Just arrived in New Zealand. That was a long flight. Long. Long in the sense of geological time. Long in the sense of astrophysical time. Long in the sense of watching Legends of the Fall.
We take off Sunday night and land Tuesday morning. This might have something to do with crossing the date line, but I’m inclined to think the flight just actually is that long.
Our travel itinerary starts with a brief flight from SJC to LAX, followed by a (puzzlingly) even longer commute from our gate in the outbuilding that United uses for express flights through to our gate in the international terminal. (Go LAX.)
We then proceed to embark on the 12 hour ordeal commonly referred to as Air New Zealand flight #5. Gangly Dave, as always, wants the window seat, so I am stuck in a middle seat between Dave and a man with curly blond hair and a nice tan who is determined to take over an entire overhead bin (not over his seat) with his bag of useless scuba gear and equally determined to take over my entire seat region with his elbow. The man is 80% elbow by volume. I will henceforth refer to him as Elbows McGruff. Kali has nothing on him. The contested region is not the common armrest area. I have long since ceded the armrest area. I am referring to the section spanning from my side of the armrest to about my sternum. This is prime elbow territory.
The next 12 hours of my life consist of snatches of restless sleep in the intervals between abuse by joint. Particular lows come during meals (ow! ow! ow!) and while filling out surveys (OW!). I get increasingly passive aggressive as the sleep deprivation kicks in, finally reaching the point where I repeatedly deliberately slam my elbow into his arm (which is fully in my personal space), then giggle and apologize. This has no effect.
As we land, my sleep deprived brain is fondly fantasizing about Mr. Elbows with all of his scuba gear in an Open Water situation. Dave (I’m told) leads me blindly through customs and out of the airport. I’m a little hazy on the details.
Dave and I are determined to stay awake and active throughout our first day in Auckland, this being the best way to acclimate ourselves to our new setting and time zone. Thanks to Sir Pokes A Lot, for me the day takes on all of the charm and warmth of a forced march. We will make it to 8pm, or we will die trying. I secretly hope for the latter.
We start the day at Kelly Tarlton’s. I’m not a big fish person. For example, I would never bother with scuba lessons, and will thus never be inadvertently be abandoned in the open ocean by a dive company like Mr. Elbows is destined to be. Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, I can remember some moving walkways and the biggest damn sting rays and crayfish (strange, I’m suddenly hungry…) that I have ever seen in my life. (Blurry and confusing pictures to follow when we get home.)
Our next stop on the trail of yawns is a bigger success. After a refreshing walk through Auckland domain, we get thoroughly lost in Newmarket, which had everything to do with the lack of street names on our maps on on street signs, and nothing whatsoever to do with us having the mental capacity of below-average undead squirrels. But we eventually find ourselves at the Lion brewery, where we take the LionZone tour. This is the perfect activity for the profoundly jetlagged. There is a tour guide that tells you exactly what to do at every step, both preventing you from having to make any taxing decisions and assuring that you don’t get lost or trapped in any heavy machinery. Beer commercials and speeches from talking mannequins wash over you, and there is no pressure to comprehend or retain any of the information. And, most importantly, the tour commences at a truly spectacular pub, where you are encouraged to pour yourself beers. Several beers. Three or four, as I recall. Lion Red is really quite tasty.
Best of all, we have made it to 5:30pm, and after a bus ride and some room service, we are finally allowed to sleep.
P.S. It isn’t until the next evening that Dave and I both admit that we experienced some sort of horrible exhaustion-induced hallucinations during the talking mannequin portion of the LionZone tour. They moved. One of them winked at me.
