Finally made it to a place where I can post this. It was written on Friday(it's now Tuesday)
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It was a major travel day using all sorts of transportation spanning from local to international. We did make it to Wellington, finally, safe and sound, although it’s never without some sort of new adventure. (I will warn you this is a long post—I don’t expect future entries to be such a length.)
It started out easy enough. Ken & I left the house, walked a few blocks to Chenery & 30th, and boarded the 26 bus to the Glen Park BART(Bay Area Rabid Transit—somewhat like the Long Island Railroad, for the New York readers) station. This trip has a couple of firsts for us—first time we can use the newly finished BART to SFO and the first time we can fly directly from SFO to Auckland. We didn’t even need to use the new inter-terminal tram, since the SFO BART stop is right at the international terminal.
Check in was also a breeze. The Air New Zealand agent even directed me to the United counter so I could get my frequent flyer number, which I had forgotten to enter when I bought the tickets. This trip alone should reap some benefits—not just with the San Francisco to New Zealand legs, but I’m also traveling Air New Zealand round trip from Wellington to Sydney, so there will be lots and lots of miles.
Even security presented no problems. I know there were those of you who had some doubts, but my crochet hooks and blunt edged scissors made it through without raising any flags with the scanners.
We had left plenty of time for any problems which, of course, didn’t arise, so now we had time to kill at the terminal. It was of eerie in a science-fiction-movie-what’s-wrong-with-this-picture kind of way. The lighting was soft, the sounds muffled, and there weren’t a lot of people—none of the hustle and bustle that I expect at an airport. Maybe it’s because the gates are spaced far enough apart that you don’t have that many people milling about; maybe it’s that we left on a Wednesday and the midweek traffic isn’t heavy; and maybe it’s still a lull in travel due to 9/11. Whatever, it felt a bit odd. So we sat and read and waited.
The plane ride was uneventful—just what you want in a long trip. The food was okay—I ordered vegetarian/non-dairy, which definitely gives you a better shot. Ken got a good amount of sleep hours in, I did not. It just wasn’t happening for me. So I sat and read and crocheted and meditated a bit. I wasn’t into getting involved with any of the movies—The Incredibles, the second Bridget Jones movie, and something staring Hillary Duff. It’s sometimes more interesting to just drift in and out of the pictures, making up my own version of the dialogue.
Ken and I remarked that this was the first Southern Hemisphere trip we’d taken that didn’t involve any trauma—I didn’t get sick, he wasn’t sick, we didn’t miss any connections. We even had our next leg, Auckland to Wellington, already booked. But little did we know what lay ahead for us.
Immigration and customs—no problem. No one even questioned my red water bottle filled with vodka (for those who wonder about that, well, you’ll have to follow my Sydney adventures). We got the shuttle bus to the domestic terminal, and then the trouble began. It was 6 o’clock in the morning, and the place was filled with travelers—business people, families on holiday. We got on the check-in line without worry, we had plenty of time—our plane to Wellington wasn’t scheduled to leave until 8:30a.m. Just when we got to the front of the line, we heard an announcement about planes to Wellington being suspended. They wouldn’t even let us check in, “just wait near check-in until further notice” we were told. I had a bit of an attitude—“you mean we have to wait just to stand on this long line again?” Well, yes, that’s what they were saying.
The problem was fog in Wellington. The runway at the Wellington airport is short and the pilots need to have visible contact no less than 500 meters. The fog was thick in Wellington, with visibility down to 300 meters. A women sitting with us said this happened a couple of months ago, and lasted for 3 days. This fact did not do much to improve my mood. As more people arrived in the terminal, the chaos increased. We were told to get on line—or should I say, queue up—then stand down. The natives were definitely restless. Meetings were being missed; families were missing connections for weddings. Then we hear, “Air New Zealand Flight 415 to Wellington now boarding.” Huh? We hadn’t even checked in yet, and there was that really long line to go through. But a group of us jumped to the front—with the understanding of those behind us—got checked in and raced to through security to the gate. We got on the plane, and then were informed by the pilot that we were going to start out towards Wellington, but if the fog hadn’t cleared we would land in Palmerston North, then bused to Wellington. And is what indeed happened, adding another 3 hours to our trip.
We are now ensconced at Ken’s parents’ house, 2 Whanake Street, Titahi Bay. We’re headed into fall, not spring, with the clocks turning back, not forward. And there are other stories to tell, so stay tuned.
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