Jetlag

We’re taking an Uber from the east side of Auckland to the west, since that’s where the international airport is located. We’ve booked a hotel room so we don’t have to deal with Monday morning rush-hour traffic. It’s just more relaxing that way—we’ll arrive at the airport in time to check in without the risk of being delayed by traffic. Unfortunately, online check-in isn’t available for this flight. I can’t say why. At the Auckland airport, check-in is now handled exclusively through kiosks—essentially an online process. You scan your passport, and the screen on the machine in front of you displays the flight you’ve booked. After several warnings about what you’re allowed to bring and what you’re not, your boarding passes are printed. Then you head to baggage drop-off. Here, too, airline ground staff are no longer needed. Based on the information you provided about your luggage during check-in, the tags—which are attached to your luggage in a loop and indicate your destination—are printed. You place your suitcase on the conveyor belt, which also serves as a scale, and off it goes. On the first floor, you then proceed to customs and the carry-on baggage check. The last time I passed through this area in December 2024, it was absolute chaos. I spent 1.5 hours slogging through the line. So I’m all the more surprised to find a vast emptiness waiting for us, and we reach customs unimpeded. Here, too, everything is fully automated, with no customs officer in sight. At least in theory. You scan your passport, step into a camera zone, and wait for the gate across from you to open. As I said, in theory. For me, the gate across the way doesn’t open even after the third try. That’s it. At the very end of the row of machines, there’s actually a customs officer sitting there to handle stubborn cases like mine. Gaby has since gone through the carry-on check and the body scan and is waiting patiently on the other side. Since everything went so wonderfully smoothly and quickly, we have a little time left and treat ourselves to a sinfully expensive breakfast. Our flight departs from Auckland on time, and we’re flying with New Zealand Air to Singapore first. We actually booked Turkish Air, but the first leg is operated by New Zealand Air. In hindsight, this flight turns out to be the most pleasant. Both the seat comfort and the service were very good. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the subsequent flights with Turkish Airlines. The seat rows in economy class are designed in such a way that a person of average Central European build can no longer sit comfortably for hours on end. The service leaves a lot to be desired, and if you're one of the last guys in line, you won't even have a choice of what to order anymore. 

Auckland Airport, New Zealand

The flight from Singapore to Istanbul takes nearly 11 hours. When you’ve had the passenger in the row in front of you practically on top of you for what feels like 10 hours and can’t even stretch your legs, it’s no longer just uncomfortable—it’s downright torture. Gaby has an advantage here, since her height makes it easier to squeeze her into a seat. Somehow, though, we made it to Istanbul after all. Although Tehran was way too close for my liking. From Istanbul, it’s just a three-hour flight to Stuttgart, where we land on time. Back in Germany again, even though it doesn’t feel like it. At least some things have changed. Not necessarily for the better. But first, there’s the burning question: Will the luggage arrive or not? In Istanbul, we had to check our carry-on luggage. That’s the first thing to come out. The luggage we checked in New Zealand takes quite a while to show up. Just when we’ve pretty much given up hope, the conveyor belt spits out two more suitcases, which are ours. Meanwhile, Gaby’s sister waits patiently until we step out of the baggage claim area with our luggage. We fight off the fatigue that has crept into our bodies after a total journey of 36 hours, trying to outsmart the jetlag. Our first walk around the city comes as a bit of a shock. Walls smeared with spray paint, sidewalks covered in a continuous carpet of chewing gum, and a central station that—thanks to a massive construction site—looks less like a new building and more like one in desperate need of renovation—all prompt us to draw comparisons with the cities we’ve seen in New Zealand over the past six months. In that regard, Germany clearly falls short. At some point, around 8 p.m., even matches won’t help anymore and our eyes just close. By 4 a.m., the night is over. Wide awake, I make myself a cup of coffee. This goes on for another two days. Jetlag, you know! Let’s see how long this lasts. May you always have fair winds and keep a stiff upper lip.