No sooner had I signed on the dotted line with Air New Zealand in 1965 than they shot me off to ong Kong, where I spent a year and a half in comparative luxury. Meanwhile, my father had become aviation advisor to Tonga's King Taufa'ahau Tupou IV, and he and my mother lived in slightly more primitive luxury on Tonga Tapu, the Pacific nation's main island. Nothing illustrates the similarity between jet lag and plain old sleep disruption and exhaustion than this recounting of a journey to and in Fiji, only four hours' time difference from Hong Kong. Those were the days of foreign currency control in New Zealand, and no credit cards, so I relished the freedom we had to buy US dollars in Hong Kong. My wife and our two small daughters left Hong Kong three days ahead of me to spend a little time with the girls' 'grandies' back home in Auckland, leaving me to work my way down to Auckland via Manila, then Brisbane and Sydney through Sunday night and most of Monday. From 1800 on Monday night until 2100, we enjoyed the New Zealand version of the fatted calf, and then climbed back on board the Fiji flight for another three-hour sector before a few hours' planned rest in Nadi.
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