No matter how many times we travel, the long haul from New Zealand to France does not get any easier. Now that we have our own house in the Pyrenees, the standard route has become Wellington-Auckland-Shanghai-Frankfurt-Toulouse-Quillan. It’s as long as it sounds, and it does not take much to make it longer – just one or two delays and it becomes tortuous, and you just know that something unexpected will happen along the way.

Typically we leave on a New Zealand evening, so by the time we reach the airport to ‘start’ the journey, we have already been up for a whole day. We know we have around 28 hours of flying which, with transit time factored, means most of two days before we can enjoy a proper night’s sleep.

This trip is no exception. I finished work on Wednesday, had the day to pack for the five of us on Thursday (relentless rain made the necessary loads of washing more difficult), then off we went to the airport on the Thursday evening. I was a bit worried about the weight of the suitcases – with two boxes of books to include, every bit of space and kilo of weight counted. Having weighed the bags on the bathroom scales and knowing how tightly the cases were packed, I knew it would be touch and go whether we would get away with it.

Since we had plenty of time before our first flight left, and to avoid a taxi fare, Stephen dropped us off by car to check in, then returned the car home before catching the bus back out to rejoin us. The bags could be checked all the way to Toulouse, but with the first flight being just domestic we did not have to be at the airport too long in advance. That’s always a bit less stressful. As it happened, a bit of cheeky juggling of contents was required to remove 2 kg of weight from each of the two larger suitcases. A couple of extra items to be worn, and a spare bag came in handy for an extra item of hand luggage. Done.

While we waited for Stephen to rejoin us, we took the opportunity to chat to some New Zealand police officers, since Nicholas (5) currently wants to be one when he grows up. Had we seen the Prime Minister go past, they asked? No, what? Wait. We missed Jacinda? What?? We must have been looking the other way at just the wrong moment, but Nicholas enjoyed chatting to them instead. Kindly, they offered Nicholas the chance to wear a police hat for a photo, but he came over all shy. Fair enough. As it turned out, police would be a bit of a theme of the trip and these two were by far the friendliest.

The first short flight was delayed due to earlier weather issues causing a backlog, but we eventually got away an hour later than scheduled. This made the turnaround at Auckland a bit tighter than ideal and no time for the planned subway sandwich for those of us who don’t like airplane food. So that was a good start for the teenagers. Some of us were then a tad air sick on the first 11 hour leg despite not really having had anything to eat, but we’ve all developed our ways of managing. I’m generally pretty good most of the time but I’ve found a combination of sleep deprivation and air pressure (lack of oxygen) tips me over the edge from time to time.

So it was a relief to reach Shanghai, and for once the international transfer here was relatively seamless. Last time we passed through, Stephen made the mistake of bringing his contact lens solution in a bottle over 100mls. The border staff insisted on testing the substance for flammability to confirm what it was. This consisted of attempting to set fire to a small amount of it on the metal table top – and drew back-up of several police officers and border security staff with weapons.

Transit at Shanghai includes a mandatory health quarantine check, which seems more of a formality, then we had seven hours transit time in which to eat and sleep. The boys, who had not eaten on the flight, stocked up on burgers. We had a coffee and then took turns to lie down on the floor and get some shut eye. I think all of us got a couple of hours or so and that helped ease the fatigue a little before the second leg to Frankfurt.

We’re now familiar with Frankfurt, having passed through there several times in one or other direction. On our last pass, we were halted at the border control in transit on some matter of stamps in the passport – or lack of them. We were on the way out, for goodness’ sake. This time, for his latest party trick, something in Stephen’s backpack tested positive for explosives. Well naturally they take that sort of thing seriously, so reinforcements were called for, and the contents of his bag were spread over the table top. Four armed police officers, including one with a machine gun at the ready, positioned themselves around Stephen and Tom as they waited for the process to be completed and the rest of us watched on, Nicholas with eyes like saucers. Of course, nothing was found. ‘”Alles gut?” I asked the armed officer as he turned to leave. “Alles gut,” he replied as if it was nothing. Nicholas was not so sure: “He’s not going to shoot my daddy, is he?” Certainly not.

So by the time we arrived in Toulouse at midnight, we were all, in our own ways, well and truly ready for the airport hotel room bed. Heading to the baggage claim to collect our cases, Nicholas stationed himself by the carousel to get a good view. Two large men, seemingly displeased at Nicholas’ young presence, looked at him askance and next minute, one of them hauled Nicholas up by the armpits and deposited him back from the conveyor belt. Nicholas promptly started crying as the guy had been more than a bit rough. I gave them a look, which I think they interpreted correctly as the older of the two attempted to excuse his younger friend: “Don’t mind him, he’s a bit forward.” I might have accepted this at face value but in his next breath he observed (in English with a heavy accent): “I don’t really like children, but he is okay. He is blondie blond (ruffles hair).” What the heck?! Did he really just say that?

At that point I focused all my attention on collecting the suitcases and getting ourselves out of there and into the relative safety of the hotel. Sleep came quickly. Tomorrow would be another day, with more travel (and likely more unexpected events) ahead before we reach our final destination.