February 14- Day 1 in Oz

February 14, 2007
What a full and strange few days it has been! Until a few minutes ago, I had no idea what time it was, or really even which day. Oh, obviously I had some idea it was Valentine’s Day, but the date is as unimportant as the time on the clock. I have not warn a watch in, well, years, but I have had no idea of time for almost two days, and it has given me the most wonderful sense of freedom. Who cares whether you are awake or asleep at two o’clock in the morning? Or five? Why does food have to be eaten around noon? When was noon? I have no idea; I’m pretty sure I didn’t eat though.
My flight was made up of three legs: Bozeman to Denver, Denver to San Francisco, San Fran to Sydney. The first leg of my journey was uneventful in ever sense. My luck, of couse, could not hold. There is something about flying and traveling that eliminates luck in even the luckiest people. There will always be a late flight, a cranky flight attendant, or a smelly companion. In my case, there were all three. But I’m still trying to get there.
We were late leaving Denver because the plane had to be de-iced. For all future pilots and flight crew, please remember that informing passengers that ice has accumulated on the wings of the plane is never a good way to instill confidence in them about the aircraft’s ability to fly. Apparently, howeve,r planes can fly once the ice is removed, with no lasting damage. But of course, it meant we were late flying into San Francisco.
NOTE TO PASSENGERS:
When flying, whether internationally or domestically, leave yourself at least TWO HOURS between connecting flights!!!! Although you may hate waiting around in airports and think layovers are th biggest waste of time in the world, a two hour period between flights eliminates most of the stress associated with late flights.
Please believe me when I say twenty minutes is NOT enough time to run from the domestic terminal of SFO to the international terminal. Naturally, it involves at least two walking sidewalks and a shuttle bus, if you do it right. If you do manage to miss the shuttle or are clueless as to its existence, you will invariably find yourself missing your next flight as you go through security for a second time.
Now, as I’ve said, I was late for my connecting flight to Sydney, which was traumatic not only because I truly desired to get to Sydney, but also because I had to use the restroom terribly bad. Needless to say, getting on my plane took precedence and it wasn’t ‘til we had leveled off about 37,000 miles above the closes real toilet that I realized I still had to go.
The plane was enormous, with an upper and lower decks and about a million chatty people. I finally found my seat in 51E, between a nice-looking woman in her fourties and a woman who reminded me (not so fondly) of my Aunt Mary Jo. One would think row 51 would place me at the back of the plane, but a good ten to fifteen rows were behind me. Ah, the hell of economy class. I was extremely relieved to discover my traveling companions were as normal as any Sydney Sider heading home and a middle-aged couple planning to cycle around New Zealand could be. I discovered, to my relief, my seatmates were not entirely odd, creepy or malodorous in any way. In fact, I believe they felt I was the annoying one.
The flight was most interesting because of my Fourteen Hour Crush. He was (is, I suppose he made it to Melbourne alright) Canadian, in his early twenties and named Calvin. Upon our first meeting, he was slightly intoxicated, as was pointed out to me by Canadian and future schoolmate) Derek. From the smell of it, I’d say he’d been drinking rum for a few hours. Calvin was fun and funny and goodness no, I did not DO anything with him. He was entertaining and it was nice to have someone around my own age to talk to. The problem was, the flight crew seemed to have a problem with passengers standing in one area for longer than five minutes. So continual conversation had to be continuously moving conversation.
I met Derek when I met Calvin. I was on my way to the bathroom after remembering my bladder was about to burst when I found myself face to face with a group of men. How one woman can be face to face with a group is linguistic inconsistency you will have to allow.
“Oh great,” I thought to myself as I peered through the dim lighting toward the circle, “just what I need: a group of creepy old men staring at me as I walk to the bathroom.”
Creepy old men they were not. Calvin and Derek and a middle-aged Australian they were. I stopped outside the circle.
“Did you need to use the restroom?” one asked.
I caught sight of him and once again forgot about my bladder. “No, just stretching my legs,” I decided instantly.
“Where’re you from?” He asked, leaning forward and breathing rum and coke into the already-stale plane air.
Thus began the Fourteen Hour Crush. It ended when I went to customs and he went the wrong direction to catch his connecting flight. Ah, love is a fickly mistress.
Here is a list and brief description of a select few who made an impression on me between the flight, customs, and getting to the school.
Flight Attendant #1: Had ridiculously, impossibly white teeth. Smiled a great amount and seemed to have taken more than his prescribed dose of happy pills. Mostly remember him because his teeth were so white, they glowed.
Brandon: tall African American from South Carolina heading to the University of Sydney without a clue where he is going to live, what he will be studying, or, I imagine, the school’s address. Stood in line with me for the first part of customs.
Van Driver: (This is his title, not his name.) This man met me at the airport and was ready to take me to Campbelltown campus, just as soon as the other students arrived. I had just stood in line for two hours at customs and he was making me wait. Fortunately, I was too in awe of his gorgeous Australian accent to be angry.
Blond Guy in Airport: walked by and said, after catching my eye: “You’ve been waiting quite a while, haven’t you?” My point being that Australians are very friendly. Either that, or he noticed I was checking him out and he couldn’t think of anything more interesting to say.
Eventually I did make it to Campbelltown campus, where I am staying. In the van with me were Elana, Henning and Jana, whom I no longer think about as individual entities but collectively as “The Germans” and Mi Ting. I settled into my room directly and am very happy with my accommodations.
I was expecting to have a single room, and I do, but I was expecting it to be of an unlivable size, much as most dorm rooms in the United States are. Instead, I found I have an ensuite, which simply means I have my own bathroom, as well as a room that is more than livable! Student residences are located in what are called townhouses, which really are townhouses. There are five bedrooms, two bathrooms, and occasionally, an ensuite in addition to a full kitchen, dining area, and living room. Really, they are quite spacious and nicely laid out. Each door has a lock and no one else can get into your room. Except the RA’s (resident assistants) in case you lock yourself out. Which I already have. I am hoping it’s the last time I do that. They are very nice about running over and opening doors, but it makes you feel like a bit of an idiot. And there are screens on the windows, so I can’t just climb through the window, like I would do at home.
I am compelled to write a great deal more, about everything, from the colors of the buildings, to the amazing amount of foliage, the humidity and heat, the sun. About the people, about the land, the sky, my hopes and dreams for tomorrow and the days to come. And I will, just not tonight.
Tonight I will go to bed entirely too early because I was awake entirely too early. Then tomorrow I will wake up and figure out what the hell I am supposed to do next.