There are no words ...

And, yet - as I start to type this I have a sneaking suspicion that there are going to be lots and lots of words.

Continuing on from my last post ... after ONE WHOLE HOUR of sleep Wednesday night, I got up, dumped all my Australian money and my keys to the apartment on the table and walked out the door without a single look back.

Rode the elevator down with Gary - I got off on the ground floor after our goodbyes, he continued on to B2 to get the car to drive to his new office that he cannot just walk to (a very sad day ... the day he had to move offices). In the taxi staring out at a gray, cloudy Brisbane, I realized what was wrong with me. Other than being super duper stressed ... I was depressed. Usually I realize this immediately when the storm clouds roll in, but this time it sort of snuck up on me. Staring out at the city that I might never see again - I was ambivalent and realized this should not be so. We were good friends! Brisbane had been so good to me! Thus - realizing that I was depressed. Sat there dejectedly and wondered how long it was going to last. If only I had known then ...

Got to the airport and sent a few texts to Gary:

Text 1: "Got the aisle seat. They made me weigh my computer bag and it was WAY over the limit. I refused to check it. I will see what happens at the gate."

Text 2: "Flight delayed two hours. Could it be more stressful? Oh, wait - what about the 50 high school students in matching shirts yelling all around me?"

Gary calls. He asks me if they are the same students. I told him (out loud) that no - they were in different colored shirts than before, and these guys were older, louder, ruder, cruder, and just plain vile. We discussed what he would do if I was going to miss my connecting flight from LAX to IAH, he wished me good luck and we said our goodbyes.

Called him back a bit later and told him that an announcement came up that said that the flight time was only 12 hours and 20 minutes and that we would be able to make up the time and thus getting in on time at 7:00am in LA. He said 'good' and headed off to a meeting.

FIVE HOURS after setting foot in the airport, I boarded the plane and took my seat. Called Gary and said we were not going to hit our target take off time, but I was probably still OK for making my flight to Houston. One final set of good byes.

I'm in luck. I am sitting on a set of 4 seats with the two seats in the middle empty. I meet the sweetest 22 year old setting out on her own for the first time in her life sitting in the opposite aisle seat. She has taken a job in Calgary, Canada at a hotel at Lake Louise and seems nervous to be on her own. She says she doesn't like to fly, and has never travelled alone.

I smile, tell her she is now not alone - me being her new best mate and to not worry about the flight. I tell her the bigger the aircraft, in my experience, the smoother the ride. No worries - or as the Aussies now say - I tell her 'No drama'.

And our behemoth airplane lumbers down the runway and gracefully takes to the skies ...

... for approximately 1/2 hour - at which point something occurred that has done irreparable damage to my psyche and (woo hoo!) drove that depression right out of me.


We fall out of the sky ...


... not for long. Not like the last time this happened to me - about 24 years ago - where we fell for probably only 3 - 4 seconds, but enough time for anyone not wearing their seat belts to crash into the ceiling ... along with every loose thing in the airplane. That time the captain came on and said "Sorry folks, we seemed to have hit what we call a pothole". POTHOLE? WE WERE FREE FALLING! I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE! THAT IS NOT A POTHOLE. And it has taken, oh, about 20 years to get comfortable with flying since.

No, this time it was not 3 - 4 seconds - probably 1 or 2 but ended with a spine crushing crash. Then we were violently thrown to the left. Then to the right. Then up. Back down. I looked and felt like a rag doll. I grabbed the armrests and held on for dear life. It feels like 1/2 hour has passed with every cell of my body gripped in fear, terror and pain. I try to look at my watch - I realize only about 5 minutes have passed.

I keep up a mantra: "Pothole, Pothole, no plane has ever had a wing sheared off by turbulence". "Pothole, no plane has ever had a wing sheared off by turbulence". I know this. I know this. I KNOW THIS. EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE FINE. But it continues. I remember thinking why hasn't the pilot found another altitude? THAT'S WHAT YOU DO IN TURBULENCE. DUDE - FIND ANOTHER ALTITUDE!!! And then the fleeting thought that this must be what it feels like to be on a bucking bronco.

My mantra again. Never in my life have I been violently thrown into my seat belt (sitting 'low and tight') - last time we were sort of floating and I strained against it, but to be thrown violently against the belt, smashing my body sideways into the armrests so hard I was sure my neck was going to snap - never. Then the thought: Funny - in the emergency procedures for Qantas they say that the emergency brace position includes keeping your feet flat on the floor. My legs are flailing - and I'm thinking - if I can't keep them flat on the floor for this - what chance would I ever have in 'the unlikely event of a crash'?

In the haze of fear, pain and terror everything feels as if it is in slow motion and I wonder again how long? I spy my watch - 10 minutes. And then it happens. Slowly, deep inside and building - I start to panic. I think "Is this how we are making up time?" (a totally stupid, stupid thing to think, I know). And then it hits like a sledgehammer to the chest: "I cannot do this." "I CANNOT DO THIS!" "GET ME OUT OF HERE!" My entire life at that moment was engulfed with the fact that I was trapped in this flying tin can and I had no where to go. The panic builds to a full blown panic attack - and I realize that I can't take a minute longer of this. I CAN'T. I CAN'T. I CAN'T. PLEASE STOP! PLEASE STOP! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE!

And then I remember HER. My new best mate. I need to let her know that everything will be OK. I am sure she is scared, and maybe, just maybe - if I smile at her and say 'everything is fine - this is fine, don't be scared' that my body would believe it too. I remember, as if in slow motion, turning my head to the left - toward her. She is clutching the armrests (as we all are to try to stay put) and weeping, her eyes clenched tight. She is wearing headphones. I reach out and try to touch her - but she is too far away, and my arm is suddenly wrenched back, so I grab hold of the armrest once again. The feeling of total helplessness and utter failure wash over me as I watch her cry - and it pushes some of the terror aside. Short of throwing a pillow at her - there was no reaching her.

Out of curiosity I slowly turn my head to the right and see the couple across the aisle, heads bowed as best you can on a bucking bronco, their lips moving in silent prayer. I look back at my new friend and keep screaming in my head: "HELP HER!" "HELP HER!" "HELP HER!" which, although it is a totally useless mantra - the panic stops building, the terror and fear level off.

Fifteen minutes. The bronco is tiring. I would label what we segued into as Severe Turbulence - the previous stuff? I just call that 'Hell'. This continues for 1/2 an hour. I have a plan. I lift the armrest up, then the next one. I loosen my belt a bit and lie down, stretching out and touch my mate. She startles, opens her eyes and I see sheer terror and tears. I gave her my best shaky smile and ask if she is OK? She shakes her head no. I smile again and say she is doing great, cover her hand clutching the armrest and squeeze. I get a shaky smile in return. I sit up again and just enjoy the fact that I am not thrashing about - just jolting about.

The bronco tires some more and I mentally categorize the next TWO HOURS as Moderate Turbulence.

Folks ... that two and three quarters hours? It seriously felt like ten. I was drained. I was sick. I was shaky. I hurt everywhere. I was worried about my friend. But most of all? I was TERRIFIED it would start again. I can't remember feeling that type of dread.

Every time we dropped or jolted to the side I got a new infusion of adrenalin and the panic would seep right back in. My brain started to compartmentalize: Turbulence in one box. Pain in another - this I tried to put on a shelf and ignore - but my brain was having none of that. Nausea and not puking in a bag in another. My friends well being in another. Making my connection in LA. THAT I was able to put on a shelf and forget about ... for now. And that big jumbo box: Panic. Managing these and trying to keep them all in a nice orderly fashion - I realized that I had no more room for the Entertainment System. I couldn't follow a film to save my soul. So - with my ipod in my still shaking hand, I picked Coldplay and select All albums. Had enough sense to laugh out loud when the first song showed up: "Don't Panic" - no lie. Probably my first real laugh in a week ...

The halfway point of our travels was punctuated by us, again, dropping from the sky. I grab my armrests and the Panic box starts to take over. A few seconds in I realize something. This isn't a bucking bronco this time. It was a roller coaster in the dark. You don't know if you are next going up, down, left or right - but just jolting, not violent thrashing. It calms me. Upon tearfully trying to explain this to Gary at a later time, he tried to comfort me by jokingly stating that Qantas should be charging extra: bucking broncos, roller coasters ... whats not to like? It didn't really work in the comforting me part ...

So with my brain trying to manage my compartmentalization, I stick with music and literally work at getting through the next 10 minutes. Ten minutes at a time for six hours. Well, that's a lie - the last two hours I just gave up, pulled the travel information page up on my Entertainment Screen and watched each minute left in the clock tick down to zero.

My 'am I going to make my connecting flight' box kept growing. We landed very late and standing in the back of the aircraft at 8:20am I pulled out my boarding pass for LA to Houston and see the boarding time: 8:35. Hmmmm - fifteen minutes. I have to clear immigrations. Clear customs control. Walk 1/2 mile. Go through security. Proceed to gate 62.

NO PROBLEM.

I text Gary and Ryan that I have missed my connecting flight, but decide I need to go through the motions anyway - before going to the Continental desk and getting a new ticket for a later flight.

And here is where the 'No Words' comment comes in.

8:20 - off the plane and proceed to immigration
8:22 - in line - 10 people in front of me
8:25 - through immigration proceed to customs control
8:25 - clear customs control as no one was waiting in line and start my 1/2 mile walk
8:38 - arrive at security - ask to sneak in the 'privileged' line due to the fact that my flight was boarding
8:39 - was told no - go to the end of the line - about 500 people - it makes all the switchbacks and spills out the door and onto the sidewalk
8:39 - ask again - security tells me they will come make an announcement in a minute
8:40 - was told to go to a new security line just opening up - 15 people in front of me
8:45 - through security and on my way to gate 62
8:48 - at gate 62 - EXHAUSTED but going to make my flight - so I stop and buy a bottle of much needed water
8:49 - realize they are still just boarding the back of the plane - my part and walk past the line waiting for their rows and ...

... I am on the plane!

I feel as if I am dreaming and that my somewhat inept Fairy Godmother (don't tell her I called her inept - we are on shaky terms as it is ...) just kicked my Vengeful Travel gods collective asses.

Put my computer bag (which I was sure, if I made the flight would be confiscated due to no room in the overhead bins ... ) in row 23 (sorry row 23 occupants) and proceeded to row 37 and sat down.

Apparently my Fairy Godmother had moved on to another one of her wards and the Vengeful Travel gods got the last laugh. There in front of me was the 'TOUCHSCREEN ENTERTAINMENT SYSTEM' which I have mentioned in a previous post as the 'Stupidest Invention Ever'. And right behind me .... a very ENTHUSIASTIC Solitaire player. Punching his way to victory or loss - I have no clue - from the moment he sat down until the moment we arrived at the arrival gate in Houston three and a half hours later.

Long ... I know. I appreciate you reading, if you made it this far I am impressed!

Airports, airplanes and flying. I need to make a decision in the next two days if I am going to go back to Brisbane in October. Four hours ago the answer was 'Hell no'. Same answer for stepping inside an airport at all.

But...

I can't decide. Has my psyche been so damaged that flying is going to be terrifying for me? Am I going to freak at every jolt of the aircraft? Have another aircraft related panic attack?

A little voice in my head whispers: 'REMEMBER THE GIRL'.

Oh. Yeah. As we were making our final descent into Houston we, well, dropped from the sky ... just a little bit - you know - the regular hard drops as you are descending. The girl (about 17 - 18 years old) across the aisle from me starts to scream ... loudly. I am already gritting my teeth as Solitaire Man continues to punch my headrest so I sigh loudly and grab my armrests. Why? Was I terrified? Was panic setting in? No. I was THIS CLOSE to turning to the shrieking thing and while slapping her across the face saying: 'This is NOTHING missy - this is CHILD'S PLAY ....'

Maybe I'm gonna be OK after all ....

I've Managed the Impossible

Countdown: -20 hours until the travel clock starts ticking (step outside the apartment and into a taxi, and this was earilier in the day - as I type the countdown clock is sitting at right about -6)

Log into Qantas and start the Online Check In procedure. Halfway through it blows up and dies a horrible death.

Hmmmm. OK, lets start again. Halfway through it blows up AND DELETES MY SEAT ASSIGNMENT. An aisle seat. I'm gonna need it. Back spasms. Urinary tract infection complete with fever and chills (I know, I know ... TMI). I WILL be needing to access the aisle OFTEN. In fact, who knows if I will ever be sitting down ... my plans right now are to just lie down in the back hallway between the left and right set of lavatories ...

I call the help desk. She says I am checked in, but without a seat. Well, better than nothing ... right? She decides to reset it so I can assign a seat and re-check in. "OK - try it now" she says. It blows up in my face. Sorry, she tells me - you are no longer checked in and I cannot seem to fix the problem, or assign you a seat. Try again later, or you will have to check in at the airport.

I try every few hours. Call the help desk ... every few hours - no one can help. My ticket has decided to be pissy and no one can fix it. In fact, I don't know what is going to happen at the airport in, oh, about 6 hours. Maybe they won't be able to fix it and I will just decide to live at the Brisbane International Airport.

So - WITHOUT THE CLOCK EVEN TICKING my travel nightmares have begun. This does not instill me with confidence that my 28 hour travel adventure will be easy sailing. I have set my alarm for 2 hours earlier than needed. I have called a taxi to pick me up 1 and 1/2 hours earlier than needed in hopes that I will be the only one DUMB ENOUGH to arrive that early at the airport to check in to my flight and thus still have a shot at getting an aisle seat ... if there are any left ...

I am exhausted. I am sick. I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. I am sick and tired of travelling. I despise airports. I hate planes. I know, I know ... and I am spoiled. Whine, whine, whine, blah, blah, blah. Sorry ... lost it there for a sec ... just really, really, really tired ....

I can't sleep ... and why should I? In about an hour it will be time to check into my LA to Houston flight.



Let's see how badly I can mangle that ...

It's Complicated ...

Some final, random shots of Tasmania.

This was a lovely ivy covered little school next to a church:

This was just next to our hotel. What you cannot see because of the beautiful fairy lights in the trees is that it is a line of old warehouses converted into shops. Impossible to photograph because of the line of trees and the tables with their umbrellas in front of every pub and restaurant - but beautiful. It was a nice walk to get dinner - beautiful at night:

I threw in the 'before' shot just for fun ... the upper is better ... yes?

On the flight home, as we took off from Melbourne, banking sharply - I could see forests of eucalyptus trees for as far as the eye could see. I remembered last time we were in Melbourne ... stumbling upon Koalas in the forest and got a wee bit teary eyed. Oh, how I wish I could do that again! What excitement! What a thrill! What beautiful, gentle creatures! I WANT TO SEE A KOALA AGAIN ...

And it started me thinking - what am I going to miss the most about Australia?

I was going to make a top 10 list and was mentally working on it - having come up with (in no particular order):

- Stumbling upon Koalas in the wild
- Finding Gary in the apartment after 28 hours of travel

- The Sydney Opera House (with and without fireworks)
- The view from our apartment ... Story Bridge ... downtown
- Knowing which side of the sidewalk to walk on in a crowd
- Watching kangaroos hop in the wild
- Playing with wild birds (feeding them salt free sunflower seeds helps make friends...)
- The people, the accent, the kindness, the smiles
- Lounging about with nothing more pressing than finishing a book

So .... the top 10 was going to be difficult. I had been mulling it over for 24 hours. Morosely, wishing this wasn't the end, selfishly want more, more, more.

Fast forward to this morning (Wed) and a conversation with Gary. It included one tiny sentence that flipped my top ten list on its head.




I may be coming back.




Like I said ... it's complicated ...

Long Day

Lots on our agenda for today - Port Arthur and Richmond. Before setting off, we had breakfast and while Gary went and fetched our stuff and the car, I took a walk along our street to take some photos of the boats in the harbour:

Got in the car and drove around Hobart a bit since we thought we would get back after dark, thus our last time to see the city.

Beautiful parks:

Beautiful buildings:

Beautiful churches:

Then off!

On our way to Port Arthur, we detoured for Tasman Arch:

A look at the coast:

Devils Kitchen (can't see down below - but nothing much to look at - I liked the silhouette of the trees and the rocks better):

And The Blowhole:

Can't see the hole where the water comes in? Here it is:

Then on to Port Arthur - a penal colony and very much a part of Tasmania's history:

The church on the grounds was beautiful:

A strange bird just walking about:

Another shot of the church:

A view of the colony from the water:

A shot of a funky plant on the way back to the car:

And on to Richmond and a miniature town of Hobart in the 1800's:

Not much to look at. I was hoping for the equivalent to the Madurodam in The Hague, in The Netherlands - I LOVED that place ... this was NO Madurodam ...

Was surprised to see flowers during their winter:

And a shot of a historical bridge (built in 1824) - the oldest in Tasmania:

A couple of churches in Richmond:

Then on back to the hotel.

All accomplished before 5:00!

Now ... off to dinner ....



... if I can wake Gary up, that is!

Freycinet National Park

"If you only have time to visit one place in Tasmania, make sure it's Freycient National Park." This is a direct quote from my Frommers Australia 2009 book. So on our way to Port Aurthur this morning ... where EVERYBODY goes who stays in Hobart, we decided to make the 3 and 1/2 hour trek to the park. It boasted all sorts of wildlife - including dolphins and whales - whats not to like?

We were up early since we had gone to bed early so that was not a problem. The 'getting there' was beautiful (maybe more beautiful than the park itself).

Our view from our hotel window at sunrise:

There was frost on the ground and a bit of low lying fog to make the landscape beautiful:

Found a pond COVERED in black swans. I remember reading that they are riddled with them here - but beautiful, no?

Sunrise made for some beautiful light in which to take photos:

Part of the time we were along the coast, part of the time we drove inland over a mountain range:

Got to Freycinet and spotted one solitary dolphin (yeah - just a grey blob - he refused to do anything spectacular for me):

Beautiful scenery

And off to Wineglass bay - the gem of Freycinet Park. This little critter was just sitting dejectedly by the sidewalk for all to take photos. Unfortunately the tourist feed them and they become 'pests' - I don't know what his problem was - he needed some Prozac or something. Sadly I can say that we saw about 20 wallaby's - but this was the only live one - the rest were dead on the side of the road. It was not a pretty site.

So ... the hike up to take the spectacular photos of Wineglass Bay was, well - a hike. I was not feeling well and my back was still hurting on steps. I started out with Gary but knew that I was not going to make it. Damn! Damn! Damn! I asked him for the keys, started crying and turned around and walked back to the car. What a site I must have been. Curse my body ...

These beautiful shots are Gary's:

Then on to the low lands to take photos towards Freycinet National Park and its pink granite mountains:

Got lucky when Gary's phone started ringing, causing him to turn a corner and get off the main road to answer it. A few houses down there were about 20 birds pecking at someones lawn - so I went to investigate. Pretty ... don't know what it is, but pretty ...

Continuing on back to Hobart we discovered that the Tasmanians know how to end a day with a bang - a big, beautiful bang ...

Well, off to Port Arthur and hopefully Richmond tomorrow. Hopefully I won't have any more meltdowns and will smile more the the one time that I did today ...

Hobart, Tasmania

As we sat in the plane in Melbourne, I looked at the sky and it didn't bode well for a non-bumpy ascent:

But what a beautiful view we had once we were through the clouds:

I was confused when the captain came on and said we were starting our descent into Hobart - we were still over water. Hobart is on the southern tip of Tasmania - as far away from Melbourne as you can get ... where was the land? I saw it come into view as we were descending ... apparently we descended the entire length of the island - must not be as big as I thought it was:

Landing in Hobart and the skies did not bode well for viewing the large Mt. Wellington the city is nestled at the base. We have yet to see it ...

And I believe this is the FIRST time that I have landed at an airport where the planes were bigger than the airport terminal:

Took a walk along the historical district ... and it being Saturday - ran into their weekly Saturday market. We bought a few things and then headed to Battery Point - deep in the historical district.

What we found was quaintness on all sides! Quaint houses, quaint streets - and Hobart isn't supposed to be quaint - it is our jumping off point for quaint ... so we will have to see.

I couldn't stop taking photos of old houses - mostly converted to some form of business or other - but without garish signs to ruin the quaintness:

My back started hurting on the way back - like I had pulled it. By the time we were back - I was in pretty bad shape. Almost like I had thrown my back out - but still hobbling rather than resorting to crawling on the floor like last time I threw out my back. Luckily - they sell medication with codeine in it over the counter here and I had some. Took 4 and went to bed. Woke up a couple hours later and things were much better - the spasms seemed to have stopped - so vacation not in jeopardy ...


... I hope ...