It's my time, 'cause I'm the next in line.

It all started with a snowstorm. We were scheduled to leave Seattle a day after fat flakes fell and stuck for 12 hours straight. I had made backup plans to get us to the airport in case we couldn't get a Lyft, but the snow stopped and the roads were just clear enough by the time we needed to leave. When we got to the airport, lines of frustrated people sighed and scowled, waiting for their turn to rearrange flights that had been cancelled early that morning. Our first leg of the flight was with Alaska (hereafter referred to as "Satan") so we had to stand in line with many of these poor unfortunate types. For some reason, Alaska decided to group international check-ins with reschedules, so people who needed to get through security and catch flights in the near future were made to wait behind folks whose counter interactions took an average of 20-30 minutes apiece. Furthermore, the seven available service desks were only half staffed. It was lucky that we had arrived early because we stood there for an hour.

Finally, when it was our time because we were the next in line, the apathetic woman at the open desk called out to ask to ask what we needed. We told her, and she responded that our check-in would take too long and her shift was finished in five minutes. Then she promptly signed off and walked away. The next few folks in the line looked around bewildered and offended, some asking, "Is she serious?!" She was. After several more minutes another more helpful fellow occupied the desk and helped us with our check-in. He assured us that our bags were checked through, but that we would have to ask the Air New Zealand staff for our boarding passes when we arrived in LA. Easy peasy.

So we went through an almost abandoned TSA security line (probably because of all of the canceled flights) and found our gate with relative ease. We only had about 20 minutes until our flight was scheduled to board. We grabbed a burger at one of the fast food joints and then went to speak with the woman at the boarding gate to get our seat assignments. I don't know why those hadn't already been assigned. We each ended up with middle seats in two different rows, one in front of the other. No biggie, I guess. Then the time to board rolled around and nothing happened. After a few minutes, the gate agent got on the intercom to tell us that the plane wasn't at the gate yet. She explained that it was indeed at the airport and had been all night, but they had yet to tow it to our gate. Okay then. Seems like someone dropped the ball, but I suppose these things happen. Another 45 minutes went by. This was when we were supposed to be actually departing. Still no plane. Another hour went by and the plane finally arrived. The passengers, despite our predicament, had remained calm and courteous and boarded with relative quickness. As we walked through the gate, I noticed the plane towing guys were having a snowball fight with the baggage handlers. Not super professional conduct, but whatever.

Finally, the passengers were all seated and ready to go. We did not go. What we did was sit there and wait, and wait, and wait. The captain came on the intercom and apologized for the further delay but said we were just waiting for the baggage handlers to finish loading the plane. We could hear the bags being loaded in one-by-one, slowly but surely. It was a large flight so there would be plenty to load. Perhaps they should have been working on that rather than chucking snowballs at one another. The sounds of loading seemed to last forever. Our plane finally backed away from the gate a full hour and forty-five minutes after our scheduled departure.

By now I was outraged and nervous. Our itinerary had allowed us two and a half hours to make our connection. Based on my last experience transferring between the international and domestic terminals at LAX, I knew we'd need the time. We were now down to an hour to make the connection and this meant we would be running a very long way. As we approached our destination, a flight attendant came on the intercom and asked that passengers who were not connecting internationally remain seated so that the few of us trying to make the same or similar flights could get off as soon as possible. Sure enough, as soon as we stopped every dickhead and their mom stood up to start readying their bags. I shouted down the aisle that there were some of us in the back who needed to get off. Fortunately, most people complied and we managed to exit fairly quickly.

Now it was time to run. I tightened my backpack straps and took off at a steady jog that I knew would not last long. Within a minute or two I was sweating profusely and panting, my heart beating out of my chest. I alternated between the briskest walk I could manage and a light jog the entire way. We wound through hallway after hallway, trying to follow the unclear signs and figure out where to get our flight. We took a couple of wrong turns and had to backtrack, which felt like torture under the already dire circumstances. We knew our flight had begun boarding a good half hour before we'd be at the gate so we were pushing it. Finally, the half dozen of us who had traveled from Seattle together fell upon the boarding gate almost at once, with me and another older gentleman straggling in behind. The gate agents were a complete 180º from what we had dealt with so far. They collected all of our passports immediately and made haste to arrange our departure. Alaska claimed to have called ahead to inform our connecting flights of the delay, but that didn't appear to be the case when actually got there. I can't say I was surprised to hear that Alaska had not actually even processed our check-in in Seattle at all, which meant that Air New Zealand thought we were just no-shows.

Fortunately, they were still able offer all of us seats, and even moved some folks around so that those of us who had paid for upgrades could keep them. They really went above and beyond and we were grateful. Mem and I were literally the last people to board the flight. We plopped down in our seats, sweaty and exhausted, relieved and in disbelief that we had actually made it this far. This flight ended up departing about fifteen minutes late too, but it was supposedly because of heavy traffic at LAX. I suspected it might also have to do with the number of stragglers who boarded at the last minute.

Nothing like running across LAX to give you that youthful glow!

We were in for a 12-hour trip, so we tried to get comfy and relax. As a surprise and a retirement gift, I had paid to upgrade us to a Skycouch, which is essentially a three-seat row where you can lift the footrests 90º to make a bed. The very courteous flight attendants served us a surprisingly good dinner and then we set about making our bed. Although our Skycouch afforded more space and comfort than a regular seat, it was by no means as comfortable as a bed. We're lucky we're not tall and are familiar enough with one another to sleep in close quarters. There was much tossing and turning, readjusting, limbs falling asleep, cramping, and sweating. Still, we did manage to get sleep in short spurts and arrived surprisingly alert.

Now, I have to tell you, I have been through many airports in many countries, and have dealt with passport control and customs all over the world. Most of the time it is, at the very least, a mild inconvenience. Other times (usually coming back to the US from elsewhere), it is infuriating or depressing. In either case, it generally takes awhile. New Zealand appears to have solved this issue quite well, at least for Americans. When we got off the plane, we followed clearly marked signs, walked through a huge sparkly duty-free mall, and then were spit out into passport control. Before we proceeded, I stepped out of line to ask the fellow at the Vodafone counter whether this was where I needed to collect the phone I had reserved. He informed me that it was actually the store beyond passport control where I needed to get it. As I went back to the line, he called out to me to ask what kind of passport I held. When I showed him, he pointed to the E-passport symbol on the front, which I had never really noticed, and told us that we could go through a different line where there was no wait. As we walked in that direction, I noticed the e-Passport sign showed flags from countries like the US, Canada, England, and Australia. When Mem asked why we got to use the special line, I explained that it was because we come from a white people country.

There were no passport agents to speak of. We each inserted our passports into a little touch-screen kiosk, much like the kind you use to check in at the airport. It spit out a ticket and the screen instructed us to walk to the entry gates. These were much like subway ticket machines, except when you insert your ticket a screen in front of you tells you to look into a camera straight ahead, your picture is taken, and then the gate opens so you can proceed. That was it, and it was amazing.

Next it was time to collect our baggage so that we could go through customs. We waited at the carousel, increasingly nervous as minute after minute went by. Soon, the other passengers we recognized from our epic run through LAX joined us and we all found ourselves waiting until the carousel sign said that all baggage had been delivered. At this point, nothing could surprise us. We spoke with an airport staff member who directed us to the baggage services counter. Soon, all of our fellow baggageless wandered over too. Air New Zealand was amazingly helpful and explained that our bags had not been registered in Air New Zealand's system, so they were not transferred to the transpacific flight (quelle surprise). The agent was apologetic but made arrangements for our bags to be put on the next flight from LA and delivered to our B&B. She also explained that we were entitled a $100 NZD reimbursement for any emergency supplies we needed to buy due to the loss of our luggage. We could either return to the airport to collect it, or take care of it before our flight home.

She stamped our customs forms and instructed us to proceed through the checkpoint with our carry-on. As we approached the line, a tall woman saw me carrying our baggage services forms and said, "Uh oh! What happened?" We summarized our story and she was sympathetic. The customs agent was friendly and quickly questioned us as to the content of our late-arriving bags. He also asked whether we were bringing any food into the country. The flight attendants had passed out hard candy shortly before we landed, so Mem set her piece on the counter in response. "Thanks, but I've had lunch," he joked and then sent us through to have our backpacks X-rayed. Aside from the baggage services detour, the whole immigration and customs process took a few measly minutes and we were discharged into arrivals.

First we went to the Vodafone store to pick up the mobile I had reserved. I thought it would be good to text our AirBnB hosts to let them know we would be there later than expected due to the baggage SNAFU. I sent a message but it didn't appear to go through. No biggie. We weren't that late yet. We headed over the Avis counter to collect the keys for our rental car and then I programmed the address into the maps app on our phone. It couldn't connect to the internet so I went back over to the Vodafone counter for help. It hadn't actually been activated. They set it up properly this time (or so we thought) and then we finally walked outside. It was 9:30 AM and we had been in airports or on airplanes for nearly 24 hours. The slightly muggy air was a warm and welcome sensation. 

We located our car, a silver Holden Cruze, and threw our luggage into the back. New Zealand is a left-driving country and we had read up on driving rules in preparation, but it was still disorienting. To begin with, the steering wheel is on the opposite side. I would be driving us to our AirBnB so I had to get used to keeping to the right inside the left lane. I hit the curb on the left side of the car a couple of times because my depth perception was off. Also, the windshield wipers and turn signal levers were reversed, so every time I tried to signal I would turn on the wipers and then swear.

When we started driving, the GPS failed to stay connected and we just ended up with a map that couldn't give us directions. We first pulled into a gas station to try to correct the matter and then went back to the airport. I had no idea where I was going so I accidentally pulled into the airport's pay parking area. I was getting flustered now and a steady stream of profanity began to emanate from my mouth. Mem was doing her best to talk me down and find a solution. I parked and marched back inside to the Vodafone counter. The woman there looked perturbed to see us again. I explained the issue and asked if we could just return the phone because I figured we could just pay for the GPS service from the rental car company. She said she couldn't accept the return and instead programmed the phone to be used as a mobile hotspot. That way, we could use one of our own iPhones for GPS. Fortunately, that worked, although I was annoyed at now having to use two phones to do the job of one.

We went back outside, got in the car and made our way to the exit. We had to pay $6.00 NZD (about $4.00 USD) for the five minutes we had been there, which was annoying, but at least we were on our way. I got the hang of the driving pretty quickly and, for the first time in my life, was thankful for moderate traffic because it meant no one could get too annoyed at me for driving slowly and carefully. Except for a couple of abrupt lane ending incidents when I had to think fast to get in the right lane, we made it in one piece. We pulled into our AirBnB about 20 minutes later. Relief doesn't begin to describe how I felt.

Our accommodations were a white Victorian house in the Epsom suburb with a beautifully manicured garden and a curved stairway leading up to a covered porch. We rang the old manual bell and were greeted by John, one of the owners. He was a friendly middle-aged Chinese man who graciously welcomed us in even though we were several hours early for check-in. He offered us tea and a sit-down on the patio while he called Rosie, his wife, to let her know we had arrived. Mem instantly noticed their fluffy cat, Mimi, sitting on the grass nearby. Mimi was friendly and came over to collect some scratches while we rehydrated and recombobulated. Rosie arrived and introduced herself. We explained to her that we had had quite the adventure getting there and that our luggage had not arrived. She was sympathetic, and she and John busied themselves readying our room so we could take a load off. We put our feet up and guzzled water.

 

Our first encounter with the local wildlife.

It was now 11 AM and we were hungry. We had noticed several restaurants and shops on the main road as we drove in, and Rosie recommended a few of them. We decided on the Chinese restaurant,  Golden Jade, half a block away and were not disappointed. It was run by an all Cantonese-speaking staff, who promptly brought tea and casually tossed menus on the table. The restaurant had just opened, but they moved busily as if preparing for the lunch rush. We ordered BBQ fried rice, kung pao chicken, and choi sam in ginger sauce. They brought out three huge plates of food and we realized we had ordered enough for a medium-sized family. I helped Mem with her chopsticks skills and we ate well. This was some of the best Chinese food I had had outside of China and the warm, juicy BBQ pork was in fact the best I had ever had.

We dropped our leftovers back at the house and then ventured out again to buy some emergency toiletries to get us through the next (hopefully only) 24 hours until our luggage arrived. We walked to a beautiful produce market called Farro, which looked like an upscale health food store and smelled amazing. They didn't have any non-food related items though, so we left empty handed. We walked into a pharmacy so Mem could buy a toothbrush (which only came into a two pack) and then headed back toward the house. On the way, we stopped at a little convenience store (known as a "dairy" in New Zealand) that had boxes of used books sitting outside The books cost $2.00 each so I snatched up a copy of The Official New Zealand Road Code, and recommended Hesse's Narcissus and Goldmund for Mem. We noticed the store also had a few basic toiletries, like single toothbrushes for cheaper than the pharmacy had them. On the next block we stopped into the Lido Cinema to inquire about ticket prices and peruse their selection, discussing whether it might be good to see a movie later.

Since we had no fresh clothes, we thought it might be a good idea to take Air New Zealand up on their reimbursement policy. Once again I braved the road and took us about a mile and a half north to the Farmers department store. We each picked out underwear and a sleep shirt that could double as an actual shirt. This would at least give us the illusion of freshness, especially after we took advantage of a much needed shower. We had a nice conversation with the Iranian cashier, whose name tag read "Shireen", pointing out that my mom and I shared the middle name Shareen. Then we returned to the house to put our feet up for a bit. I had been having trouble with one of mine and the jog across LAX did not help.

The resting just made us drowsy, so we opted to go see Lion just to keep us awake until an appropriate bedtime. We were dealing with a 21-hour time difference and didn't want to spend the next several days jetlagged. The movie was beautiful and harrowing, with very little actual dialogue. I worked hard to suppress tears through most of it. I was amazed that it was true story because it was so unbelievable. After the movie, we went home and had some leftover Chinese and then I took a much-needed shower. The high water pressure was delicious and made me feel so much better. I donned my provisional wardrobe and crawled into bed. Mem was asleep in minutes, but I made myself stay up awhile so that I wouldn't wake up at a ridiculously early hour. I slept hard and dreamed of joining some rogue members of the media in publicly demonstrating against Donald Trump while he watched a basketball game with his family. Not even my unconscious will give it a rest!