STL->ORD
My journey begins (or so I declare somewhat arbitrarily) at gate A19 in St. Louis Lamber International Airport. A little disappointed at having missed the window of Google-sponsored airport WiFi, I sign up for access to the Boingo hotspot, despite the fact that it's called the Boingo hotspot. Though I spent all last week in St. Louis with easily-available internet access, I neglected to finish the website my sister needs for her science research project. And now she needs the site in less than 24 hours and I am only going to be on solid ground for 3.5 of them. As we'll see, I use every second.
The boarding call comes and I hang back until I can finish the loose ends of the section I was working on. I board the plane and sit down in 11A—a window seat (I had chosen all window seats when I booked my flights). I send some mildly jubilant start-of-adventure texts and situate myself as 11B sits beside me. He has the unmistakable Apple white earbuds in his ear and talking adamantly to no one at all. Without the slightest pause for consideration I recognize that he must be in the middle of a phone call on his iPhone. I've had many such conversations myself. A few seconds' eavesdropping informs me that this is a business call and that he's probably more outgoing of a person than I would particularly like to associate with at the moment. I look intently out the window.
“How are you?” His question gets my attention and my pleasantries. “Headed to Chicago?” My answer gets his attention and a flight-long conversation: “Not ultimately. I'm on my way to New Zealand.” “New Zealand? I was just there last week!” In a fabulous coincidence, my outgoing business friend is the son of a Kiwi mother and has extended family all over the country, as well as a few business connections. He is of course interested in why I am going and what I'm going to do there. He also tells me about his brother's recent disinterest in the United Sates and subsequent emigration to New Zealand. He mentions that his favorite candies in the world are wine gum and peanut slabs, and I promise to try both when I am there. When New Zealand discussion dies down, we somehow move onto Google products, where I flourish with information until our descent into O'Hare.
ORD->LAX
My layover in O'Hare really isn't a layover at all. I have 20 minutes to get from gate to gate and thus won't be able to do any work on the site at all. But I realized something on the plane: I really don't need internet access to work on the site. I can just set up a local server on my computer for testing. This means that, while I won't have anything even close to WiFi while I'm in the air, I will still be able to get a lot done. The problem: I don't have any of the files I need on my computer, nor do I (as far as I can remember) have a local server set up. This means that in addition to getting from A to B in 20 minutes, I also have to do a fair amount of tech work.
Fortunately, I had listened carefully to the announcements they made on the plane as we were descending. We had landed in terminal F, but my gate was C26, which meant I had to take shuttle E2A to get to the right terminal. I buzzed out of the plane, past my former rowmate asking for directions, straight to the shuttle. Knowing there's no way there will be WiFi outside of the building, I just send a few texts as I am ferried across the very cold and somewhat snowy world between terminals C and F. But as soon as I get inside, I yank out the netbook. It has finished booting now (I turned it on as I was leaving the plane) and I connect to Boingo while dodging the stragglers on the moving walkway. I soon discover that I do in fact have the local server set up, and some quick thinking gets me the files I need to work with. I finish the necessary prep in the skybridge just a few feet from my next metal bird.
This time I meet an Australian. I'm surrounded by them, actually, even though they don't seem to all know each other. He just finished a semester abroad in Arizona. He is nominally studying art history but truthfully studying drama. He recommends that I venture over to Australia while I'm so close to it, perhaps during an event called ???, which he bills as the ComiCon of the southern hemisphere. On seeing me use Linux while developing Lori's site, he comments: “Oh, you're one of those guys. The other other white meat.”
LAX
I say goodbye to the Aussie who is now chiefly concerned with the availability of free alcohol on his trans-Pacific flight, and hopes to get “nicely drunk”. I am worried about making the transition to my next flight for several reasons. First, it is on a different airline. So far today I have flown United, but I am now going to be boarding a flight operated by American. The second is related: I think something special happens with my luggage here, and I definitely have a luggage sticker, which means I will need deal with baggage claim to pick up my checked bag again. Finally, this is my longest layover and my last one before the big 12 hour flight to NZ. It's make it or break it for the site, but I'm arriving at the airport with a dead battery.
I call Siena once I get off the plane. She wanted to hear from me while I was here and I figured I should make the call before I am settled at gate 41, frantically finishing the site. Being on the phone makes me less confident I am making the right decisions about where to walk and what to do. I try to second-guess myself as I leave the United terminal, but am (fortunately, as it turns out) prevented from doing so by airline personnel staffing the hallway. The next 25 minutes I spend in baggage claim won't be narrated because it turns out they were all for naught. I didn't need to pick up my bag. The sticker was not for the luggage but for me. I was supposed to just leave and walk to the American terminal. A little discouraged and noticeably behind schedule, I walk, calling Siena on the way. Again this leads to problems as the American attendant notices my slow progress on the self-check and I am unable to adequately communicate with her with the earbuds in. I hang up with Siena and discover that I am in the wrong part of the American Airlines checkin area. I need to go to the Qantas line. Now with a boarding pass but still without power to resuscitate my dead laptop, I stand in line for security. Mental note: make an effort to avoid booking a trip with multiple airlines.
Finally through security, I immediately run into Ian and Zach and gate 41. Ian tells me there is no power here so I dart off in search of an outlet. I find one and get to work. A glance at the time and the boarding pass tells me that they have already started boarding this flight. You've got to be kidding. 15 minutes later, Zach calls, wondering where I am and telling me that they are getting in line to board. I walk back to the gate but sit at the end of the line. I'm now on Google Wave with Lori, which is going atrociously slowly, and I'm doing my best to tie off the project presentably. I type out my final notes to Lori in Wave, and then wait and watch each and every character slowly work its way to the screen. I have to see them all there and the message closed before I can turn off the computer, or even go close enough to the gate to risk losing signal.
I make it. Project finished and flight boarded, I am ready to go to New Zealand.
LAX->AKL
First, I'm parched. I didn't touch water on the flight to LA because I didn't want the hassle of getting past two people to go to the bathroom. This puts me at one small glass of water over the past 12 hours (which I had on the flight to Chicago). I pass Zach, Ian, and Wes on the way to my seat and chat with each of them momentarily as I pass. Almost everyone is seated now since I spent so much time outside the gate finishing the site. I come up to my ticketed row (58), and realize a few things are amiss. Firstly, it's just there. I mean I'm in the aisle and straight ahead of me is my seat. Nothing intervening except a stewardess and an awful lot of stuff piled on the seat. I'm trying to figure out what to do with that stuff, and my stuff, when the stewardess notices me and one of the passengers pipes up “so you're the lucky one!” I'm not quite sure how to take this as I am feeling far more thirsty than lucky at the moment and am quickly coming down with a case of confusion, but the stewardess interrupts my thought process with a most friendly offer to store my backpack for me. I thankfully accept and start to realize that my fortune was to receive a seat in the emergency exit row. Save the lack of an overhead bin and that little stretchy pocket on the seat in front of you, the setup is quite cushy. 2-3 rows in front of you have been removed to clear a path to the door and on takeoff and landing you converse with one of the attendants who is seated directly opposite you on the other side of the exit. The favor curried by this social engagement pays dividends immediately because the flight attendant station (which has all the food and drink for the flight) is right next to you, giving you that blessed, blessed, somewhat small cup of water. I guzzle 85% of it in one go before deciding that, for appearances sake, I should perhaps curb my intake.
Now, I hope you haven't gotten the idea that I was the only person in this row, singlehandedly schmoozing the stewardess with my natural charm and panache. In fact, most of the talking was done by the man seated to my right—a 40-something Kiwi returning from his annual trip selling New Zealand big game hunting to American conference attenders. He lives in Christchurch, tells me he spends most of his time as a sheep farmer. and incessantly uses the phrase “good on ya” in a charming accent. I feel like I've arrived already. The woman on my right is also a New Zealand native. She hails from Auckland and is returning from a trip around the world with her son, who she had to split from while boarding the plane. The stewardess is determined to reunite them and I wish that there was some way Zach could be involved in the remedy so he could move back here and sit by me. I knew that would do no good since he was in row 36 and the woman's son in 27, so I stopped thinking about it.
A little while later I realized that there would be an easy solution to this problem: I could switch seats with her son. I still wasn't convinced I liked the exit row seat anyway. After all, one of my favorite sleeping positions on public transportation is to have my legs propped up above my waist against a wall or seat in front of me. Here, that was impossible. So, as soon as the lady sat down... I said nothing. I'll have to work my way up to mentioning it to her, apparently. But then another flight attendant comes by to talk to her. He mentions that the young boy wouldn't be allowed to sit in the exit row (he was only referring to landing, though I didn't realize it). So much for that plan, I thought. But then not two minutes later, this same attendant asks me to leave my seat so the boy can sit here. I feel kind of like a jerk for not offering the switch myself, but agree, only to find out that it's hardly a switch at all: I'm just moving to the exact same seat on the other side of the plane. Someone else had been switched to row 27, it seems.
I remain in this seat for the duration of the flight. Dinner is served shortly after my move, and a kind-hearted attendant not only caters to my request for two waters, but also tops me off after I down the first one in seconds. I watch Hurt Locker on my little screen before drifting off to sleep. I would guess roughly that my slumber lasted 5-6 hours.
January 28
I woke up reasonably well-rested and checked the progress of our flight. We had a little over 3 hours left. I watched Public Enemies and had my breakfast. Not long after the movie was over, I was treated to my first views of New Zealand:
And then it is a reality: We are here! In New Zealand! It's summer! It's the southern hemisphere! We're here! After we left the airport we picked up our rental car and Wes took on the nerve-racking role of being the first among us to drive on the left-hand side of the road.
We made it to our destination with almost no problem. Our only wrong turn was one of our first ones, and even so it had been on the right street. We dropped off the baggage we wouldn't need for our roadtrip at the IES office and then headed to downtown Auckland.
We got some food, did some shopping, and mozied around the Prince's Wharf:
The best part of the day? While Zach and I were grocery shopping, I noticed some chocolate snacks, among which was a peanut slab. I asked the cashier and, lo and behold, they had wine gums as well. We'd been here less than 12 hours and already I felt at home buying familiar candy.
The car was a little packed
We're not in Kansas anymore
This was our first view of the Sky Tower. You can't go anywhere in Auckland without seeing it.
We got some food, did some shopping, and mozied around the Prince's Wharf:
The best part of the day? While Zach and I were grocery shopping, I noticed some chocolate snacks, among which was a peanut slab. I asked the cashier and, lo and behold, they had wine gums as well. We'd been here less than 12 hours and already I felt at home buying familiar candy.
I am the last one awake in our hostel room, finishing up this entry. It's now midnight New Zealand time and we're planning to wake up at 8:30. I need to get a sleeping bag tomorrow, though I haven't told any of them yet. I also hope to get a cheap cell phone (that I have mentioned :)
So for now I'm signing off. Watch out, New Zealand... here we come!
