to peel my eyes away from the flight attendant’s fake lips.
Fake lips.
Australia, is it about time we had that conversation? I’d always thought fake lips were a South Yarra-specific phenomenon. Because in the western suburbs, you don’t see them much. Or perhaps we just can’t afford them. But this isn’t a beauty blog, so let me backtrack.
“We’re just delayed. We’ll be boarding soon,” she said, shooing me away with practised efficiency.
Virgin Australia Domestic Business Class
Domestic air travel in Australia never fails to give me anxiety.
Multiple flights heading to the same city depart within minutes of each other, often from gates positioned side by side—as I discovered when two Virgin flights to the same destination boarded across from each other at Gate 7. Gate changes are practically a given, delays feel routine, and broken display screens are more common than working ones. On this trip, I managed to experience all four inconveniences in one go.
Then there are the passengers themselves. Some forget to queue, others simply can’t be bothered because there’s no real space to line up anyway. In front of me, a man launched into what sounded like a life-coaching seminar; for a while, I thought he was talking to his girlfriend. A pair of bogan grandmothers erupted into a full-blown argument. The captain announced we should brace for turbulence and added that he hoped to speak to us again soon—words no passenger wants to hear. And finally, the flight attendant reassured us there was simply “a lot of traffic in the air.”
I know I complain a lot about flying in Australia, but it’s hard not to when I’ve been spoiled by a decade of Singapore Airlines. I try to ease the experience with small rituals: a slice of Brunetti cheesecake and a cup of chamomile tea before boarding, a self-made comfort combo to soften the edges of travel. Domestic flights don’t serve meals, not even in business class (just tea in a china), so I tell myself it’s justified—but really, I don’t know why I insist on filling up on cheese before every journey.
Perhaps it’s my way of reclaiming calm amid the chaos, a reminder that even when flights are delayed, gates are swapped, and turbulence threatens, travel is still as much about the rituals we carry with us as the destinations we reach.
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