Early in December, I went home to the US for a month-long visit. Originally the visit was planned to attend a Christmas/Retirement Party for my Dad, but when he decided to push retirement back a few months, the focus of the visit shifted. I had planned to do some business while I was there, including visits with old and trusted doctors (yes, I paid out-of-pocket to visit my doctors), and to arrange to have my 401K rolled over to an individual retirement account. But the main focus of the visit became seeing family and shopping for things I cannot find, or are ridiculously expensive, in Australia. (At $25 for a trade paperback book, who can blame me for planning to load up an extra suitcase with books. Even with the $70 checked bag fee for the extra bag, I come out ahead.)
I booked my trip for my convenience, not considering the hardship I would place on my dearest in getting me to the airport in time for a noon flight out of Melbourne. But everything worked out, and I had a night t the airport hotel before I left. I had stayed at the hotel, when it was a Hilton property before it changed franchises to the Park Royal brand. I was interested to see the changes. Frankly, there were not many to speak of. The restaurant menu changed, but who would expect it to be exactly the same 3 1/2 years later anyway? I am sorry about one item, because the first time I was there, we had a fantastic trip of dips with excellent naan bread. I did miss that; the replacement item was a disappointment compared to the memory. The rooms themselves had not changed significantly, though I did find it strange that the bed had no top sheet. I was not sure if that was an oversight in my room, or a hotel-wide decision, but either way, I noted the absence.
Dearest and I drove up to Melbourne when he got off work Monday evening, and we had a wander through the airport looking for last-minute souvenirs for family members before we shared dinner and he left me. Goodbyes at airports are never easy and this was no easier than the others we had in the past. Even knowing that he would join me in the US in two weeks did not make it easier for me to watch him go. After he left me, I turned on the tv, trying, and failing, to find something distracting to watch, so I ended up just flipping channels until I fell asleep.
My flight was not until nearly 1pm, and even with check in 3 hours prior to that, I was in no real rush to get to the airport in the morning, so I dawdled a bit, taking a leisurely shower and watching some more fluff tv, before rechecking that I had everything I needed and everything was packed securely. I checked out of the hotel and wandered over to the airport about 9:15. I lined up for check in, and was checked in by 9:40 -- not that long a wait, and the check-in agent was helpful. He even moved my assigned seat on the flight from Melbourne to Sydney as I was in the middle of a school group. As it turned out, rather than being on the aisle of a full row, I had an entire 4-seat center row to myself for that flight, so that was a nice, and unexpected bonus.
After check in, I stopped to fill in the card required for anyone leaving Australia, send a text to dearest, and then head through passport control and security. There was a fairly long line to passport control, but it moved quickly so I was through that in no time. Security screening had a shorter line, but took significantly longer, as the line I was assigned was halted so that flight crews and people in danger of missing their flights were taken first. Airport security is the same the world over -- never enough space at the beginning and never enough tables/seats at the end to rearrange and repack everything you have to unpack. But it was smooth and the agents were civil.
After security, I wandered through a mall of duty-free shops before finally arriving at the gate area. I still had over an hour and a half before my flight, so I went in search of something to eat, and found a fairly decent ham & cheese croissant and bought two bottles of lightly sparkling mineral water to have on the flights. In the end, I am glad I bought the second bottle. After eating, I wandered back to the gate to wait for the flight. As it turned out, the flight was delayed getting in, which would delay it getting out, but the flight from Sydney was being held as they needed this plane for a flight to LA from Sydney. We were about an hour delayed out of Melbourne, meaning that I had just enough time to gather my stuff and race to the next flight in Sydney. The only good thing is that the gates were literally right next to each other, so I only had to race down one jet-way and up another. Still, tight connections make me crazy and I was nervous about it until I sat down and got my gear stowed. I did not even have enough time to make a call to anyone to alert them I had landed in Sydney.
There is nothing good to say about a 14 1/2 hour trans-Pacific flight. You are captives in a metal tube trying to avoid the effects of gravity while waiting for the earth to turn beneath you. And airlines cram as many people as possible into those tubes, while giving people just enough space to be just this side of uncomfortable for the duration of the flight. While I am not in favour of having to pay more for the flights, which are insanely expensive to begin with, I am certainly in favour of paying more if it meant fewer people would be on each flight and each passenger would have more space for the flight. But trans-Pacific flights are what they are. And this one was not the best one I have ever taken.
It started out fine. I was on the aisle and there was a lady in the window seat. The middle seat between us was unoccupied. We were hoping it would stay that way. We were so very wrong! Originally, a nice lady came and claimed that seat -- it was the seat assigned to her on her boarding card. But about two minutes after she got settled another lady came by, asking everyone in an aisle seat if they would trade seats with her. She was assigned a middle seat on the other side of the plane, but wanted an aisle. No one on the aisle was willing to trade with her, but the lady who was assigned the middle seat in my row told her she would, and that was an acceptable trade. So everyone got up and the seats were shuffled. Now, I had no real reason to keep my aisle seat, I have no objections to middle seats, but this time I decided to be bitchy and keep my seat. In the end, I was glad I did. The woman who ended up in the middle seat was a Samoan, and nothing against Samoans, but historically the race is not known for its small, petite people. But given the option, I decided I would rather have half a seat on the aisle than half a seat in the middle. And half a seat was what I ended up with. For the entire 14 1/2 hour flight I sat on half of my seat, with my legs in the aisle as much as possible. I tried to sleep in a sideways position, but every time I got just asleep, my neighbor had to get up and take a walk. And when she was not getting up or back in the row, she was sleeping on me. It was the most uncomfortable flight I have had in a long time.
But finally (and not a moment too soon) it was over and I was in San Francisco. The flight was late getting into San Francisco and as a result, there were no less than 10 other flights all arriving at the same time. Ten flights full of people to clear passport control and customs. It took much longer than I wanted, but finally I was through and claimed my checked bag. I dropped the bag at the re-check desk, as I was ticketed through from Melbourne to New Orleans, and went in search of a bathroom, real food, and my younger brother who had flown out to San Francisco to meet me and handle the hard stuff for me.
I came out into the International Terminal, expecting to find him at our pre-arranged meeting place. But he was not there. Even though I was on the verge of an emotional breakdown, I figured he'd be here soon. I sat down to wait and dig out my cell phone to call him. Great! My cell phone wasn't connecting to a US network. Okay, I had a spare in my bag and I dug that one out, changed SIM cards and tried again. Still not working! Arghhh! Thankfully, San Francisco has not completely divested the airport of pay phones, so I wandered over to the bank to make a call, only to find I did not have any change. It was at this point that my emotional state was overtaking all common sense. Before I broke down into a heap of tears, I managed to get $2 worth of quarters from the coffee shop and place a call to my younger brother and arranged for him to come and find me.
I really am a mess when I do not get enough sleep. And I had not really slept well in two nights, so I was really an emotional wreck when he finally found me. He agreed to take over, and sent me straight to the ladies room to take care of business and freshen up a bit. Then, when I was much more composed, he led the way to security, and then, once we had cleared that, to a Mexican restaurant in the International Terminal though a sneaky passage from Terminal 3. (Of course now that I have said that, SFO make close that sneaky passage so it will not be there the next time I fly through.) Then it was back to Terminal 3 and our gate to wait for our non-stop flight to New Orleans.
The flight to New Orleans was fairly uneventful, though we hit turbulence over Dallas. I have never been past Dallas without hitting turbulence. I think there is something about Dallas that the Sky Spirits do not like. Landing in New Orleans about twenty minutes early, we were met by our parents, and after claiming my checked bag, were on the way home. Once we got home, I checked the luggage, to find that one tooth of the zipper had been pulled out, and the zipper would not open. My Dad quickly had that repaired and I checked the contents to be sure everything survived the trip. Everything had and I headed up to bed.
The day that began for all intents and purposes 3 days ago had finally come to an end, with me falling asleep to an episode of Chopped.
More to come...
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