Far & Away...part I

First I want to apologise for my lackadaisical posting of late. I’ve been without reliable internet since the 15th of June, when I flew to Utah. I haven’t forgotten “The Twa Sisters”, though, and I’ll put a commentary up soon. So, where have I been exactly? Well…

I flew into Australia on Tuesday morning, after a week in Utah (I’ll post more soon), and a couple of days in L.A. And I had a great time, for the most part—the conference at Brigham Young was excellent, the couple of days relaxing in L.A. were exactly what I needed, and it was wonderful to come home. Except…

Yes, that’s right. Except. There’s always an except.

My except comes in a couple of ways. First, and perhaps most frustrating, is my computer. About six hours before I was due to leave, it died. My OS went kaput. Fortunately, though, I did not get sad macced[see below], and the whole thing was salvageable—just. I’m still carrying most of my data around on an external drive, as I’m afraid to rely on this dying husk of a thing for too long. Second, and most time-consuming, were my flights.

I’m a fairly seasoned flyer—I’ve done the trip from Boston to Brisbane so many times I’ve lost count. I recognise most of the QF 176 flight crew. I know my way around LAX, right down to the good coffee place (in contrast to the bad coffee place, where everything smells stale). I always get an aisle seat, but not an exit row. I always eat before I fly, so I’m not left with a five dollar snack pack filled with one bag of chips and a bunch of stuff I don’t eat. I stop drinking caffeine at least three days before I fly.

I’m good at stopovers, too. I’ve waited out 6 hours in Heathrow, and 4 in Singapore. I’ve rushed from the international to the domestic terminal in Sydney, and cleared customs in LA in under half an hour. I have never, though, spent three hours on a tarmac in 120 F (~ C) heat with no airconditioning, no power at all, and no information. I’ve never been diverted to Albuquerque. I’ve never flown with hydraulics that sound like a dog with diarrhea. But I’m getting ahead of myself, so I’m going to take a cue from Julie Andrews, and start at the very beginning…

Despite my computer calamity, I made it to Logan with about ten minutes to spare. Check in was fast, and so was Joe—while I did the ticketing thing, he bought me a doughnut. (Our lives are unreasonably filled with doughnuts, but I don’t question it. I just eat them, hot, overflowing with jam.) The plane left, almost exactly on time. And I pulled out one of my many books.

About an hour in, there’s a rustle. Whispers of doctors, medications, and vomit rippled through the rows. I studiously kept my eyes on my book (a difficult task, as it’s atrocious, but I need to read it for work). Cabin crew bring around drinks, and try to sell us snacks.

Another hour passes; the people next to me call out to their family, handing around the portable dvd player and chatting about which grandkid is the favourite (no definitive consensus). Strange sounds from the front of the plane. A worried attendant flits up and down the aisles.

A third hour passes—we’re now about halfway to Phoenix. The family has settled down. The grandfather is watching “We are Marshall” (go team), while the grandmother and mother discuss “The Other Boleyn Girl” (not very good, that Henry was a bad man). The intercom crackles: Is anybody a doctor? A paramedic? Heads begin to crane. A woman behind me cracks her neck.

A call light pings; a man in a sweater vest is rushed up the aisle. “Acute appendictis” and “surgery” are overheard as they pass.

And then it falls, that which I had been dreading, “Hi folks, it’s the captain here. Look, we have a little girl up here who’s very sick, so we’re going to divert to Albuquerque. The good thing about Albuquerque is that it’s on the way.” Cough, cough. “If you could all just remain in your seats, we’ll be in and out in no time, no connections should be affected. The paramedics will meet us at the gate.”

There’s more whispering. I ask my row-mates about Albuquerque. It’s in New Mexico, apparently.

Moments later, the plane tilts, and I know we’re descending. Well, the tilting, and the horrible Baskervillian woofing the hydraulics make.

I don’t see much of the rescue. There’s a fire-engine-come-ambulance on the tarmac, a lot of low-voiced chatting, and a few white shirts, then the doors close. The captain tells us we’re on our way again, and the hydraulics start up their frightening song once more. The family looks a bit frightened, and I sympathise. But I don’t say anything. Never admit fear is my policy when travelling. Helplessness, yes—after all, I am dependent on airlines—but never fear, else I may start throwing up.

About seven minutes in, the plane levels off, and the noise stops. There’s a collective sigh of relief. We haven’t lost much time, either, so I feel okay. When we finally land, I take the opportunity to seek out food (overpriced fruit salad) and tea (iced, green). I have an hour before my next flight, and free (really free, not just unsecured) internet, so I spend my time pretending to work.

More tomorrow! I promise!


For non-mac users: the "sad mac" icon is a terrifying sight as it usually indicates serious damage or data loss. This image from Wikipedia is a sad mac indicating that an illegal error has occurred.