How lucky I am that I have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.
A. A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh
Sunday, December 1st seemed to arrive quietly and without fanfare despite the subtle but exhilarating anticipation of the preceding weeks.
Will had been packed for days, his suitcase standing upright in the corner clearly disapproving of my open and almost empty one.
Unable to visualise a life without at least 4 pairs of shoes, and my favourite shirts (this is my top criteria for choices when packing to travel) I ended up with an impossible-to-close suitcase situation. Courtney very kindly emptied her larger version and I placed it on the bed ready to begin again. Will sat on the other side of the bed, glanced over his shoulder at me and the empty suitcase then at his watch and then closed his eyes, I imagine in the hope that what he had seen was perhaps just a misinterpretation of reality.
Mark recommended that we leave at 8am. We managed to do this (or should I say “I” managed to). Our flight was also on time, obviously having had no last minute decisions about how big to make the in packing the hold.
Our flight was without incident which does not lend itself to descriptive writing but is one of those situations where you do not actually mind that. We were offered lunch a couple of hours in, a hot snack (a thick, hot, rubbery sandwich) in a packet marked with “all natural” or “whole foods” or something similar (which made it more disappointing) after four or five hours and then breakfast four or so hours later. I am not sure where dinner went but perhaps that is why I was hungry before breakfast despite the fact that it was served about midnight, Brisbane time.
Disembarking and collecting our luggage was reasonably painless although it did occur to me at the carousel that using luggage with which one is unfamiliar does involve examining other people’s cases more than one would want to. The Los Angeles arrivals area at 5 something in the morning seemed to be devoid of people save for our plane load and one other. The officials at Customs and Immigration were just starting their shift, had lots of energy and were not suffering tired and inattentive attitudes, well (impossible to expect that there may be some of these among long haul travelers). We were directed into queues, scrutinised, fingerprinted and photographed (looking your absolute best after a 13 hour flight sitting upright).
Groundhog day
December 1st – again – Will and I were feeling confident that we had ample time to get to the next gate and catch our connection to Atlanta. It turns out we had more than ample time – 7 hours ample. Delta airlines apologised and offered free, exotic snacks which were accepted but were small exchange for waiting such a long time. The gate we had been assigned had limited access to the remainder of the airport so our walks were very short and the scenery bright and commercial. Horizontality is underrated – while those 2cm that economy airline seats recline is just marvelous, they do tend to engender sarcasm. We spent 36 hours mostly in a sitting position – while it was possible to sleep it seemed highly unsatisfying.
We arrived in Atlanta, Georgia, at our hotel at a few minutes past midnight and were told that breakfast began at 6.30am and we needed to be in the foyer with our packed bags by 7am. The luxury of lying down was going to be short lived!