Sabbatical II: the Nineteen Hour Night

A final day in the Northern Hemisphere, so final tasks: meditate, yard work, washing and storing car, laundry, setting timers, last bits of packing that had to wait till lift off, and a dozen other things that occurred in the moment.  In the afternoon, lots of cirrus clouds while I was doing taiji, seeing like a good omen for travel.  Talked to Dad, dinner with Sengita, then time to go.

BART at 6:40 pm.  The train was still exotic when I took my last long trip, no more now that it’s how I commute.  So I read the The New Yorker till reaching the SFO stop.  It’s brilliant that one just has to exit BART and walk directly into the International Terminal, no epic slog like Seattle.  I love the way the space opens as you exit the portal.  It means, OK, there’s a voyage coming up.  Many other clues: international airline logos, foreign destinations on the status screens, an abundance of overburdened luggage carts and a super-wide demographic.  Many Filipinos and Chinese; there were flights around the same time as mine to Manila, Hong Kong, and Guangzhou.

Goodbye to my luggage (more on that later). After enjoying the SFO Museum exhibits on surfboards – beautiful recreations of classic boards in redwood – and insects – which gave me nightmares on the flight, it was time to leave the US and find my plane.  It was there:

A ¾ full 747-400.  I might have been on the same aircraft in 2009 or 2010. 

Should have carved my initials.  Qantas is retiring these planes soon. Their age showed a bit, worn plastic, a butt divot in my seat, incandescent lights.  I paid more for an exit row.  It was worth it:

Empty middle seat.  The window seat was a student from Colorado School of Mines; she made a nest, ate enough candy to apparently go into a sugar coma, and did not wake up till an hour before landing.

The expected long take off roll, and we were en route to Sydney, west with the night (apologies Beryl Markham).  Yes, I know New Zealand was my first stop, but it was very cost efficient to book my first five flights on Qantas, so I was to transfer in Sydney.  What could go wrong? 

I settled in for fifteen hours.  Long flights aren’t novel any more, but each has its own flavor.  Two observations this time.  First, I was impressed by the 747’s stately progression and how it muted turbulence.  I am be more accustomed to 737s, which get tossed around more easily.  Second, I was quite aware of living temporarily in this big metal tube dominated by white noise –a domain to explore and make use of as best I could.  I don’t sleep well on planes, so my time went something like: watch movie (with dinner), doze (based on drool), check flight status, endure sore legs, watch another movie, get up and stretch and do laps around Economy Class, check flight status, notice legs have given up pain so sleep a few hours (same evidence, but more), do more laps and find the mid-flight snack bar, watch movie (with mid-flight snack), check flight status, stretch, watch movie (with breakfast), organize stuff, and check flight status.  I'm still not sure what I was given for breakfast:

Sunrise – in the Southern Hemisphere - indicated the near end of the trip:  

I had a 75 minute transfer window in Sydney, which I was assured would be fine.  I hustled off the plane, and yup, had time to notice how upscaled SYD has become.  Australia skipped the last recession, so no surprise.  Boarding, liftoff, and to quote the pilot “across the Tasman”.  A newer plane:

But a bit tighter than the big fella:

Another breakfast, another movie, a first glimpse of the New Zealand coast, and into Auckland.  E-customs clearance is hip.  Baggage claim was similarly quick but – no bags.  The lovely man at Qantas services confirmed what I had feared all long.  While I made my connection, screening meant my bags didn’t.  No worries, they would deliver them.  A woman who was on my flight was also being helped.  I made eye contact and said “San Francisco?”  She smiled and rolled her eyes. 

Onto Skybus, a familiar ride from the airport to downtown Auckland.  Recognizable topography but different shops, more development.  My AirBnB is a loft on Queen Street, which is the old core shopping area in the CBD.  Analogous stores to a mid-level American mall – not necessarily a complement, given the abundance of teens at night.  Anyway, a fine loft.  Wifi.  Tempting horizontal surfaces, but I decided I better stay awake and try and adapt to NZ time.  Assessing my carry-on, I realized that a couple of cables, like the ones to recharge my phone and iPad – were in my checked luggage.  Aaargh, but nothing for it.

I took a recon and recollect walk.  Auckland is a port city, and Queen Street dead ends at the quay.  Much of the maritime activity save for ferries and yachts is elsewhere now, so the area is redeveloping in very upscale directions.  I wandered in glazed way, looking at shops and restaurants. Eventually the need for caffeine and food became urgent, satisfied by a plate of salads from here.

Qantas called me.  My bags were over the Tasman and would come home in the evening.  More motivation to stay wake.  Another long walk well after dark.  Auckland is lovely city:

Bags arrived, 90 minutes ahead of ETA.  Happiness.  Shower.  Sleep.  Part of my compensation for the inconvenience was a Qantas First Class overnight kit.  The pajamas fit. 

Alice Springs: Three Tubes Later

6/8/09 6:48 am, Alice Springs

My trip began on BART. My sweetheart dropped me off at the Lafayette station after a long, hard week of preparations. I was feeling pretty ready last week, but then a severe allergy attack and an onerous mental health grant at work interfered. I thus arrived on tube number one with my two bags, a brick of a carryon full of electronics, and a vast selection of anti-allergy pills and tissues. Hard to say an affectionate good bye when one is full of snot and dizzy. Hearts were present.

Paul joined me a few stations down the track. We compared our latest gadgets on the hour long ride to SFO. By counting camera lenses I have the quantitative edge. Nice day to leave home, a beautiful early Bay Area evening – I’m always sad and excited as the tube progresses through the same series of stations – Rockridge, West Oakland, City Center, Daly City, San Bruno, and finally SFO, where tube number two awaited.

Into the SFO international terminal, Louis was already waiting for us at Qantas. Check-in had commenced, but I still managed an exit row middle seat. Dinner, boarding at bedtime. I lugged by wad of electronics down the aisle and plopped onto Seat 58B: near the back of the tube.

Late departure, something fussy in the cockpit. Long slow takeoff roll, then over the Pacific. I thought, good, there must be enough jet fuel on board. Eat, sleep, watch movies, stretch, take drugs, drink fluids, talk to row mates. They were both Aussies returning home. Intelligent but necessarily insular views of the US. Typically curious about me and my opinions about Australia. Neither of them had been to the Pilbara: no surprise there. Leg room good.

The tube was an aging 747-400. This turned into a plus as my right hand row mate’s entertainment system failed to function. As compensation, the steward brought her a duty-free bottle of champagne (Charles Krug), and gave all three of us first class toilet kits, express customs passes, and energy drinks before landing.

Sydney at 6:20 am, about on time. Pre-dawn. Express customs was handy, although my rock hammer proved of interest for the first time ever. We stumbled to the domestic terminal, in search of tube number three.

A mocha and a doughnut later, we boarded a 737-800 to Alice Springs. I chose a window seat. I entered the jet lag zone. The adrenalin of landing in Australia and passing customs had faded. I forced myself to stay awake and watch the new and unknown landscapes pass under the plane. Lots and lots of red linear sand dunes, punctuated by dry lakes. Must have been horrible country on foot or horseback for the 19th century explorers, although the aboriginals thrived there for tens of thousands of years. I’m sure the current Murray River Basin drought made the land redder and drier than normal.

My travel karma continued. I had requested vegetarian meals when I made my Qantas booking. When handing out lunch, the flight attendant said, that’s a small sandwich for such a big guy, have another.

Onto the tarmac at Alice Springs just after midday. I am done with long aluminum tubes for a while. Or at least for a week. I’m looking forward to getting the truck and going into the country tomorrow.

Yesterday before dinner, in an effort to stay awake, went to aboriginal art galleries. Paul was game to purchase some new pieces. He’s thorough so I had time to look at many works in detail. Through the jet lag, saw a broader range of painting than I’ve seen in earlier years. The gallery staff was glad to chat, so I learned a couple interesting things. First, the art movement burgeoned here in Central Australia because it was about the last part of the country where Aboriginals were contacted and culturally influenced by whites, that is, they were less screwed over and disacculturated. Some of the first missionaries hooked them up with painting, and the art movement took off. This seems to explain the lack of art in the Pilbara; most of the natives there were disturbed many decades ago (I think). We saw some powerful works by a guy about my age who came out of the bush after meeting his first white man in 1984. Amazing; this was only one year before my first trip to Australia.. Second, contemporary aboriginal art is getting more colorful and abstract, instead of earth-hued and pointillistic. Also less overtly Dreamtime-related. Most of this is change is driven by women; the men seem to stick to traditional methods so far. Not sure why this is so. I’ll see what else I can learn.