We’re off! Not an auspicious start, but one most Americans who travel often are used to by now unfortunately…
YET ANOTHER CANCELLED FLIGHT!
All packed? Check.
House secured for vacation? Check.
Work schedules cleared up? Check.
Kids have house and pet instructions? Check.
Emergency numbers and notices delivered? Check.
Valium for anticipated heavy turbulence? OOPS. MUST PRAY FOR LESS WIND.
Finally, we’re off to the airport. After 2++ hours of waiting and transfers to new gates, we get hit with an unannounced “delay”. Translate: you’re standing at a gate and the gate sign changes to a different destination. No announcement. “What’s this? Cleveland? Where the %#^* is our “delayed” plane?” After an hour-long wait in a long line of angry passengers at this gate, we’re directed back to the front US Airways counter, for another hour wait. No kidding. An equally-frustrated (but exceptionally polite) front counter clerk tells us that the plane had mechanical failures, so we are finally OFFICIALLY told our flight was cancelled. Not to point fingers, really, but US Airlines is just not equipped to handle such things in a good way. Yes, it was after 10:00 pm by this time, but they had only 1 person at the check-in counter to assist with several flight delays and cancellations, 2 people managing baggage changes, and 1 person handing out hotel vouchers (which they did not advertise, and we hear only by word of mouth). Not good service if, say, you actually want to retain us as future passengers! Finally, we disappointedly vacate the airport premises, told to return the next day. Same Bat Time – Same Bat Place! Hopefully with a different outcome. What is omitted from this diatribe (but should be quite obvious) is that all the plans we carefully laid out to get acclimated from jet lag, tour the city, meet with company staff and initiate our house search had to be moved back a day. Thank you US Airways! Our jam-packed 6-day journey is now down to 5.
This time though, we make it without any airline mishaps. The nice clerk from the night before thoughtfully transferred us to an American Airlines 2:30 pm flight, to ensure we wouldn’t have a repeat late night performance. Although we now have stops in Dallas and in LAX, we are finally on our way, on Qantas, in Business First, on a midnight flight. And the flight? Not nearly as long or exhausting as I had heard, as you virtually sleep most of the time on an overnight flight like this. Much to the amusement of my sweet hubby, the blonde here whiled away two hours fiddling with all the exciting gadgets and myriad movie selections on the chair (great minds are easily amused, I guess!). I also discover that I can now traipse upstairs to the former first class zone to have a sneak peak at how rich people used to fly. It has long been a dream of mine to climb up that forbidden ladder. By now I’m thinking I could actually enjoy this flight.
Speaking of enjoying flights (or not)… just a few words about my greatest fears thus far. I’ve conquered many issues by now to get to this point. The below list encompasses several recent dreams of epic nightmarish proportions:
– Fears about a cross-continent move to a city where most houses are on stilts (for good reason);
– Fears about a country where just about every creature that can kill you roams freely;
– Fears about leaving our mature, independent grown kids to fend for themselves in this harsh
cruel world (bc they habitually bungee jump and skydive when out of our line of sight);
– Fears about leaving our beloved, but highly persnickety 15-year old feline to one of our
hapless children who volunteered to babysit “Precious” for the duration of this assignment.
I am rather proud that I have conquered many issues surrounding this new life path, notwithstanding the voluminous paperwork, dr appts (not a fan of white coats!) and psych interviews to see if we’re mentally and physically up to this assignment. But since confessions are good for the soul, I’ll just go ahead and fess up that my most abject fear, by a rather large landslide, was of the airplane trip itself. I am quite unhappy with violent turbulence. Or turbulence of any extended kind, frankly. A few bumps here and there are no big deal. But when the Captain gets on the announcement intercom and says “Flight Attendents please take your seats”, I am just not happy. It’s sorta funny that you can put me in a small sightseeing plane and it’s all good- even the bumps. I suppose that is because I can see actually see the pilots face (including abject terror, if it gets to that point), and hear the “oops” when he goofs up and ostensibly hits the wrong buttons. As long as he is calm, I’m quite fine and dandy- no matter how many bumps I have to take with the ride. I can’t chat with the pilot on a 747, although I think he would really enjoy the extra entertainment once in a while.
So, the possibility of 18+ hours of flight is quite daunting, to say the least. My hubby is by now well-versed in reaching out to pat my hand (which annoys me immensely), or smiling calmly into my somewhat panicked eyes as he continues reading, while being jostled around on a runaway roller coaster ride 70,000 feet above my comfort zone. A long-ago flying companion once told me that statistically, 99% of plane crashes occur within 45 seconds of take off and in the 45 seconds prior to landing. So why am I so scared of what happens at 70,000 feet? I mean, most of the flight is well outside of those statistical time margins. So Richard (former business partner and now former friend)… just for the record, I STILL count 45 nerve-wracking seconds after every take-off and 45 nerve-wracking seconds after the wheels are locked in place and we’re circling for landing. I really hate you.
At last, all is well in the friendly skies, and the Gods for which I have prayed fervently to let the flight be smooth, consistent and pleasant have delivered a non-bouncing, highly content passenger. Aided by a few very handsome male flight attendants who provide me with ample wine and champagne samples to keep my valium deprived body safely in the no-panic zone. Before we know it, we are nearing the coastline for our 6:30 am landing in Brisbane. I will never ever forget that first sight of this grand continent- the beautiful beaches and the winding Brisbane River that snakes its way around the city and surrounding suburbs. This will be our new home. Words cannot adequately describe the pristine beauty of the sandy beaches, the refreshingly crystal clear aqua water, or the rugged mountain peaks rising above the scenic views of downtown Brisbane. Untamed wilderness virtually surrounds the city, most of which is nationally protected swampland, complete with even more highly protected wildlife (including snakes, whom I hate equally as much as white coats and turbulence). We’ll venture out there into the vast hinterlands of Australia, but first we must conquer the rather imposing skyline of this city. Snakes included.
Watch out Brisbane, here we come!
