On a Deserted Island

My flight to New Zealand was a breeze. Granted, it was a 30-hour breeze, but overall it was pleasant without anything remarkable. As these things go with curses, we did have an hour delay out of Minneapolis due to missing paint on the back of the plane, however. While the captain maintained that there was no damage, the head haunchos in Miami declared that the plane must be re-painted before it could fly to LA.

But what’s an hour when you gave yourself a seven-hour layover in LA? I’ll tell you what it is: nothing. Because hours move like days when you’re sitting on the floor of LAX charging your computer.

The flight itself was amazing. Yes, it was 16 hours, but it was filled with two meals, a snack package, movies, TV, and delightful flight attendants. The plane was so big, I legitimately didn't realize we had landed.

I began my travels at 8:30 AM on February 18^th and ended at 7:15 PM on February 20^th when I fell on the floor of the hostel at Sara and Antony’s feet. Let’s not even talk about time zones.

Since then we have left Auckland and traveled north to the Bay of Islands. So now you’re all caught up on the journey. Now let me tell you my initial observations in this foreign land.

Driving on the left-hand side of the road on the right-hand side of the car is not as intuitive as you might think. In fact, it’s not very intuitive at all.

Sara and Antony blessed me with the opportunity to drive in what we considered a fairly small town. That was the first mistake. OK, I suppose that’s two mistakes.

1.     I was not prepared to drive.

2.     It was not a small town.

The real trouble started at a round about. Now I have nothing against round abouts, and in fact believe that they are intuitive. What’s not intuitive is the left rear tire and how it will connect (rather roughly) with the curb if you’re not careful when you turn left out of said round about. Not to mention that when I turned left, I went for the turn signal and ended up throwing the windshield wipers into full gear.

You might think that’s the end of the story, but moments later while I was recovering and Sara was thanking somebody for her life, Sara tells me to pull over.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“I can’t here! And why?”

“The trunk! The boot’s popped open!”

Apparently I had hit the curb hard enough to pop the trunk. Sara and Antony were mortified, and I convulsed into ab-splitting laughter. I was crying I was laughing so hard. In traffic.

I did manage to pull over and promptly left the driver’s side of the car and let Ant take over.

We made it to Paihia, no thanks to me, and settled in at a campsite on the shore. Do I even need to tell you that the scenery was beautiful? Ocean, shells, jungle, rocks, sunset, yadda yadda.

We cooked ourselves dinner, had way too many drinks, can probably never show ourselves at this campsite again, and overall had a successful first day that ended with us curled up in our sleeping bags.

While the birds were a little loud in their chirping this morning, the day has started out brilliantly with another cultural experience.

“I’d like a large coffee”

“So a large flat white as well?”

“A what?”

“A large flat white? 2 shots of espresso with steamed milk.”

“Oh, a latte. Yeah. What’s a long black?”

“Espresso and water.”

“That. I want that. Do you have cream and sugar?”

“No.”

“Oh. The other one. Flat white?”

“Do you want it trim as well?”

One would think that this country would be relatively easy to understand, but I underestimated their coffee customs. Also, this large coffee is the size of a Starbucks tall, and cost me $4.80. Another thing I’ve noticed? Islands are expensive.

After a shower we will be piling back into the car for today’s adventure. Sara and Antony have been planning, so I’m really quite clueless about what we’re doing. I think hobbits are the day after tomorrow, and let’s face it, that’s all I’m waiting for.

I’m happy to report that I have since driven again, and didn’t make any dents in the car. I only drove on the wrong side of the road once! Progress!

Two terminals, three customs visits and an apple later, and no, you still can't leave Canada

Airline: US Airways

Departure Time: 12:20 PM

Arrival: Washington, DC

Connecting Flight to: Minneapolis, MN

I should have known when US Airways called me at 9:00 AM to tell me the flight was delayed.

I should have known when the customs officer sent me to secondary inspection due to an apple. (“Do you have any snacks?” “A banana and an apple.” “Why didn’t you declare them?” “I didn’t know that they mattered.” “Does your apple have a sticker?” “No.” “I’m going to need you to head through those double doors so that your apple can be inspected.”)

I should have known when US Airways called again to tell me the flight had been delayed another hour.

I should have known that the next phone call, 30 seconds later, would be the beginning of an incredibly long day: the flight has been canceled.

You may be thinking to yourself: No big deal! Flights are canceled all the time. Easy as pie, just get on the next one. Well, I tell you what: that was my intention.

Time stamp: 11:23 AM

I walked up to the gate but it had been abandoned, so instead I called the US Airways hotline. I got a hold of someone right away, who reassured me that the airline had rebooked me. Great news! She told me that they had re-booked me on Delta flight 4290 (I wrote this down on my hand). Excellent. Departure time: 12:05. I hastily hung up, shouting my thanks while realizing how little time I had. Little did I realize how sparing my seconds were.

I looked at the screen to find my departure gate, and slowly my eyes widened and my mouth dropped. I ran up to an airport official who confirmed my greatest fear:

Delta was in the other terminal.

Time stamp: 11:30 AM

I was told that I needed to exit Terminal 1 via Canadian customs, then take a train to Terminal 3, where I would have to re-check in, go through US customs and security once again. The tears threatened, but I held them back. The curse words were flying.

I ran.

When I reached Canadian customs, the officer looked at me like I was dirt (granted, I was sweaty) and told me I needed to fill out a form. I hastily filled it out, realizing that half of it was null because I hadn’t even managed to leave Canada yet – how could I tell you how I had gotten there and how long I was staying? How did you arrive in Canada? Running?

As I explained this to the officer, I broke down. Yes, I cried at customs. In his official way, the officer tried to tell me that I would just be rebooked on the next flight and it happened to thousands of people. I know I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t help it any more.

Time stamp: 11:42 AM

I ran to the train to go to Terminal 3. I was sweating, I was sniffling, I was wiping mascara out from under my eyes: mess. A man standing at the train stop looks at me and immediately says:

“Having a rough travel day?”

How could you tell? But I laughed. I told him my story and he shared his own – lost luggage, on his way to Quebec and hoping that he’d find his luggage in Ontario. Why? I’m not sure. I can’t say I followed exactly. While he was trying to comfort me about how it could be worse, I couldn’t help but look at him while he told me his travel “horror stories” that all involved bad scenarios that ended with a hotel and a bar. His job almost always put him up if the airline didn’t. While I sympathize, dear sir, every time I’m stranded I sleep in the airport.

As I wiped sweat off my brow he says “You have a very beautiful face, I think the flush looks good.” And that’s when the hysterical laughter started.

Time stamp: 11:50

We wished each other luck as the train pulled into Terminal 3 and I ran.  I approached the Delta ticket counter and told them my story, trying to keep the hysterics to a minimum.

It all went well until the man looked at me and announced,

“I see your name here, but I don’t have a ticket for you. You’re not booked on any Delta flight.”

He called US Airways several times and they didn’t pick up. Among apologies, he told me that I would need to go back to Terminal 1 and speak to customer service at US Airways.

Commence break down number two.

There was nothing I could do. Desperately trying to hold it together, I thanked him for his help and started walking back the way I had come.

I would be damned if I got back to Terminal 1 and US Airways sent me back to Delta, so I called the hotline:

“They told you that you were booked on a Delta flight?”

“Yes.”

“No, we have you re-booked on an Air Canada flight.”

NOW WOULDN’T THAT MAKE PERFECT SENSE, SINCE THEY’RE IN THE SAME DAMN TERMINAL?

She was incredibly kind, apologizing profusely and inflecting the perfect amount of sympathy for my poor self. I honestly think she gave me a hug through the phone. She gave me the flight number, confirmation number, and ticket number to make sure they would not turn me away. I thanked her, hung up, and boarded the train back to Terminal 1.

Back where I started, I got in line for Air Canada. The woman in front of me pointed to a man that was shouting at the ticket counter, mentioning that he must be having a bad day. I insinuated I had been having quite the travel day myself.

“Well maybe you need me, I’m a counselor at a woman’s center.”

I talked to her and her husband for the next 30 minutes as we waited in line.

Finally I made it to the ticket counter where everything went smoothly. I walked past and made my way to US customs. Again.

I crossed my fingers that I wouldn’t have the same customs agent. I didn’t.

“What fruits do you have to declare?”

“I have a banana.”

“Were you here earlier?”

“Yes, I’ve been running between terminals.”

“It says here you were sent to secondary inspection?”

“Ah, yes. Well before I had an banana and an apple, but my apple was confiscated due to lack of a sticker.”

And he laughed. I couldn’t be happier that he laughed with me, after dealing with steadfast, stoic airport personnel all day.

I made it through security (again) and found myself back in Terminal 1, at the exact location where I had earlier been told my flight had been canceled. I wandered down the terminal and found myself a Tim Hortons and settled in at the gate with my boarding pass and a double double (for non-Canadians, this means two creams and two sugars).

It wasn’t a reality until I was not only on the plane, but actually in the air. Any minute I was waiting for them to declare that due to weather the flight had been canceled, or that the pilot had suffered frostbite and no longer had use of the last two digits on his left hand, therefore grounding us for hours.

Once we were airborne I relaxed. I was seated in 01A, the best seat in the house. When the flight attendant came by to take drink orders, she pulled out a tray of snacks and told me that due to the type of ticket I had, I was provided a complimentary snack. I asked her what she had available.

“Well we have chocolate –“

“CHOCOLATE. I’ll have chocolate.”

At that moment I knew that someone, somewhere had taken pity on me. It’s my suspicion that it was the second customer service agent I spoke to on the phone who told me that I was actually on an Air Canada flight. Not only did she hug me through the phone, she procured me sweet chocolate-y enjoyment while cruising at an altitude of 60,000 feet.

We landed 20 minutes late. It was the best late arrival I have ever experienced. I was about ready to kiss the flight attendant, but held back and exited the plane like a sophisticated adult.

Before meeting my brother at the car I quickly jumped in the bathroom to look at the mirror. Despite multiple breakdowns, my make-up was still on my eyes and not all over my cheeks. And this, my friends, I call a victory.

...
As an afterthought, I wonder if my passport has three stamps in it: Admitted to the US, Bienvenue au Canada, and You Idiot, Make Up Your Mind. I'll have to check.