March 13th, 2010
March 13th was the longest day of my life – literally. I am aware of how trite it is to talk about time changes and date-line crossings, but I’m going to do so briefly anyway. Saturday, March 13th, lasted 43 hours. That’s pretty long, I daresay. My first March 13th happened in Forestville, Australia, and consisted of waking up in my room at Kaptain’s house, finishing my packing, and going for a lovely bushwalk.
The walk started at the end of the street with a path that leads to a nearby national park. From there it hugs the shore of Botany Bay with beautiful views of the water and the bush on the far side. I jogged part of the way, as much of the track was quite flat and I wanted to get in some sort of workout before spending 14 hours in an airplane. After returning to the house, showering, and having an early dinner with Kaptain, Betsy, and Charlotte, Kaptain drove me to the airport. I knew I would see Kaptain again before too long, probably within the year, but after seeing him so frequently over the past couple of months it definitely stung to say goodbye. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I appreciate being able to stay with Kaptain and Betsy so much. It’s a favor that I cannot possibly repay (except for maybe taking Charlotte off their hands at some point when she starts being a rebellious teenager).
The airport and flight weren’t too exciting. Everything went smoothly and I was able to sleep on the plane for perhaps 5 or 6 hours en route to Los Angeles. Upon arrival, I received a harsh reminder of the American security and customs ordeal. First, everyone was shuffled through a line that checked passports. For me, this was quick and easy; the guy didn’t even ask me any questions, just glanced at my paperwork and waved me through. The line was long, though, so the process took awhile. Then, because it was such a large flight (I’m not sure exactly how many passengers there were, but the plane sat 10 across and there must have been well over 50 rows), it took quite awhile for my bags to appear. Once they did, the line to go through customs (where you must declare consumer goods for resale, agricultural products, etc) was at least as long as the first queue had been. Fortunately, I was once again ushered through quickly; it was a good reminder of the benefits of being a young, white, American female.
My parents, in a characteristic act of not quite spoiling me but definitely helping me out and treating me like their darling little girl even though I’m 23 and have just been traveling independently for 10 weeks, had reserved a room for me (and paid for it – thanks guys) at a hotel near the airport. The hotel offered free pickup, too, so I called, and before I knew it was sitting in my very own hotel room. It certainly wasn’t luxury accommodations, but it felt like it. After staying in a tent or hostel, the idea of even having your own bathroom is tantalizing. I was thrilled to be able to watch TV, prance around naked, use free wireless internet on my laptop, and sprawl on a double (no, I actually think it was a queen) bed. This is exactly how I spent the evening of my second round of March 13th. Finally, I was somewhere in California besides an airport!
