Leaving for Home

San Donà di Piave → Milan Linate Airport

I barely slept—restless, awake half the night—so when 7:30 am rolled around, I was already up, thankful I’d packed the night before. At 8:45 am I said my farewells to John and his two dogs, Charlie and Jack—oversized poodles who look as if they’ve been bred for battle rather than grooming competitions.

It’s only a short walk to the Centro Bus Stop, and I’d hoped to find a Posta along the way to send off postcards to the grandchildren and my hairdresser, finally. I asked a shopkeeper, who pointed vaguely across the road toward a wall by “Snack Bar Martin.” I wandered up and down with no luck, asked another local, and the two of us searched together before I gave up entirely.

I was aiming for the 9:10 bus, but another one rolled in early, so I hopped on.

Fare: €2.80 (NZD 5.73) for the 25-minute ride.

At the bus station, the train station was only a short walk away. That gave me some extra time once I reached Venice Mestre to mail those postcards finally—there’s a postbox outside on the left as you exit the station for anyone who ever needs it.

The first train arrived on time with a change at Verona, but I had over an hour between connections. As I studied my schedule, I realised I was cutting things very fine for my 5:00 pm flight out of Milan. In Verona, I bolted to the ticket office and discovered an express high-speed train leaving at 1:02 pm and arriving at 2:15 pm.

That meant arriving more than an hour earlier than planned, and at 250 km/h, it was an easy choice. Best €13.60 I’ve spent—because even with the extra time, it still took me over an hour to travel 7km to the airport via the metro. If I’d stayed on my original timetable, I would’ve missed that flight.

Cost of missing it? £614 (NZD 1425.90).

The metro journey required two connections:

Green Line M2 – 6 stops to Sant’Ambrogio

Blue Line M4 – 10 stops to Linate Airport

I told myself I’d been lucky that another train was available. But maybe luck wasn’t all of it—I'd asked God to open a window, and He did. He hasn’t failed me yet.

Milan → Rome

It’s a long hike from the metro to the Air Italy check-in counters. And once you’ve checked in, you have to walk all the way back again to reach customs and the duty-free.

Airports today are unrecognisable. Once, duty-free meant perfume, alcohol, chocolate, and tobacco. Now it’s full-blown retail therapy—bars, cafés, restaurants, boutiques—every one of them ready to extract those last Euros before you fly.

The flight to Rome left late. Three passengers arrived just two minutes before departure, so we sat waiting while the crew held the door open for them. Eventually, we were rolling down the runway at 5:10 pm, touching down in Rome at 6:10 pm. Nothing remarkable, but perfectly fine for a short hop.

Rome → Beijing

Rome Fiumicino—Leonardo da Vinci Airport—is bright, polished, and loud with shops and cafés branching in every direction. I didn’t have long before my next flight, but I still had one last bottle of beer from the day before that needed finishing before customs. (A man must honour his commitments.)

Despite all the walking between terminals, I still clocked 7.23 km inside the airport.

My Air China flight to Beijing was on an Airbus 700-300ER cruising at 10,568 metres (34,671 ft) with an outside temperature of –62°C, travelling 987 km/h.

The plane was in good condition with decent leg room—far more comfortable than the Air Italy Neo. The crew were friendly. Dinner was beef and rice with vegetables, a bread roll, sponge cake, and two paper cups of red wine. The middle seat beside me was empty, which felt like an unexpected luxury.

The woman on the aisle fell asleep immediately after dinner, drifting off like she’d flipped a switch. I, however, wrestled with restless legs. I managed about an hour of sleep before the chief purser woke everyone at 2:59 am to announce the closing of the duty-free zone. (Who shops at 3 am?)

By 3:30 am, the sun was already rising, revealing a bleak, snow-covered Mongolian Steppe far below. I watched two movies through the night and another during breakfast.

Breakfast options were shrimp porridge or an omelette. I chose the omelette—it tasted like a slice of warm rubber. Edible, but only just.

As we approached Beijing, the landscape shifted from barren to hazy. A thick mist—apparently normal pollution levels—hung over the city. Strong winds pushed the plane from side to side as we descended, wings rocking like a boat on choppy water. We were all relieved to be on the ground.

Beijing Transit (11 Hours)

I’d expected a Times Square-like welcome—bright lights, giant screens, Beijing’s best on display. Instead, the airport felt plain and strangely empty, like we’d stepped back into a COVID era. Most of the shops were closed. Very few travellers. More staff than passengers.

The WiFi situation was poor, and once I’d passed security and passport control, there was no going back—not even to find a better signal. My SIM data had run out, too, which didn't help.

The day dragged as I wandered the long concourses. Only later, on the next flight, did I learn Beijing has a newly opened second airport—and most international flights now go there. That explained a lot.

On the plane, the seat was cramped, and when the passenger ahead reclined fully—practically into my lap—I called the stewardess. The woman beside me offered to swap with her husband, who was seated at the bulkhead with generous leg room. I grabbed the opportunity with both hands. His loss, my salvation.

Meals were surprisingly decent:

1 am dinner: Chicken with pasta

Breakfast: Chicken with rice

We cruised at over 10,000 metres, reaching 1085 km/h with occasional turbulence requiring seat belts.

Arrival: Auckland, New Zealand

We landed at 5:40 pm. I didn’t exit the terminal until 7:30 pm. Endless queues, repeated checks—even in the “nothing to declare” lane that used to be a breezy walk-through.

I checked hotels and hostels, but everything affordable had vanished. Car hire? No cars are available anywhere. The next bus to Hamilton and onward to Tauranga wasn’t until 9:25 am, so like many others, I camped out at the airport overnight.

The bus trip was uneventful, and I reached Tauranga at 2:30 pm.

Back Home — For Now

So here I am, back in Tauranga, New Zealand. Next on the list is pushing to get my hernia operation sorted, and then—if all goes well—I’m off again:

Sri Lanka → India → Pakistan → parts of the Middle East → across Africa → Morocco → and then Europe via Gibraltar.

I’ll keep you posted. I’ll also blog some adventures around home while I wait.

Thank you for sticking with me through this long journey. I’m aiming for ten thousand subscribers this year—but if not, that’s okay. I’m just grateful you’re here, following along, and sharing the ride with me.

So far, what an incredible journey that took me through 41 countries and almost 60000 km.

Distances Travelled:

17 Flights 34894 km: 8 Ships 1664 km: 75 Trains 8769 km: 70 Buses 10571 km: 33 Trams 304 km: 14 Cars 715 km: Walking 2332 km: Bicycles 116 km: Scooters 89 km: Total 59453 km

Not bad for a 72-year-old with two artificial hips and a hernia.