Flying

I'm back in Christchurch now - I was in Palmerston North for christmas, and spent an amazing week in Wellington. I'll blog about the latter later, but I'll just write about my return journey here.

I met up with Simon and Luke, who drove me to the airport. "Thanks for everything", Beth and I said to each other, which is all we can ever say, instead of goodbye.

The plane out of Wellington took off steeply, over the city. I had a window seat, and just stared. I could see the Basin Reserve, and Beth's house. The plane turned around to head south. Flying over the Cook Strait, the water was covered in white caps, which looked like an immense school of fish; or an immense collection of rubbish.

Nearing Christchurch, a nor'wester was blowing, so the plane flew over the whole city. It was so beautiful. I saw my flat, and followed the path of the Avon River. "It's a good day for flying," the air hostess had said, echoing one of my favourite Belle & Sebastian songs.

Beth once said, "I don't know how people can read or fall asleep on a plane. It's so fucking beautiful."