The Flight Home

When I was eleven, and my brother fourteen, we went to Australia.1

This is the flight back home. 2

We got up at 3:30 AM (Australian time) on Monday to come back to the States. A long drive from Townsville to Cairns, about eight hours, and the road was so bumpy that it was impossible to get a little sleep. Breakfast consisted of a cup of cornflakes, but since I didn’t expect much food on the plane, I restrained myself; eating one flake every fifteen minutes. After about a palmful of this, I went down to five minutes, and eventually, I just gulped them. My will-power has never been very admirable. I composed a poem about crocodiles to pass the time, probably a five-page poem, if I hadn’t kept forgetting the previous stanza by the time I’d composed the next one. 3

Arriving in Cairns, we waited in line for quite a while, as is customary in airports. Halfway through the line, I went to search for a trash can to throw my apple core, but apparently there are no trash cans until you are put through security--in case of bombs, we think--except in the bathrooms, where they have shallow metal trays on the floor where you put paper towels. I doubt you were supposed to put food products in them, but I wasn’t going to carry the brown and gooey apple core until we got to the terminal. It’s a good thing, too, because soon after my return, we were informed that fog in Auckland, New Zealand was keeping the planes on the ground, so our flight was delayed. Although it took a long time and great effort, we got confirmation that we were to take a different flight at 2:00pm from Cairns. (Originally, we were supposed to leave at 11:30am) The only available flight from Auckland was Los Angeles, as opposed to San Fransisco, where we were originally heading, but they told us to talk to United airlines when we arrived and they would put us though Portland. As unaccompanied minors, they were sure that we could get some kind of assistance if necessary. 4

So following the long, boring and humid wait, we flew on a 747 to Auckland, and after our departure from the aircraft (We hope you have had a nice flight on Air New Zealand, and have a nice day) we wandered past a group of hurried armed security guards to the terminal. Nobody we asked knew what they were hurrying towards, but it can’t have been that serious, because they hurried back a couple minute later. 5

While seated, I noticed a Canadian—I knew he was Canadian because I had glimpsed his passport in Cairns—that Lara, the friend we had been staying with in Townsville, had asked about the location of trash cans. His cheek twitched; it was quite fascinating. In the seat behind us, there were two teenagers talking in what my brother, Forest, said wasn’t German, French, or any other language he recognized. I could only get a glimpse at their passports, but I think they may have been Finnish.6

When people ask me how I liked New Zealand, I can honestly say that I think they have the prettiest international flight terminal, with pictures etched in the glass panels, and the nicest customs people. (One of them commented favorably on my t-shirt, though I don't know why, which read ‘Here today, gone to Morrow Bay')7

On the plane, my brother watched a Russian movie in which every time anyone scraped themselves on a wall, corner, or piece of flying broken glass, blood spurted continuously on everything within reach except the floor. My headphones didn’t work, but it had subtitles, so I—having nothing better to do—watched it as well. Although I couldn’t hear any of it, Forest said I missed nothing but Russian dialogue, the nearly constant sound of blood spurting and screams, and many loud bangs and explosions. 8

Finally, after a 15-hour flight, we got to Los Angeles, and spent the better part of two hours finding our way through the airport to the United Airlines building. There are many departments and terminals located around a long street/courtyard, with helpful people who accost you and ask if you require assistance.9

There, a short grumpy man from United Airline said we couldn't fly to Portland because it was not arranged with Air New Zealand, the airline we had taken so far. Air New Zealand had said, of course, that all would be arranged while we were in the air from Auckland to LA. By then it was about 4:00pm (Oregon time) on Tuesday. 10

Apparently, being unaccompanied minors did not help us at all, but Mr. Grump at last suggested that we go back to the Air New Zealand desk and arrange it with them, and then come back. I was all for that, because I was getting kind of tired standing still, but my brother ignored my tactful hints, (“Shouldn’t we be starting over to Air New Zealand? Can we just go and arrange the flight?) found a pay phone, and stood there for another hour or two trying with mom on the other end to find our flight number to Portland. I settled down on a baggage cart and brushed my hair. Don’t try to imagine how matted long hair can get when tied back in a ponytail during a 15-hour airplane ride. It was, however, a good way to occupy my time. Every once in a while, my brother would send me over to punch a number into a do-it-yourself machine across the way. At last, after my baggage cart had been stolen and returned two times, and in half the time it would have taken if he had followed the advice of Mr. Grump, we got a plane leaving to Portland at 8:53. It was 7:15. 11

We went there, and waited. At 8:53pm they announced a gate change and delay, so we moved to the new gate and waited. I have nothing favorable or interesting to say about the LAX terminal except that five people commented on the fact that I have white hair. (Them: You have white hair! How strange! Me: I am aware of that. I am albinistic) then we waited some more. This continued. At about 10:30, they announced that the plane would leave at 11:55 at yet another gate. We went there and waited. 12

By now some of the other passengers were getting irritated. I decided I wanted dinner, but all the food places were closed. Even McDonalds and Starbucks, if you can believe that! So I sat down again and waited. I drew two pictures in my sketch pad, and one person complimented my picture of a bird and then asked if I was an albino. I gave the standard reply, explaining that technically, being a girl, I was an albina. One would think this obvious. At 11:30, they announced the flight canceled over the speakers, except the electronic departure and arrival signs still read: Leaving at 8:53, delay. Not much help. The overhead speaker was still announcing gate changes one after another, and after listening for information that did not come, my brother and I went to the information desk; yes, the flight was indeed canceled. The lady was kind enough to give us a room at a hotel, two meal vouchers, and tickets for a 6:15 AM flight to Portland. She also let us use her cell phone to call home; the first advantage being unaccompanied minors had given us.13

The hotel, we discovered, following a thirty minute wait for an every-fifteen-minute shuttle bus, was quite a fancy one. It was roughly $100 a night, (my brother wishes he could’ve stayed longer; I don’t think it was all that great. I mean, it was a hotel. How great can hotels be?) with a Wi-Fi in every room, a charger for a laptop or cell phone on the dresser, and from looking at the menu, a wide variety of foods to choose from. Unfortunately, it turned out we’d gotten there to late at night to eat, and since we left at 4:00 the next morning, we didn’t have the opportunity to take advantage of this variety. In fact, we contemplated stealing the Girl Guide biscuits we were bringing home for dad, but nice as we are, we decided to spend the six hours we had there sleeping. 14

Before we knew it, it was 4:00am Wednesday morning, and we rushed down the stairs to meet the shuttle bus. At the airport, we were told that the meal vouchers were valid in the terminal as well as at the hotel. 'Yay', we thought, 'Food!' But alas, neither McDonald’s, Arby’s, or Burgerville took the vouchers. Starbucks, for once in my life, came to the rescue, and we partially enjoyed inhaling mini ham and egg sandwiches while handing the flight attendant our boarding passes. 15

Somehow the two hour flight was shortened to one hour, or maybe I just fell asleep, which is just as likely, and we arrived in Portland. 16

I love traveling by airplane, don’t you?17