I am one of those unfortunate people who do not deal well with planes. They make me nervous (and often nauseated), even on short flights, so the prospect of being on a plane for fifteen hours (and switching around between planes for nearly twenty total hours) struck a chord of fear in my belly from the beginning of my trip planning.
Lucky for me, Wes handled the actual details of the flights through a travel agent, so I was able to mostly ignore the impending period of airborne travel.
At least, until the last minute.
On September 24th, 2011, the day that I flew out of Houston's Hobby Airport, I sat in a small, refrigerator-stocked "cafe" with Wes and my parents. We shared a brief, snack-like meal that consisted of turkey wraps, key lime parfaits and drumstick ice creams. We drank lemonade and chatted.
The closer the time for my departure came, the more nervous I got. I started to feel chilled and anxious, and the familiar panic started to send its sneaky little minions into my thoughts.
I did not even once think, "What if our plane crashes?" Nor did I bother with concerns about terrorists, bombs or hijackings. Why should I? We were flying out, not in!
(Silly logic, but that's how it goes sometimes.)
However, I did (repeatedly) worry that we would miss our connecting flight in Dallas and be stranded for two days. I worried that we'd be stuck waiting for the next flight out without anywhere to go in the mean time. Nowhere to shower, only mall-style food in the terminal to eat. I also was concerned about the state of my body and whether I could last such long flights without getting sick (because puking into a plane's cramped toilet has even less appeal than hugging the porcelain at home). My biggest fear of all was that immigration would tell me that my visa was no good and boot me back out again once I'd arrived.
Thankfully, all three flights went far more smoothly than I'm accustomed.
Well. Mostly.
I still do not deal with planes very well.
The first flight was very brief. We boarded a little cigar plane out of Hobby to get to Dallas and arrived in under an hour. Though we flew Qantas, the actual flight was chartered via American Eagle and absolutely tiny. Personally, I hate small regional jets because of how they careen about mid-air during take-off and landing, but it was no worse than my previous experiences on similar planes. The landing was smoother than I tend to expect of such small aircraft, which was a blessing for Wes' hand, since I was holding on rather tightly at the time.
Our poor flight attendant was more than competent (though she seemed quite exhausted and appeared to have made the same trip back and forth at least a few times that day). She made a joke that we shouldn't confuse her for a Southwest hostess, in spite of her laid-back demeanor. She warned us to watch our knees, elbows, toes and shoulders as she came down the aisle with "a very heavy and dangerous cart" full of beverages. To be truthful, she really did have the sort of attitude that one expects to find on the orange and blue planes.
As we came into the Dallas airport and she bid us all good-bye, she read an excerpt from the 9/11 memorials in memory of her brother, who was a fire fighter and first responder as we came into the Dallas. The brief speech was written as a reminder that tragedy can strike at any time and that we must cherish the ones we're with, because someone out there thinks we're the whole world. I normally get annoyed at 9/11 reminders on air planes, but given my emotional state at the time and the message itself (combined with my death grip on Wes' hand), it was strangely comforting.
The second leg of the journey by comparison can only be called luxurious. Though the flight lasted fifteen hours, I was quite comfortable throughout. The very Australian (and very manly) crew fed us twice, and provided us with a midnight "survival pack" and drinks poured from luminescent water jugs. The food was also almost home-like. Compared to the typical, super-dried out meals served on the longer domestic flights in the US or the meagre baggies of peanuts on shorter trips, Qantas' meals were practically gourmet.
It's strange, but there's nothing quite so reassuring as being able to eat on a long flight without fearing that the preservatives in the meal are going to bring everything back up in an hour.
Sorry to be crude, but it's the absolute truth.
I felt quite cozy the whole trip, on top of being well-fed on BBQ chicken, yogurt, fresh melon and tea.
In short, Qantas takes good care of their international passengers. All economy seats (because I can't speak for the others) come equipped with their own, privacy-screened monitor to watch a huge number of TV shows, movies and documentaries for free on the flight (which is a great way to beat jetlag, if you're a more seasoned traveller than I am; I fell asleep a few times mid-viewing).
Wes and I watched X-Men: First Class, about half of Thor (at which point we passed out) and a bit of Big Bang Theory. I also worked in a bit of The Wizard of Oz before sleep claimed me a second time.
There were plenty of other choices that I didn't get to, too. Even a few flicks for the kids on board.
Speaking of which, we had several little ones join us on the flight over. In our section, there was one infant in particular who couldn't stop crying for nearly three hours into the flight (poor thing), the noisy and rambunctious little boy in front of us (who woke up for good around two AM and started playing peek-a-boo over the back of the seat with us) and two slightly older, much quieter girls further up. Everyone was pretty tolerant of them and they were mostly just fine, if a bit noisy.
The final leg of the journey was actually probably the roughest. We had to disembark from the plane with our carry-on luggage, then go through security and wait about an hour while they cleaned and re-outfitted the plane for the last jump. When we reboarded and took off around six AM, I was about ready (to use Wes' favorite phrase) to die in the arse. We were provided a second, light breakfast on the very short and speedy jaunt from Brisbane to Sydney. I almost regretted it, because of turbulence.
It was a bouncy ride down the coast and we had a bit of a rough, jerky landing. I was a bit shaken up after, really. Sort of like a can of Coke in the back seat of a Jeep.
However, the important thing to know is that I survived the journey and have taken roost in Australia for the next year. I also managed to do it without catching the head-cold that's currently kicking Wes' immune system around (for which I'm very glad).
As of this moment, approximately two days after I started my trip, I have mostly defeated the jetlag that tried to pin me down the first day here, and am settling in nicely!
The next post will hopefully contain more photos, but right now, I haven't got much to share. I just wanted to get this written, get it posted and let everyone know that I'm alive, well and pretty happy to be here!
