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The plane cuts inky nighttime sky like a bullet, descending into the unknown to the hum of the engines. Suddenly the sun slices the clouds open, as if parting a curtain before a magician's show. The show is the city below. Lit up with a thousand little fires from the sun rays, now slowly reaching the earth and gently tapping on its window panes and reflecting in puddles. Sydney. The air is sticky with eucalyptus oil and refreshing with a scent of boronia all at the same time. It's slightly overcast, so we are spared the harsh heat of the late summer sun hiding behind the veil of clouds. Inside the terminal the tv screens are set to mute; they seem still half asleep. The news flash across the bottom of the screen, the silent mantra. "Italy: 245 infected, 426 recovered, France: 56 infected, 76 recovered, UK: 8 infected, 45 recovered..." In big red block capitals: "TOTAL CONFIRMED: 125, 865 TOTAL DEATHS: 4,615 TOTAL RECOVERED 67,003". The humidity hangs in the air, even here inside the heavily air-conditioned building. The crowd of passengers meanders sleepily towards the immigration desks, like a multicoloured snake. "Next!" pierces the air at regular intervals, marking the crossing for yet another soul. Is this what the Last Judgement looks like? In the corner to the side stands the silent angel of a nurse in her green uniform. It's for those unfortunate to be deemed "at risk" that she has a bored smile and an impatient wave to join her behind a partition. The immigration officer screens us with his eyes wearily. We're separated not just by the perspex screen but by the scent of a hand sanitiser and a thin membrane of latex gloves. The thin veil of distrust and maybe even disgust seems to hang in the air. The officer's eyes look tired, no doubt from a long shift of deciphering tiny rows of names and numbers in all languages of the world. He passes our passports back to us without a word and motions us through. We're in! Everything happens at twice the speed on the other side. Aussie twang corrals the crowd into orderly lanes, little beagles sniff at the piles of luggage and upon finding nothing turn their heads away unimpressed. At last we make it outside and Sydney air envelops us. A mix of humidity, smell of plane fuel and embalming eucalyptus oil. We stand there for a minute, mystified by the miracle of coming straight from the velvet darkness thirty thousand feet above into this fresh pale summer morning light. The new adventure awaits us somewhere right there, at a hand's stretch away.