From melting midday heat in Honiara, to chilled, fragile aeroplane oxygen, to Brisbane on dusk.
Outside the terminal the warmth is striking. Not hot, warm. Still t-shirt and shorts but also move-without-sweating.
As I wander to the train station the world glows with the falling sun. Pools of red form on metal panels, occasional orange strokes of cloud hang over the horizon, and the light is kind enough for even the concrete and tarmac to look forgiven.
Next train 4 minutes
Over the road from the platform giant, billowing purple trees, sway back and forth in the breeze. The air smells sweet, like purple flowers.
In the distance, out in the suburbs, lights are being turned on and I day dream about a 1,000 barbecues, imagining happy tanned people in tidy backyards. Deciding, as the train pulls into the station, that the nicest place is probably the one where you never actually stay but just get to glimpse as the evening gives out and you continue on your way.