Saturday of hell
27 November 2004
Chapter 3 – The beginning of the end – Return of the King – The Empire Strikes Back – Oh go blow it out your ear
As you can see, I have many titles for today’s episode…
I have yet to finish writing up Wednesday (edit: Wednesday is now done and posted), not to mention Thursday and Friday, but now it’s Saturday, and today definitely needs to be on paper ASAP. Today was a horrible day. I’m holding together okay at the moment, but that’s later in the tale.
I woke up at 6:30, latest I ever managed to sleep in Brisbane where it gets light at 4 AM. This is a city that doesn’t do daylight savings because even if it did, it would be bright and sunny at 5 AM and how much better is that really? And besides which, waking early meant getting to go pee before Lyn and Tom took over the bathroom. I began packing, which meant unpacking first. My room had been a wreck anyway – too little time to keep things organized through several days of different activities needing different supplies and different bags. I sorted my stuff out, threw out the junk I’d accumulated. (Anyone want a magnet of a cab company in Brisbane? Didn’t think so.)
The plan was that Kakali and Dan were going to catch a taxi together, and then a bit later, Chris and me. The problem was that Kakali’s flight was at 11, Dan’s at 11:55, mine at 12:05, and Chris’ at 2 PM. But you can’t load four people plus all their luggage in one taxi (unless it’s a Maxi Taxi, but again, that’s a story for a different time, and I still think it sounds like some sort of feminine hygiene product), and I was concerned that no one be left by themselves. Chris wanted to go to the airport as late as possible, Kakali as early as possible. And Dan wanted to go with me, since our flights were so close to each other anyway… I convinced everyone that pairing was better, which put me with Chris, which is what I had wanted anyway. Kakali and Dan were having a cab come at 8:30. Chris and I decided we’d have one come around 9:45. Getting to the airport takes half an hour. This was cutting it close for me, but I think I’ve chilled out a little while on this trip, believe it or not!
Lyn and Tom got up around 7:30 and headed to breakfast, since their daughter was coming to pick them up at 9:30. Kakali and I continued packing. At 8:00, Kakali couldn’t find Dan. He wasn’t answering his phone, nor his door. (He was in a suite across the road from us.) Same at 8:15 when the Richards’ came back from breakfast. At 8:25, Kakali was getting a little panicked. The taxi showed up at 8:35, and still no Dan. Lyn called Reception to see if he was there instead. Nope. The taxi couldn’t wait, so it left. In the meantime, Kakali had run into one of the keynote speakers from the conference who had offered her the sharing of his cab, coming around 9. She accepted. When that cab showed up at 8:50, Dan had still not been found. I very much hope that there was some sort of miscommunication between Dan and Kakali because when stuff like that happens, the maternal instinct in me goes haywire, and I get simultaneously livid that he would blow her off while I fear he may be lying unconscious in the shower after slipping and hitting his head. (“You?! Maternal?!!” Chris teased me when I stated this to her this morning.)
Lyn and Tom’s daughter Naomi arrived with six month old Jake at 8:45, even earlier than anticipated. Jake, who hadn’t started crawling when last I saw him 12 hours ago, may indeed be crawling now. He had all the right movements – on hands and knees, rocking back and forth, lifting up a hand, a leg, falling over, splaying out on his stomach and kind of trying to “swim”. I swear the kid was about to take off crawling at any moment. I’ve never seen anything like it. In any case, I was getting a little “over-Richards’-ed”, so I politely made my exit at 9, and walked to Chris’, knocking on her door a full half hour earlier than we’d agreed the night before. She was almost done packing, so I sat on one of her beds, and she offered me some orange juice while she finished. When she was done, we just sort of sat on the bed together looking around and being quiet. Leaving is so hard. And, at least I was very aware that once we left the hotel, we were really on our way to parting company.
Around 9:20, we headed to Reception so she could check out and we could call a taxi. I squeaked my request into the phone. (I have about a third of my voice back, but I’m coughing like crazy.) The taxi showed up before she was done checking out. Our driver resembled an aged Elvis, but even though he said he was 49 (and had never seen snow except on TV), he talked as if he were 75 and had no teeth! It was a little weird.
It was also very very hot. Today in Brisbane must easily have going to have been 30 C. Even at 9, it was roasting, and the cab was boiling. As soon as we got on the road, we came to nearly a dead stop. There was a huge traffic jam. In fact, traffic on the M1 (big main highway 4 lanes going each direction and runs through Queensland) was simply not moving. One lane at a time would suddenly go though. It was very odd. We sat in nearly the same half mile for half an hour and watched the meter count up. The whole point of taking a cab was so we wouldn’t have to pay A$15 each for the airport shuttle. Both Chris and I had cabbed to the hotel from the airport for less than $30, so splitting that… Turned out the traffic problem was caused by a horrible accident in which a car had rolled over. Most of the car looked like a crumpled piece of foil when we passed it. A$60 and an hour later, we were at the airport.
Chris seemed more concerned about my checking in ontime than I was. We queued (she was also flying Qantas, to Heathrow via Singapore) in the very long line and waited. Almost immediately, an announcement was made that the “fire alarm has been investigated, and the emergency is now over; wardens please stand down.” Just what we would have needed, right? A fire alarm. It was 10:30. Just shy of 11, an announcement was made about my flight – something along the lines of, please get your butts through security now. The guy in front of us muttered, “Love to help you, mate, really, but you see I’m in this line…” We were still at least half an hour from the front of it. A few minutes later, a woman in an official looking uniform disconnected the strap that forms the lane right next to us, and asked if Chris, myself, and the guy behind us would please follow her. I rolled my eyes in my head (you don’t do that to security guards). I think all of us were sure we were being selected for special security measures or something. “What did you do wrong?” the guy who was being called out with us asked quietly. The woman lead us around to the opposite side of the counter where she ushered us into empty check-in lanes. “Might be faster for you,” she said, and strode off. I checked in and found I was going to have pick up my luggage in Auckland to get it through customs and then put it back on the plane to Wellington. That didn’t thrill me, but what choice does one have in things like that, anyway? They told me to head straight to the gate; the plane was about to commence boarding. I waited about 60 seconds for Chris to finish checking in. Apparently her flight wasn’t quite ready for checking in yet, but she’d used her blond damsel-in-distress routine (“The woman told me to come here, and I’ve already been queued for 30 minutes; do I have to go requeue now? At the end of the line?” blink blink, puppy dog eyes) and they opened it for her. Unfortunately, the cup of coffee we both wanted to have together wasn’t going to happen, and she didn’t want to go through security and then not be able to walk the shops for the hours she was stuck at the airport. So we walked about ten feet to the stairs down which I had to go for security, and that was it. A quick hug, and I had to leave. It sucked. She was much more composed about it than I was. I handed over a postcard that I’d written and put a stamp on this morning, but that I now didn’t have time to mail and asked her if she’d send it for me please. She said how great it was to meet me, that she’d e-mail when she got home, and that she knew I’d have a great time in New Zealand, and that I shouldn’t be worried about it. I teared up, gave her a hug, said bye, wished her a safe trip, tried to smile a little, and ran down the stairs.
I got through security with no problems but I hadn’t filled out my middle name on the departure card which caused the customs official some consternation. (For the record, it only had two spaces. One said “surname”; the other said “given name”.) I ran to the gate, and as soon as I got there, I had a huge coughing spasm, causing tears to stream down my cheeks, and everyone in the crowded gate area to pretend not to be moving as far away from me as possible. All I could think about was Tom’s story about being very ill with a cold and flu-type thing when he had to travel once, right in the midst of the SARS epidemic.
We boarded the plane. Again, every seat was filled, and the guy sitting next to me, in the middle seat, decided he wanted to sprawl, so he was taking up much more room than he was due, with his arms hanging way over both arm rests and slouched in his seat, with his legs splaying into both me (at the window) and the kid on the aisle. Very annoying. The flight was okay, although my ears were killing me with the pressure changes. Particularly during landing. I became very concerned I was going to burst an eardrum since I couldn’t get my right one to clear. Finally finally I managed to clear it by holding my nose. I’m sure that’s the exact wrong way to do it, but it was that or extreme pressure. I worried about the Auckland – Wellington leg that I was boarding in an hour.
I knew I had little time in Auckland, so I hurried to Passport Control and on to baggage claim. Where I waited. And waited. And waited. Until I was the last person there and there was no bag for me. It was just shy of 7 PM, I had a flight to Wellington to catch that was leaving at 7:30 (boarding at 7:10), and I wasn’t through Customs in NZ yet, and I had to go file a “hey where’s my baggage?” report. I ran to the end of the baggage claim to “Baggage Services”. They radioed the request to the runway. No more bags. The woman at the counter filled out an “irregular baggage event report”. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the address of the B&B where I would be staying in Wellington. I hadn’t brought it with me because I knew Mary, the innkeeper, was going to be picking me up. I tried to convey my hurry to the Baggage Services clerk, but she wasn’t getting it. “If you miss the flight, you’ll just catch the next one,” she said. I said I’d REALLY rather avoid that option if possible. Finally she was done, and asked if I knew where the domestic terminal was. “Not a clue,” I said. Turns out it was in a different building. There was a bus shuttle, she explained, but then said I shouldn’t take it, but should probably walk instead, it was just a kilometer, ten or twelve minutes walk. But I wasn’t through Customs yet. I sprinted out of baggage claim and tried to look composed for Customs. They asked me if I had anything to declare in my lost bag. I thought they were asking for a monetary value, so I started trying to think about everything that was in it. What’s in the bag, the guy finally said. Clothes, toiletries… No fruit? No. Okay great. Go put your carry on through the x-ray machine. I ran my backpack and smaller blue bag through, grabbed it from the other side and ran down the hall. Entering the concourse of the airport, I saw a guy in uniform. “Domestic?” I asked him. He nodded. “Where?” I said. He seemed to be speaking very slowly, asking if I had anything to check. “No, they’ve lost it,” I panted. “Where’s the terminal?” I asked again. “Well, if you go out that door, there’s a shuttle that will take you there…” “No time for that,” I said, “I’m walking. Where is it?!” He contemplated me for a moment, “You could do that,” he said, “It’s a five minute walk.” “WHERE?!” I said, wondering if this slow, polite, roundabout response was some sort of kiwi custom I was horribly misinterpreting. Again he took forever to answer, but when I’d heard enough of the sentence, I took off, running out of the building, and following the signs. I charged into the domestic terminal (which was neither a 5 nor 10 minute walk, but about a 15 minute half trot, half run). I launched myself up the stairs, arriving heavily at the security checkpoint, looking, no doubt, very suspicious. The guard started to put my backpack on the belt, but I told him my laptop was in it. He seemed not to care. Both my bags went through without a problem, and a half step later, I was at the gate. The flight was delayed. Frustrated and unable to pace (too many people and too small a space), I looked around for a bathroom. None. I sat down on the ground, and made a list of everything I can remember that’s in my missing luggage. The worst things missing are, in no particular order: all my conference and QSR training materials and very important notes I scribbled over the past two weeks at those events, my Denali jacket, my double-sided red and black Chico’s silk top, and, absolute worst, the opal bracelet Glen gave me. Not to mention, ALL my clothes, my train case with most of my toiletries (and a brand new pair of contact lenses), my bathing suit and towel, my rain jacket, several books including guides to New Zealand that Julie S. loaned me, my reversible belt, my two favorite pairs of shoes including my absolutely awesome brown Bass pair… No amount of reimbursement will get all that stuff back. For the second time today, I held back tears.
The plane finally boarded, half an hour late. Apparently there’d been technical problems in Wellington before they departed. The flight was the emptiest one I’ve been on yet, and I was one of a few people to have three seats to myself. Of course, it’s only an hour flight, so it’s not like you can make much use of it. I did cry on the plane. My ears hurt, I had no luggage, Chris was on her way home, I was flying to someplace I didn’t know, I was going to be late and had no way to tell the person who I knew was already waiting to pick me up, I wanted to go home, I wanted to feel better, I just wanted to be anywhere else that would have been happier. And I kept choking back how I was feeling because the plane was so small the flight crew was constantly offering tea and coffee and water and picking up empty cups, etc. So even pressing my head against the window and turning as far away as possible, they kept tapping me on the shoulder to ask if I wanted this, that, or the other thing. This is stupid, Jen, I kept thinking. You’re going to NEW ZEALAND. You’re gonna go kayaking! You’re going to get over this sudden loneliness and be just fine. You feel like this all the time when you do this type of traveling. It’s all going to pass, just like it always does, and you’ll have a great time. Come on! You’ve already had a great time! I tried to think of all the good times I’ve had in the last two weeks, but whenever I heard Chris’ voice in my head which was for most of the good stuff, it brought me to tears. Finally, we were landing, and the only thing I had to cry about was the pressure in my ears.
We walked off the plane and up the jetway to find the door to the building locked. Several security people later, they couldn’t get it open either. Maybe if we stand here long enough, I joked to the woman next to me, my luggage will catch up with me. (I was pretty sure it was on its way to LA, since the plane to Auckland was going through to LA, which is fantastic… but I need that next week, not this week.) Finally they got the door open, and we all cheered, and the crowd surged forward ten feet to find another sealed door. Gee, kiwi security is REALLY good, I said to the same woman, but I think you’ve got it backward… She laughed. The door opened and we pressed through. I stopped at the restroom, which I hadn’t had time to do in either the Brisbane or Auckland airports, and then hurried on to meet up with Mary. At least I’m traveling light and I don’t have to make her wait for my bag, I told myself sarcastically.
Coming down the stairs to the baggage claim and exit, I found Mary instantly, wearing her yellow sunglasses on her head, just like she said she would. I walked up to her and we confirmed each other’s identity. I explained I had no luggage, and we went out to her car. It was quite cold and windy. “This is worse than winter,” said Mary, “It gets to be 10 or 11 in winter. It was 6 this morning, plus a windchill.” She took me “the tourist way” to the B&B. This meant we drove all around the harbor. It was pretty dark, but I could occasionally see the water lapping at the shore. It’s such an unusual thing for me to see the ocean at night. I think we often assume that the waves must just stop when we’re not looking at them. One of those “if a tree falls and there’s no one to hear it” things. And yet there it was. Doing its ocean thing. The harbor was pretty with all the lights of houses and such around it. As we drove through the city, Mary played tour guide, pointing out landmarks, Te Papa (the national museum), the shops, the ferry docks, etc. It was very nice of her and I tried hard to pay attention but I was still feeling miserable, I was trying not to cough, and things always look different in the dark anyway.
Mary explained she’d given me the double room so I’d have more space (still charging single rate prices, I think) and more privacy. She said she’d also already turned on the heater, and that the bed had electric blankets so I shouldn’t worry about being cold, that she’d make sure I had a jacket tomorrow, what was I wearing on my feet (sneakers, good), and on and on about the unusual weather, how terrible lost luggage is, her husband Neil, her daughter who is a pediatric trauma physician in Auckland but who just loves Africa and tropical medicine… I let her talk.
When we got to the B&B she showed me my room. It’s huge. There’s a double bed, dual control electric blankets, fresh flowers, biscotti and chocolates laid out, tea and coffee service and when I expressed interest in tea, she offered to fetch special peach-mint-green tea which I accepted. She showed me how to work the TV, introduced me to the walk-in closet, which would be nice, except for the fact I have no clothes to put in it. Terry cloth bathrobes were in there for my use, though. Gazillions of towels. And right outside my bedroom door, an indoor hot tub and sauna. I made appreciative noises at the hot tub (“spa” as she calls it), and she opened it up, declaring it all ready for me. The shower is right next to it, toilet area right across from it, and there’s a separate sink and vanity in my room. I was starting to begin to think I might be okay here after all. She also offered me e-mail access which I eagerly accepted, hopping online to try to post to my blog and check my e-mail. The latter was accomplished, but Blogger seemed to be down. So I wrote some of you a brief e-mail to let you know I’d made it here. Then, I called Air New Zealand with the address and phone number here to update their records because if they can find my bag, they’ll deliver it to the door. Of course, I only have a tiny voice at the moment, and I had to leave the message on their voicemail, so I’ll call back tomorrow during the day to make sure they were able to understand me. I am so desperately hoping my bag turns up.
Mary came down with a plate of fruit and silk pajamas. I thanked her very much for everything, and we talked about what time I might want breakfast tomorrow. I said 8:30, and she said that was fine, no worries if I overslept. I didn’t think that that would be possible, but now I realize the time difference between here and Brisbane means that it’s three hours later here than Brisbane, so 8:30 will feel like 5:30… (Yup, I’m now 18 hours ahead of EST.) I went back into my room and started some tea brewing, since the peach-mint concoction was loose leaves. I set up towels strategically and brought the tea out to the hot tub area too. I stripped and climbed in. It was wonderful. Sat in it for fifteen minutes or so, drank a few cups of tea, and then took a shower, bringing in my socks and underwear with me to wash. I had a quick laugh about Amee, one of the conference participants who, I forget why, randomly told Kakali, Chris, and me that one time when her luggage went missing it came back with “only half my underpants… And the ones missing weren’t clean. They’d been worn four times – forward, backward, inside, and outside.” We’d all had a good laugh at that point, although later, Chris wondered aloud why you’d tell strangers about how you wear your “knickers”, not to mention in such a weird way – inside/outside, okay, but forwards and backwards?! Kakali added, “Maybe that’s the type of thing you can ONLY tell strangers!”
The shower was stocked with organic shampoo and conditioner, and this fantastic lavender-lemon herbal bar soap. I’m almost glad I didn’t have my own stuff to use. (In fact, the only toiletries I had brought on the plane with me were my toothbrush, toothpaste, hair brush, deodorant, and contact lens fluid. Unfortunately, I neglected to bring a contact lens case, so currently, my lenses are in the lid from my water bottle. This is a bit of an improvise, and I hope all the fluid doesn’t evaporate out before tomorrow morning.) After the shower, I wrapped up in the bathrobe, and set about pressing all the water I could out of my undergarments, and then setting them out as close to the heater as I dare to hang them. Then, I helped myself to two of the kiwi fruit in the bowl (yummy, fresh, golden ones), changed into the silk PJs, and set up the computer to write this. The soundtrack to Garden State has been playing while I type this up. It had made me sad on the plane, but it is familiar, and easy to listen to. It will definitely always remind me of November, moving into our new office, and this trip.
Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day. Mary has offered to bring me into town when she goes, and I will take her up on that offer. I haven’t even managed to stop at an ATM yet, so I have no NZ money. And I have way too much Aussie money left over. I wouldn’t have wanted to have any less on me while in the country, but I was hoping to spend it on the cab (but dammit, Chris paid for me again! She’s been way too generous with stuff like that.) and in the duty free shops at the Brisbane airport, but as stated above, there just wasn’t time.
And next Saturday, when I wake up, I’ll be home.
Chapter 3 – The beginning of the end – Return of the King – The Empire Strikes Back – Oh go blow it out your ear
As you can see, I have many titles for today’s episode…
I have yet to finish writing up Wednesday (edit: Wednesday is now done and posted), not to mention Thursday and Friday, but now it’s Saturday, and today definitely needs to be on paper ASAP. Today was a horrible day. I’m holding together okay at the moment, but that’s later in the tale.
I woke up at 6:30, latest I ever managed to sleep in Brisbane where it gets light at 4 AM. This is a city that doesn’t do daylight savings because even if it did, it would be bright and sunny at 5 AM and how much better is that really? And besides which, waking early meant getting to go pee before Lyn and Tom took over the bathroom. I began packing, which meant unpacking first. My room had been a wreck anyway – too little time to keep things organized through several days of different activities needing different supplies and different bags. I sorted my stuff out, threw out the junk I’d accumulated. (Anyone want a magnet of a cab company in Brisbane? Didn’t think so.)
The plan was that Kakali and Dan were going to catch a taxi together, and then a bit later, Chris and me. The problem was that Kakali’s flight was at 11, Dan’s at 11:55, mine at 12:05, and Chris’ at 2 PM. But you can’t load four people plus all their luggage in one taxi (unless it’s a Maxi Taxi, but again, that’s a story for a different time, and I still think it sounds like some sort of feminine hygiene product), and I was concerned that no one be left by themselves. Chris wanted to go to the airport as late as possible, Kakali as early as possible. And Dan wanted to go with me, since our flights were so close to each other anyway… I convinced everyone that pairing was better, which put me with Chris, which is what I had wanted anyway. Kakali and Dan were having a cab come at 8:30. Chris and I decided we’d have one come around 9:45. Getting to the airport takes half an hour. This was cutting it close for me, but I think I’ve chilled out a little while on this trip, believe it or not!
Lyn and Tom got up around 7:30 and headed to breakfast, since their daughter was coming to pick them up at 9:30. Kakali and I continued packing. At 8:00, Kakali couldn’t find Dan. He wasn’t answering his phone, nor his door. (He was in a suite across the road from us.) Same at 8:15 when the Richards’ came back from breakfast. At 8:25, Kakali was getting a little panicked. The taxi showed up at 8:35, and still no Dan. Lyn called Reception to see if he was there instead. Nope. The taxi couldn’t wait, so it left. In the meantime, Kakali had run into one of the keynote speakers from the conference who had offered her the sharing of his cab, coming around 9. She accepted. When that cab showed up at 8:50, Dan had still not been found. I very much hope that there was some sort of miscommunication between Dan and Kakali because when stuff like that happens, the maternal instinct in me goes haywire, and I get simultaneously livid that he would blow her off while I fear he may be lying unconscious in the shower after slipping and hitting his head. (“You?! Maternal?!!” Chris teased me when I stated this to her this morning.)
Lyn and Tom’s daughter Naomi arrived with six month old Jake at 8:45, even earlier than anticipated. Jake, who hadn’t started crawling when last I saw him 12 hours ago, may indeed be crawling now. He had all the right movements – on hands and knees, rocking back and forth, lifting up a hand, a leg, falling over, splaying out on his stomach and kind of trying to “swim”. I swear the kid was about to take off crawling at any moment. I’ve never seen anything like it. In any case, I was getting a little “over-Richards’-ed”, so I politely made my exit at 9, and walked to Chris’, knocking on her door a full half hour earlier than we’d agreed the night before. She was almost done packing, so I sat on one of her beds, and she offered me some orange juice while she finished. When she was done, we just sort of sat on the bed together looking around and being quiet. Leaving is so hard. And, at least I was very aware that once we left the hotel, we were really on our way to parting company.
Around 9:20, we headed to Reception so she could check out and we could call a taxi. I squeaked my request into the phone. (I have about a third of my voice back, but I’m coughing like crazy.) The taxi showed up before she was done checking out. Our driver resembled an aged Elvis, but even though he said he was 49 (and had never seen snow except on TV), he talked as if he were 75 and had no teeth! It was a little weird.
It was also very very hot. Today in Brisbane must easily have going to have been 30 C. Even at 9, it was roasting, and the cab was boiling. As soon as we got on the road, we came to nearly a dead stop. There was a huge traffic jam. In fact, traffic on the M1 (big main highway 4 lanes going each direction and runs through Queensland) was simply not moving. One lane at a time would suddenly go though. It was very odd. We sat in nearly the same half mile for half an hour and watched the meter count up. The whole point of taking a cab was so we wouldn’t have to pay A$15 each for the airport shuttle. Both Chris and I had cabbed to the hotel from the airport for less than $30, so splitting that… Turned out the traffic problem was caused by a horrible accident in which a car had rolled over. Most of the car looked like a crumpled piece of foil when we passed it. A$60 and an hour later, we were at the airport.
Chris seemed more concerned about my checking in ontime than I was. We queued (she was also flying Qantas, to Heathrow via Singapore) in the very long line and waited. Almost immediately, an announcement was made that the “fire alarm has been investigated, and the emergency is now over; wardens please stand down.” Just what we would have needed, right? A fire alarm. It was 10:30. Just shy of 11, an announcement was made about my flight – something along the lines of, please get your butts through security now. The guy in front of us muttered, “Love to help you, mate, really, but you see I’m in this line…” We were still at least half an hour from the front of it. A few minutes later, a woman in an official looking uniform disconnected the strap that forms the lane right next to us, and asked if Chris, myself, and the guy behind us would please follow her. I rolled my eyes in my head (you don’t do that to security guards). I think all of us were sure we were being selected for special security measures or something. “What did you do wrong?” the guy who was being called out with us asked quietly. The woman lead us around to the opposite side of the counter where she ushered us into empty check-in lanes. “Might be faster for you,” she said, and strode off. I checked in and found I was going to have pick up my luggage in Auckland to get it through customs and then put it back on the plane to Wellington. That didn’t thrill me, but what choice does one have in things like that, anyway? They told me to head straight to the gate; the plane was about to commence boarding. I waited about 60 seconds for Chris to finish checking in. Apparently her flight wasn’t quite ready for checking in yet, but she’d used her blond damsel-in-distress routine (“The woman told me to come here, and I’ve already been queued for 30 minutes; do I have to go requeue now? At the end of the line?” blink blink, puppy dog eyes) and they opened it for her. Unfortunately, the cup of coffee we both wanted to have together wasn’t going to happen, and she didn’t want to go through security and then not be able to walk the shops for the hours she was stuck at the airport. So we walked about ten feet to the stairs down which I had to go for security, and that was it. A quick hug, and I had to leave. It sucked. She was much more composed about it than I was. I handed over a postcard that I’d written and put a stamp on this morning, but that I now didn’t have time to mail and asked her if she’d send it for me please. She said how great it was to meet me, that she’d e-mail when she got home, and that she knew I’d have a great time in New Zealand, and that I shouldn’t be worried about it. I teared up, gave her a hug, said bye, wished her a safe trip, tried to smile a little, and ran down the stairs.
I got through security with no problems but I hadn’t filled out my middle name on the departure card which caused the customs official some consternation. (For the record, it only had two spaces. One said “surname”; the other said “given name”.) I ran to the gate, and as soon as I got there, I had a huge coughing spasm, causing tears to stream down my cheeks, and everyone in the crowded gate area to pretend not to be moving as far away from me as possible. All I could think about was Tom’s story about being very ill with a cold and flu-type thing when he had to travel once, right in the midst of the SARS epidemic.
We boarded the plane. Again, every seat was filled, and the guy sitting next to me, in the middle seat, decided he wanted to sprawl, so he was taking up much more room than he was due, with his arms hanging way over both arm rests and slouched in his seat, with his legs splaying into both me (at the window) and the kid on the aisle. Very annoying. The flight was okay, although my ears were killing me with the pressure changes. Particularly during landing. I became very concerned I was going to burst an eardrum since I couldn’t get my right one to clear. Finally finally I managed to clear it by holding my nose. I’m sure that’s the exact wrong way to do it, but it was that or extreme pressure. I worried about the Auckland – Wellington leg that I was boarding in an hour.
I knew I had little time in Auckland, so I hurried to Passport Control and on to baggage claim. Where I waited. And waited. And waited. Until I was the last person there and there was no bag for me. It was just shy of 7 PM, I had a flight to Wellington to catch that was leaving at 7:30 (boarding at 7:10), and I wasn’t through Customs in NZ yet, and I had to go file a “hey where’s my baggage?” report. I ran to the end of the baggage claim to “Baggage Services”. They radioed the request to the runway. No more bags. The woman at the counter filled out an “irregular baggage event report”. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the address of the B&B where I would be staying in Wellington. I hadn’t brought it with me because I knew Mary, the innkeeper, was going to be picking me up. I tried to convey my hurry to the Baggage Services clerk, but she wasn’t getting it. “If you miss the flight, you’ll just catch the next one,” she said. I said I’d REALLY rather avoid that option if possible. Finally she was done, and asked if I knew where the domestic terminal was. “Not a clue,” I said. Turns out it was in a different building. There was a bus shuttle, she explained, but then said I shouldn’t take it, but should probably walk instead, it was just a kilometer, ten or twelve minutes walk. But I wasn’t through Customs yet. I sprinted out of baggage claim and tried to look composed for Customs. They asked me if I had anything to declare in my lost bag. I thought they were asking for a monetary value, so I started trying to think about everything that was in it. What’s in the bag, the guy finally said. Clothes, toiletries… No fruit? No. Okay great. Go put your carry on through the x-ray machine. I ran my backpack and smaller blue bag through, grabbed it from the other side and ran down the hall. Entering the concourse of the airport, I saw a guy in uniform. “Domestic?” I asked him. He nodded. “Where?” I said. He seemed to be speaking very slowly, asking if I had anything to check. “No, they’ve lost it,” I panted. “Where’s the terminal?” I asked again. “Well, if you go out that door, there’s a shuttle that will take you there…” “No time for that,” I said, “I’m walking. Where is it?!” He contemplated me for a moment, “You could do that,” he said, “It’s a five minute walk.” “WHERE?!” I said, wondering if this slow, polite, roundabout response was some sort of kiwi custom I was horribly misinterpreting. Again he took forever to answer, but when I’d heard enough of the sentence, I took off, running out of the building, and following the signs. I charged into the domestic terminal (which was neither a 5 nor 10 minute walk, but about a 15 minute half trot, half run). I launched myself up the stairs, arriving heavily at the security checkpoint, looking, no doubt, very suspicious. The guard started to put my backpack on the belt, but I told him my laptop was in it. He seemed not to care. Both my bags went through without a problem, and a half step later, I was at the gate. The flight was delayed. Frustrated and unable to pace (too many people and too small a space), I looked around for a bathroom. None. I sat down on the ground, and made a list of everything I can remember that’s in my missing luggage. The worst things missing are, in no particular order: all my conference and QSR training materials and very important notes I scribbled over the past two weeks at those events, my Denali jacket, my double-sided red and black Chico’s silk top, and, absolute worst, the opal bracelet Glen gave me. Not to mention, ALL my clothes, my train case with most of my toiletries (and a brand new pair of contact lenses), my bathing suit and towel, my rain jacket, several books including guides to New Zealand that Julie S. loaned me, my reversible belt, my two favorite pairs of shoes including my absolutely awesome brown Bass pair… No amount of reimbursement will get all that stuff back. For the second time today, I held back tears.
The plane finally boarded, half an hour late. Apparently there’d been technical problems in Wellington before they departed. The flight was the emptiest one I’ve been on yet, and I was one of a few people to have three seats to myself. Of course, it’s only an hour flight, so it’s not like you can make much use of it. I did cry on the plane. My ears hurt, I had no luggage, Chris was on her way home, I was flying to someplace I didn’t know, I was going to be late and had no way to tell the person who I knew was already waiting to pick me up, I wanted to go home, I wanted to feel better, I just wanted to be anywhere else that would have been happier. And I kept choking back how I was feeling because the plane was so small the flight crew was constantly offering tea and coffee and water and picking up empty cups, etc. So even pressing my head against the window and turning as far away as possible, they kept tapping me on the shoulder to ask if I wanted this, that, or the other thing. This is stupid, Jen, I kept thinking. You’re going to NEW ZEALAND. You’re gonna go kayaking! You’re going to get over this sudden loneliness and be just fine. You feel like this all the time when you do this type of traveling. It’s all going to pass, just like it always does, and you’ll have a great time. Come on! You’ve already had a great time! I tried to think of all the good times I’ve had in the last two weeks, but whenever I heard Chris’ voice in my head which was for most of the good stuff, it brought me to tears. Finally, we were landing, and the only thing I had to cry about was the pressure in my ears.
We walked off the plane and up the jetway to find the door to the building locked. Several security people later, they couldn’t get it open either. Maybe if we stand here long enough, I joked to the woman next to me, my luggage will catch up with me. (I was pretty sure it was on its way to LA, since the plane to Auckland was going through to LA, which is fantastic… but I need that next week, not this week.) Finally they got the door open, and we all cheered, and the crowd surged forward ten feet to find another sealed door. Gee, kiwi security is REALLY good, I said to the same woman, but I think you’ve got it backward… She laughed. The door opened and we pressed through. I stopped at the restroom, which I hadn’t had time to do in either the Brisbane or Auckland airports, and then hurried on to meet up with Mary. At least I’m traveling light and I don’t have to make her wait for my bag, I told myself sarcastically.
Coming down the stairs to the baggage claim and exit, I found Mary instantly, wearing her yellow sunglasses on her head, just like she said she would. I walked up to her and we confirmed each other’s identity. I explained I had no luggage, and we went out to her car. It was quite cold and windy. “This is worse than winter,” said Mary, “It gets to be 10 or 11 in winter. It was 6 this morning, plus a windchill.” She took me “the tourist way” to the B&B. This meant we drove all around the harbor. It was pretty dark, but I could occasionally see the water lapping at the shore. It’s such an unusual thing for me to see the ocean at night. I think we often assume that the waves must just stop when we’re not looking at them. One of those “if a tree falls and there’s no one to hear it” things. And yet there it was. Doing its ocean thing. The harbor was pretty with all the lights of houses and such around it. As we drove through the city, Mary played tour guide, pointing out landmarks, Te Papa (the national museum), the shops, the ferry docks, etc. It was very nice of her and I tried hard to pay attention but I was still feeling miserable, I was trying not to cough, and things always look different in the dark anyway.
Mary explained she’d given me the double room so I’d have more space (still charging single rate prices, I think) and more privacy. She said she’d also already turned on the heater, and that the bed had electric blankets so I shouldn’t worry about being cold, that she’d make sure I had a jacket tomorrow, what was I wearing on my feet (sneakers, good), and on and on about the unusual weather, how terrible lost luggage is, her husband Neil, her daughter who is a pediatric trauma physician in Auckland but who just loves Africa and tropical medicine… I let her talk.
When we got to the B&B she showed me my room. It’s huge. There’s a double bed, dual control electric blankets, fresh flowers, biscotti and chocolates laid out, tea and coffee service and when I expressed interest in tea, she offered to fetch special peach-mint-green tea which I accepted. She showed me how to work the TV, introduced me to the walk-in closet, which would be nice, except for the fact I have no clothes to put in it. Terry cloth bathrobes were in there for my use, though. Gazillions of towels. And right outside my bedroom door, an indoor hot tub and sauna. I made appreciative noises at the hot tub (“spa” as she calls it), and she opened it up, declaring it all ready for me. The shower is right next to it, toilet area right across from it, and there’s a separate sink and vanity in my room. I was starting to begin to think I might be okay here after all. She also offered me e-mail access which I eagerly accepted, hopping online to try to post to my blog and check my e-mail. The latter was accomplished, but Blogger seemed to be down. So I wrote some of you a brief e-mail to let you know I’d made it here. Then, I called Air New Zealand with the address and phone number here to update their records because if they can find my bag, they’ll deliver it to the door. Of course, I only have a tiny voice at the moment, and I had to leave the message on their voicemail, so I’ll call back tomorrow during the day to make sure they were able to understand me. I am so desperately hoping my bag turns up.
Mary came down with a plate of fruit and silk pajamas. I thanked her very much for everything, and we talked about what time I might want breakfast tomorrow. I said 8:30, and she said that was fine, no worries if I overslept. I didn’t think that that would be possible, but now I realize the time difference between here and Brisbane means that it’s three hours later here than Brisbane, so 8:30 will feel like 5:30… (Yup, I’m now 18 hours ahead of EST.) I went back into my room and started some tea brewing, since the peach-mint concoction was loose leaves. I set up towels strategically and brought the tea out to the hot tub area too. I stripped and climbed in. It was wonderful. Sat in it for fifteen minutes or so, drank a few cups of tea, and then took a shower, bringing in my socks and underwear with me to wash. I had a quick laugh about Amee, one of the conference participants who, I forget why, randomly told Kakali, Chris, and me that one time when her luggage went missing it came back with “only half my underpants… And the ones missing weren’t clean. They’d been worn four times – forward, backward, inside, and outside.” We’d all had a good laugh at that point, although later, Chris wondered aloud why you’d tell strangers about how you wear your “knickers”, not to mention in such a weird way – inside/outside, okay, but forwards and backwards?! Kakali added, “Maybe that’s the type of thing you can ONLY tell strangers!”
The shower was stocked with organic shampoo and conditioner, and this fantastic lavender-lemon herbal bar soap. I’m almost glad I didn’t have my own stuff to use. (In fact, the only toiletries I had brought on the plane with me were my toothbrush, toothpaste, hair brush, deodorant, and contact lens fluid. Unfortunately, I neglected to bring a contact lens case, so currently, my lenses are in the lid from my water bottle. This is a bit of an improvise, and I hope all the fluid doesn’t evaporate out before tomorrow morning.) After the shower, I wrapped up in the bathrobe, and set about pressing all the water I could out of my undergarments, and then setting them out as close to the heater as I dare to hang them. Then, I helped myself to two of the kiwi fruit in the bowl (yummy, fresh, golden ones), changed into the silk PJs, and set up the computer to write this. The soundtrack to Garden State has been playing while I type this up. It had made me sad on the plane, but it is familiar, and easy to listen to. It will definitely always remind me of November, moving into our new office, and this trip.
Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day. Mary has offered to bring me into town when she goes, and I will take her up on that offer. I haven’t even managed to stop at an ATM yet, so I have no NZ money. And I have way too much Aussie money left over. I wouldn’t have wanted to have any less on me while in the country, but I was hoping to spend it on the cab (but dammit, Chris paid for me again! She’s been way too generous with stuff like that.) and in the duty free shops at the Brisbane airport, but as stated above, there just wasn’t time.
And next Saturday, when I wake up, I’ll be home.
posted by Jen at 7:30 PM
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