#we got to the airline checkin before the people for our airline were there

[sam-the-pancake]

Flying today. This airport wheelchair sucks so badly. I'm grateful that I'm ambulatory still and able to use this shitty wheelchair instead of needing my custom one (and risking it being damaged 🙃) but god do they suck. the footplates are so wide I can feel my hips getting aggravated and the back sling gives no support which is one of the main supports I need from a wheelchair. Also, it's clearly never been cleaned beyond high contact points being wiped down.

Also also, the wheels? have chunks missing from them??? What happened? They're solid rubber and have slashes and wear but also just huge chunks out of them.

[lindoig1]

Destination Istanbul at Last    Day 29

Up at the ridiculous hour of 3am to be ready for our driver at 3:30. A one hour drive to the airport and close to two hours to get through the various queues at security, passport control, security, baggage checkin, passport control, brekky and security. You cannot imagine the crowds and chaos that is the Tehran International Airport. It was amazing - at one point, we stood for 20 minutes without advancing one inch in the queue.

The flight was uneventful, but when we deplaned, we realised that our visas were in our checked baggage and we needed them long before we could access our baggage. The visa people were unsympathetic and said we would have to pay $200-odd to get new ones, but we decided to consult the Turkish Airlines Help Desk before spending the money. There were lots of sad expressions and shaking heads until I remembered that I had copies of them on my PC that was in my carry-on bag. I also had a copy of it on a USB drive. Suddenly all smiles and the very helpful man printed fresh copies for us and we sailed through quite smoothly after that. The delay meant that all our fellow passengers had long gone so there was almost nobody in the queues so it was a quick trip through to the baggage collection where our two lonely bags were doing their final circuit before the carousel was turned off and they were transferred to unclaimed luggage. Our Istanbul contact, Tim, was waiting patiently for us and took us on a mini Cook’s Tour of the city to fill in time before our room was available. As it turned out, when we got to the hotel, it still wasn’t ready, but Tim is close friends with the hotel so took us up to the 360 Panorama Restaurant on the top floor and a great hour-long chat before we actually got to the room - smallish, but quaint and comfortable with wonderful views of the Blue Mosque, only 100 metres or so from our window. Glorious! By then, I had fallen in love with Istanbul and was on the top of the world after the disappointment of Iran. There is a downside to being so close to the Blue Mosque. At 10.30pm, after being on the go for 21 hours, we we regaled with the call to prayer blasting at who knows what excessive decibel rating from the rings of dozens of loudspeakers on each of the 4 minarets - to be echoed more gently by all the other mosques across the city.

As soon as we got on the plane, nearly all the headscarves came off and there was a much freer and more comfortable feeling on board and there are very few outward indications of the Islamic constraints in Istanbul. It is like a breath of fresh air and I feel that I can breath again. An interesting sidelight is that there were a few chador-clad women on the plane who still had plaster on from recent nose jobs and I must have seen at least another 15 in Tehran yesterday. There are also a lot of grossly overdone botox-ed lips so despite the constraints of their religion, there is still a strong imperative to follow western ‘beauty’ trends.

Once we got settled in at our new digs, we went for a walk to check out the neighbourhood and get a new SIM for Heather’s phone. (I was thrilled to find that the Wi-fi in the hotel is quite good and there appear to be no restrictions at all in Turkey. Civilisation at last!) We soon found that the Turks are a bit too friendly for comfort. Somehow, they recognise us as Aussies instantly. Maybe it is my hat. I was called ‘Cowboy’ and ‘Indiana Jones’ by people just passing, but one old guy (he was 2 years younger than me!) said it was the casual way we strolled along looking cool and confident! We had a few people try to strike up a conversation to lure us into their shop, but one guy got under our guard and he escorted us through the nearby historic caravanserai that just happened to include the back door to his shop. We managed to fend off his offers to sell us anything, but he continued to show us where to buy food, advised us where to buy spices and other necessities, eventually introducing us to his friend who seems to have had a close connection with the SIM card shop. Then we had two people helping us to buy the SIM, but we eventually excused ourselves pleading that we had to return to our hotel. On the way back, we continued to get offers of help that would have led direct to their shops, but we resisted and ended up having a drink and a bowl of hummus in a wonderful little place in a leafy colonnade. We did call past our hotel, but then set out for another walk in the other direction, ending up sitting in a park next to the Bosphorus watching the people and boats coming and going. Even saw a couple of new birds there and another one on the way back to the hotel - 7 new ones on our first day in Turkey!

At night, we had a great dinner at the restaurant on the open terrace on the roof of the hotel. We dallied over it for more than two hours, watching the sun go down and the lights come on with a gentle cool breeze - it was absolutely magical until sheer tiredness drove us to bed.

[allovertheworldblog]

Over The Ocean and Far Away to Easter Island

Easter Island or Isla de Pascua or Rapa Nui as the locals know it is a spit of land in the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean.

It’s the most isolated inhabited place in the world.

Chile is the closest inhabited place to the east at 3,510km away, to the west it’s Pitcairn Island of Mutiny On The Bounty fame at 2,075km. It’s had a few different names over time so the current 2 is nothing new.

The former Polynesian name was Te Pito meaning The Navel Of The World.

The original inhabitants came from other Polynesian islands to settle the island but after that more than likely (given their isolated position) had no contact with anyone outside their island.

Their island was their world.

Leaving my hostel in Santiago on the 28th of April 2010 I was whisked by taxi to the airport through the deserted streets of the sleeping city.

I was advised by the LAN (Chilean national airline) agent that my flight to the Chilean possession of Easter Island was an international one as the plane went on to Tahitti.

I was advised to be at checkin at least three hours before departure, which I was.

After queueing for 30 or 40 minutes in a line with other international travellers I made my way up to the top.

This line was for my boarding card and passport to be examined.  When I got to the top I was told that I’d have to go the national flights section as Easter Island wasn’t an international destination.

I raced to the other end of the airport fearing I’d have to queue for another half an hour, then be x-rayed and go to the boarding gate.

I made it.

My flight left on time. We were fed on the plane. LAN is continually winning the praise of South American travellers for their courtesy and professionalism and I can see why, they’re experts.

On the flight I looked at a documentary on Easter Island.

Coming in to land there was a real air of expectation. In the middle aisle of the plane I could see glimpses out of the left side of the plane and the right.

I could see the blue of the sky and the blue of the ocean and not much else.

Then I thought I could see the green of the island.

Maybe I was seeing things. Maybe we’d overshoot the island, it’s only 15 miles long in a vast ocean.

Surely the pilot has flown this route before, he knows what he’s doing.

Passengers not in window seats are straining to look over the shoulders of people who were.

There was a real buzz about the landing.

Finally I see what’s definitely a patch of island.

We land on the runway, which was developed as an alternative landing site for US space craft.

This development fostered the massive tourist inflows that Easter Island now enjoys. At the airport a sniffer dog checks our bags to see if we’re smuggling anything onto the island.

Only in this case the dog isn’t as much checking for drugs or explosives as fruit and vegetables.

It’s prohibited to bring them onto the island as it might damage their eco-system.

At this point my eye is caught by the owner of a guesthouse who’s set up stall in the arrivals hall.

She’s beckoning me to go over to her counter to tell me about her guesthouse. Elvira shows me pictures of her guesthouse which is on the ocean.

It costs $12,000Cl a night.

I tell her that it’s too expensive so she says she’ll charge $10,000Cl.

I’m sold.

She waits for me and a young Dutch couple who are also staying at the guesthouse to collect our bags and then we’re off.

The guesthouse is set on the edge of the island facing west. I feel a sense of unreality when I gaze out to the Pacific from the front porch of the guesthouse.

The fact that the island benefits from the power of the internal combustion engine, satellite communications and most modern conveniences there is a sense that the three hours that I gained travelling through three time zones to get there doesn’t mean so much on the island.

There’s a sense that the island, though a part of Chile, runs to its own distinct clock, well what would you expect from The Navel Of The World.

Easter Island is another world.

[nickbutterrun]

Day 463 - Tajikistan 🇹🇯 to Uzbekistan 🇺🇿 — Checkin Lady: “Have a good flight, GOOD LUCK” 😲😳 — Did she know something we didn’t? Regardless, my brother and i both exchanged rather shocked yet amused faces. “You can’t say that”, we thought. — Note to all airline staff: It’s probably best not to wish passengers luck when they’re about to get on a plane. unless of course luck was needed. I guess in any case, best to just not say that. — Due to the poor service over the past 72 hours in the ‘H hotel’, we arranged for an exceptionally late checkout. 18:00pm. Writing this, I’m now sat in the airport at just gone midnight. Our flight leaves for country number 134, Uzbekistan, in about an hour. — We had 4 hours waiting, eating and napping in the lobby of the hotel ahead for our flight this evening. A huge meal, we got on with some much needed admin and email clearance and then to the airport. Oh and we even managed to — The incompetence of the entire airport here was laughable. You can see in the photo, just how many people it took to check a few passengers in. Why are airports so rubbish. Grr. I’m tired. — Here’s a snap shot of our conversation when waiting to board the plane; this pretty much sums up what our surroundings were like after the checkin process. We were sat people watching for ages. — “Look at the guy in the jeans with the terrible shoes” “Which one?” “The one with the leather jacket” “Which one?” “The guy pushing past the other guy” “Which one?” “The one with the confused face, desperate to get on the plane before anyone else” “Which one?” “Too late, you can’t see him now, he’s squatting on the floor” — I can only conclude that the gaggle of passengers had misunderstood the seat allocation process. Honesty this isn’t a problem in the world at all, but at midnight and exhausted, this was funny and annoying all at the same time. You have a bloody seat; sit down and wait your turn. I guess the British queuing system has rubbed of on me somewhat. — Right - laptop off, plane time. Flight number 218 of the trip. — #travelling #travel #running #travelphotography #instatravel #travelblogger #runner #run #marathon #hike #hotguy #guy #photography #worldtrip (at Uzbekistan) https://www.instagram.com/p/BwZ9Fj9HbpO/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1ne9ch1uvt19m

[ewheeler1976]

Rev3 St. Andrews!

Wow, it's been a busy summer and I can't believe I haven't gotten to finish this write-up yet. On July 9th I raced in Canada for the 1st time, here's how it all went down...

A few days before the race we made a road trip up to my Uncle's place in Maine. We had a great afternoon and evening with a cookout, water skiing and some time on the rope swing!

The next day we set out for the 2nd half of our drive, up to St Andrews, New Brunswick, Canada. We made good time along the "airline road" across Maine and crossed the border without incident.

After dropping some things at our campsite we headed over so I could checkin for the race. After signing the medical waiver and getting my packet we went back to set up the tent and found deer in the campsite!

After getting settled we decided to go check out Minister's Island. It's this really cool island east of St Andrews, at low tide you can drive across the sea floor to get there, at high tide the "road" is under 15 feet of frigid water. The kids had a blast runing around and exploring. We drive around to check out some other places and basically fell in love with St Andrews. Later in the evening Jack and I worked the turn-around point for the Rev3 Glow Run. Getting read for this we also got a picture of 4 of the Rev3 Erics.

Race day came early and after some pop tarts and gatorade Carol brought Bryan and I to transition and we got set-up. Jackie's husband made a run to Tim Horton's for coffee and we all got our caffeine fix before heading down to the swim venue. Unfortunately we had a bit of a delay due to fog and ultimately the swim was shortened and switched to a time-trial start. But hey at least we were going to get wet. Spent some time goofing around with the Rev3 and Bay State teams along my friend Rob during the delay.

Swim

Ran into the water and the short swim was very uneventful, the run to transition though, zowsers! Long and steep, the 2nd time I've ever placed sneakers to use for the run to T1 (first was Gut Check back in October). Got into transition and found my sunglasses were all fogged and coated over.

Bike

My transition spot was beautiful! In Canada, we race under ITU rules and there are some differences with how transition is set up, instead of being off to one side of the bike, you basically setup "under" your whole bike. Really not as big of a deal and some made it out to be, but a little quirk I'll remember from this race.

After deciding to skip the sunglasses I grabbed my bike and ran out of transition and started hammering. My legs felt great and I just went with it. Out of the saddle and crushing the uphills, in aero and trying to spin-out on all the downhills. Course was a lot of fun, not the easiest course by any means, there's definitely some climbing on the highway and coming back into town. I really like how the freeway is shut-down and when we get to the out and back sections. It's always fun to ride on roads you are not normally allowed to ride on. My pace dropped off a little in the last 10 miles, but I was feeling really good about myself coming back into transition

Run

Run course for this race is a double out and back. You start with a downhill section and then go right by the water around the campground we stayed in until you hit the "downtown" section on Water Street which was awesome, lots of people out cheering us on. The run course is surprisingly difficult, none of the hills are all that bad but they take a toll, especially coming off the bike which is fairly tough. I stuck to my plan, only fell off a little bit in the last quarter of the run and came home 16th overall and 4th in my age-group! I love this race and can't wait to come back again next year.

In the days after the race we had an awesome family trip to Acadia National Park, mountain biking, hiking and just hanging out as a family. Great times!

[saasthafricaexploring]

The TAAG Twilight Zone

In December 2018 Ayanda and I felt our passport itching and threw the Budget Air learnings out of the window and found a flight on Sky Scanner to Argentina. We never thought anything of it, it was on TAAG and we were going to Luanda before dropping into Sao Paulo and finally Buenos Aires. We should have known better - this we found out in January 2019.

Check-in was at 13:30 - it felt strange, OR Tambo was empty! Upon trying to checkin the security at the TAAG counter needed copies of our passports. This was never communicated and the guy wanted to runaway and go make copies unattended. We didn’t allow that to happen. Ayanda ran after him while I waited for what seemed like eternity. They arrived and we walked effortlessly through the customs counters and International Departures was empty. 

I recall Ayanda saying:

“Why am I not excited for this? is it because our ticket says Luanda? It Africa its down the road. I don’t feel like I am going anywhere special” 

Her words were echoed by the actual experience of TAAG. Learning from my SAA experience to New York, we both placed our bags under the seat in front of us as cleared by the safety video. It was not five minutes later that the air steward came to to fight with me to put it above. We refused saying we we didnt trust anyone and the inflight video confirmed we could do this. The flight staff could not really speak much english and turned to Ayanda and started talking in Portuguese. Angolan airline staff misread her for Angolan. 

“Is it because I am black that they think I can understand Portuguese?”, she said to me. 

We eventually took off being met with the oldest movies and the USB slots not working. I watched the freshest movie they had about the Chilean Mine accident starring Antonio Banderas and Ayanda, as smart as she is downloaded the latest Ted Bundy documentary on her phones’s Netflix app. This was probably the smartest move as all the other TAAG flights - especially the ones from Luanda to Sao Paulo and back had broken screens and no entertainment. The food was mince and average and landing at Luanda international was just as dry and hot. Shortly before landing Ayanda and I locked eyes on each other as we both saw cockroaches running over the wall of the craft (INSIDE AND HAD FLOWN FROM LUANDA TO BRAZIL!)

The airport had poor WIFI, was extremely hot, accepted no card payments and expected an $8 payment to use any area to smoke in. Needless to say we were excited to get out of the little airport and to Sao Paulo. Upon arriving in Sao Paulo confusion arose as TAAG had not booked our luggage through to Buenos Aires. This meant we had to go through customs (we got stamps!) and fetch our baggage and re-check them in at the Gol counter and go back through customs. The benefit here was there is lots to do at Sao Paulo airport and the people are super friendly. The Brazilian lady at customs even commented on TAAG always doing this to passengers and it is a known problem. 

Returning from Sao Paulo to Johannesburg was interesting but we learned a lot about how West Africans view flying - yes we fought to keep our bags at our feet again. Knowing the problems that were ahead of us we started at the departures board seeing an SAA flight departing for Johannesburg and we both cried to be on that flight, knowing the class and the slice of home we would be getting - never mind a direct ticket home

The checkin counter in Buenos Aires could not pick up the TAAG reservations on her side but could book our baggage all the way through to Johannesburg. The kind Argentine lady got empty boarding passes and started hand writing our tickets out for us wit as much information as possible. When we asked the TAAG  man at the boarding gate for information about our seats, he harassed us shouting he wanted to see our Yellow Fever certificates. We produced it and he walked away. It took us begging and pleading to eventually get someone to tell us where to sit.

The same mundane mince was served on TAAG and after about five times of asking when the entertainment system would be fixed, I gave up because I was being ignored so badly. The first interesting story came with an old Angolan woman who was sitting in my seat when we boarded. I asked her to move and she did, but then started explaining in broken English that she wanted the aisle seat, despite her having the window and the middle seat. Ayanda had the same. An Angolan woman had her two kids lying over her aisle seat and was horribly disgusted when Ayanda asked if she could have her seat. After declining the old lady my aisle seat she moved into the middle seat and sat right on top of me staring at Ayanda and I, talking fast Portuguese to Ayanda. After take off the old lady decided to go for a walk and didnt return for two hours. I saw her sitting in an open seat in the front of the plane. I told Ayanda to come sit by me as the old lady was not returning. We made ourselves comfortable and then she returned. We gave her Ayanda’s aisle seat as she had wanted but she was terribly unhappy. 

After landing at Luanda airport and having all my Duty Free Argentine wine and curios taken by security, all I wanted was a South African to talk to and help me out. I lost everything and was hugely irritated when the Wifi was not working, it was hot and yet again some lady dressed very scantily wanted me to pay $10 to smoke (apparently the price changes as it wants to). 

(Note the spelling above) 

The second flight made me feel nauseous to have to take but I could not wait to leave. 

Ayanda and I sat in the same formation as before (both in aisles) and this time an old lady with a child sat next to me. Ayanda had a group of people who were all related surrounding her. Again the inflight entertainment wasnt working and guess what was for lunch - MINCE! Just after take off the old lady and the child disappeared and I heard the crowd Ayanda was sitting with asking people to move so their family could sit together. The musical chairs ensued and eventually everyone calmed down. I had a whole row to myself, until an Angolan man tapped me on the shoulder to move so he could sit down next to me. He fell asleep instantly. I pulled open the blanket packet to cover myself and all i smelled was cheap perfume of the person who used it before. The blankets were clearly not washed, but just resealed, TAAG’s entertainment system was not working again and there were no inflight magazines so I slept on the seat, equivalent to a cheap chair from Mr Price Home. Just before landing the man next to me got up and positioned himself closest to the door. This movement in the plane reminded me of soccer attendees buying a ticket but not actually sitting in the allocated seat. 

Shortly after the man left, the air hostess ripped the poorly perfumed blanket off of me while I was still sleeping and did not say a word. After landing the TAAG staff bid us farewell and said “see you next time” to which we both replied, “NEVER AGAIN”.

It was the worst experience ever and it made me wonder how airlines could provide a structure to allow people to move around as it is clearly something that happens in Africa and  what African Premium experiences actually are - i don’t believe this has bene defined. 

[ephesus-the-cornish-poet]

Brendan’s New Groove - for xFlowGrattix

Commissioner: xFlowGrattix

Contact: Discord

Order: a gift for one of my friends, moving from one side of the country (Australia) to another. (...) a somewhat cliché/stereotypical story about the bird leaving the nest to explore the world on their own. The bird venturing to settle down with a nest of their own and finding something to work on.  It's more of a parody (he's 25 after all). (...) you can use the Kookaburra. He's a very calm man - an introvert in need of an exciting twist in his life.  He does have a strong relationship with his parents, working in their business for a few years, moving multiple times in those years.

Desired word count: ~1600

Final word count: 1744

NOTE: this story's protagonist has been stereotyped and exaggerated for comedic purposes.

Brendan’s New Groove

I'm leaving the nest now. Finally.

Hey, just because Dad called me "Bren-down" after my first lone flight attempt, doesn't mean I'm doomed to follow him all my life. If anything, I'm totally Bren-done with these bland, plain-looking nests he makes us live in!

Okay, credit where it's due - he and Mom put some effort into making our homes, well, homely. Putting sticks across the hole where we may tumble out, jabbing straws through the gaps, adding leaves for cushioning until we've shedded some. Still not enough to make us forget we'll be moving again for business, but enough to keep us little cunts comfy in the meantime.

Those two old-timers climbed the social ladder real good, too. From mopping floors and cleanin up tables, they went to owning a fishin business togetha. Swept themselves roight off the dirt into the skies above, with just each other and elbow grease.

Still, a bird's gotta move out eventually, ya know? I grew comfortable with adult language; I should get used to doing other adult stuff, the good kind of stuff. I mean housing and pay cheques, of course - get your pervy minds outta the guttah!

Sure, flying all the way across the bloody country, for good this time, is no small business; but I'm not the first kookaburra to do it. Probably not, at least. Actually, I don't know of any other kookaburras who moved to the west coast. I mean, it's gotta happen... roight? and those other blokes gotta know something, if they fly 3000 kilometers just to get there, and stay. Granted they ride planes, but that doesn't really put it closer to here - if anything, it's even more of a hassle than flying on their own wings. At least I got my big bro Kurt to rely on while I look for my own thing, and I'm sure he'll have my back in case of trouble.

Plus, kookaburra social expectations are a bitch to meet - I mean, croikey... Do we really need to cackle and laugh out loud, all mornin and evenin, every single day; just to remind everyone we're still here? Or are Mom and Dad trying to compensate for my smaller bill size, bless their misled hearts? Really ruffles my feathers, ya know.

So I'm moving, too. Not my first time, since we've been all over the place as a family; nor even last, cause I'll stay with Kurt till I find a place to nest on my own. But it's the furthest I'll probably evah have moved, and the first step to livin alone.

Even if it took me five fuckin minutes of hyperventilation to brace myself for a phone caw to the airline. Not cause of anxiety, but they're just that much of a hassle to deal with; never had any problems this big with anyone else. They don't even accept scree-mail reservations for national flights, even though we are now Premium clients. Well then, I'll just wing it and book from another company. Take that, ya cheeky little shits.

When packing up my stuff into castorbean leaves, Mom gave me a walnut shell full of grubs and other wrigglers to eat on the fly. I remember she and Dad once argued the ethics of eating baby insects, it bugged me that he was against it for some obscure reason. That's a can of worms I'd rather not open, but what's a young adult bird to do? I took the buggers and thanked her, then stuffed it into my straw travel bag before Dad could see.

Just as I'm about to leave, Dad shows up with a lunchbox of his own for me, perch meat wrapped in a eucalyptus leaf. I'm not saying this cause he's my father, or cause he's a kookaburra; but he's king at fishing. His Murray cod, in particular, is considered a delicacy in local seafood restaurants. Though he's clumsy with certain fish, like how he tends to drop his bass mid-flight. Attempts to catch needlefish also fall flat, despite all the pointers and tips he receives, dulling his enthusiasm.

So anyway, after that hassle, I'm a bit too tired to swear so I decide to tone it down a bit. I also need to recha'ge my energy, and don't particularly feel like talking to even more folks. But with such a faraway journey in soight, I figure it would be noice to check on my other big bro, so I head for Adam's nest.

Lo and behold, our lil one Abid is there with him, plus a ton of our closest mates - even my good friend Flow has showed up. Turns out they decided to get togethah and ambush me into an impromptu party! It's lunchtoime too, but somehow Adam waited a bit too long to take the food outta the fridge. I have a couple-hour margin before I gotta head off, so I hang around as he puts those chef studies to use on the needlefish. I stay sharp and take the opportunity to ask him for pointers for when I'll be living alone; the moment my hand touches the pan though, Flow goes: "Oh shet, guys - food's turned Lebanese now." Know how some people make you wanna hug 'em as toight as ethically possible, but also kinda wanna beat the livin loights outta them? Yeah, that's how it feels to have brothers and best friends.

Anyway, I hug em one last time before I head for the airport, and no matter how much we try to be big boys, things still get a little sappy (okay, VERY sappy). So we stop tryin to hold back tears and bawl our beady little eyes out, until I really REALLY gotta head off to the airport.

Well, I shoulda remembered there was a reason I gave myself two hours of margin. Now, you don't just burst into a terminal and mosey on to the gates, roight? There are security checks to go through, and other lines to queue at, before boardin your plane.

Then there's me, burnin through all of that time, the sentimental twat that I just had to be. So watch me speed my way through all the checkpoints, almost forgetting to send my heavy travel bag off to the luggage area. Luckily by the time I reached the gate, the boarding line was still there so I could catch my breath before boarding. That was after five suitcase bumps to my shin, almost tripping on the escalators twice, and a family arguing against my attempts to cut in front of them.

Not a lot to say about the floight itself - airline food is mediocre at best and the passengers are worse, as always. There is the usual 'Big guy who takes up an extra half-seat with his girthy shoulders' (thankfully not next to me), the 'Creepy staring child' (sadly roight in front of me), and other all-too-familiar types. Icing on the cake, a half-dozen screamin kids; and I can swear the little shits squeal louder near me to avenge that other family I tried to cut off at the airport. At least I know my oldest bro will pick me up once we land, so I take comfort in that and rest my mind a little.

After a century waitin for the plane to taxi to the terminal, and another eon bein squished 'tween cranky, sweaty strangers next to the luggage conveyor, I hop out to the arrivals area. Sure enough there is Kurt, flutterin up to me with a big grin stretched across his smug bill, to hug me toight and chatter loudly. He even grabs my travel bag, while I stretch my cramped-up limbs troyin to urge the blood to flow normally again. After that he flaps away from the airport, the bag gripped in his talons, looking back regularly to make sure I didn't lose him even though I've been here before.

As I follow him, I recognize the city isn't all that different from what I remember of my previous visits, which is a relief. Means I'll have some level of home ground advantage, whoilst bein unfamiliar enough with the finer details for it to be challengin.

Then it dawns on me why Kurt keeps checkin on me - he's takin a wide detour to show me the most recent food places on the way home. That sounds tiring, and it is for a while; but in the end, I'm grateful for the exercise and new knowledge. There's a pond full of koi, which we've seen before but he's only tried it recently, and it's pretty good he says. We then fly through a dense forest, and he points out a fast-food joint - that is, a bent tree full of leaping bugs on its joint. Just as we're looking, a kingfisher (not a kookaburra, she has blue extremities) makes a dive, but the grasshopper she was aiming for jumps away; that food is too fast. Further away, some sheep are grazing on a relatively flat, green hill. Another bird (a dollarbird, Kurt says) tries to hunt for fleas on them, but the fleas flee; his gaze flicks to the last flea, but that flea flees too! Complaining that he's being fleeced, he flies off the fluffy fleece, flipping the bird at the sheep, who looks annoyed but mildly amused.

It feels great to finally reach the familiar marri tree, seein it blossomin and a toiny bit grown since I last saw it. As I touch down on the northeast branch, the widest, I take a moment to enjoy the scrape of its brownish bark against my scaly foot.

"Make yo'self at home, but not too much!" teases Kurt, even as he drags the travel back to my favorite fork of the tree.

I smile, feelin electrified. From seein my bro in a more relaxed place, knowing he's got my back in case shit goes wrong, and lookin forward to a brand new loife. Or maybe from the loight of hot embers in pinecones all ovah the place, hot coals undah the water collector... He's an engineer specializin in that kinda setup, which adds a bit of a zap to any kingfisher's loife. As if the whole tree were rootin for me to branch out to new experiences; I could bark in excitement, I'm on a hair twig-ger - and a bit sappy.

And it dawns on me again, I am an adult. West coast, bettah prepare yo'self.

Fuck yeh!

[dadinhis40s-blog]

United, we fall!

Our vacation was great. It really was. For the four of us. We will remember it as a time where we grew as individuals and as a family, and where we grew closer with our parents, siblings, aunts, uncles and more. At the end of our weeks in the US we were sad to see our vacation come to and end but also looking forward coming home. Little did we know the trials and tribulations we would have to go through before we could finally step into our house. Everything started smoothly. Bags were packed in time, kids were ready with ease, we were ready to go. As always, during the packing process, Carin and I supported each other with friendly reminders such as "you got the Swedish passports? I got the American ones!" or "did you remember to pack that thing that costs 99 cents that max will freak out about if he doesn't have it?" or "I'm just gonna throw this old thing, liam won't notice!" or "do you have the car keys for when we get there?" Things were looking good! We piled into mom's Subaru, the four of us plus Grammy, and off we went. It was about a 90 minute journey to Buffalo-Niagara International Airport, and it went smoothly. We unload on the curb, hug Grammy goodbye, and walk into the terminal. Our flight with United is cancelled. To be more precise, the flight from Buffalo to D.C. (Dulles International Airport) is cancelled. We will not make our connecting SAS flight to Copenhagen. We go up to the checkin counter. We confirm the flight is cancelled. We ask why. "The FAA ordered us to cancel the flight because there are too many planes in the air." Too. Many. Planes. In. The. Air. "So, can you get us on another flight to D.C.?" "Yes, we are checking. It looks like all flights are full tomorrow as well." she says nonchalantly. Let's sum up the next hour of conversation: Compensation? - No, not United's fault. New ticket? - Sure, from Rochester through Atlanta to Frankfurt to Copenhagen. We paid extra for one layover! - Sorry, we can't see all airlines or trips in the system. How about Delta? Connect us to any SAS flight to Copenhagen from any city! - Sorry, cannot see SAS. I have a British Airways flight? What are we supposed to do? - We can rebook you on you SAS flight for tomorrow, and since our flights are full maybe you can fly with Southwest! Can you check with Southwest? - No, we aren't allowed to talk to them. (Southwest counters are 10 meters away, they can literally throw spitballs at each other) You aren't allowed to talk with people who work for Southwest? - No, but you can! We are losing it. Finally, Carin checks her Swedish travel app Momondo and finds a flight leaving Toronto direct to Copenhagen in 5-1/2 hours. Can you get us on this flight from Toronto? - Let me check..... After a far too long period of time we are informed we are booked on the flight from Toronto to Copenhagen with Air Canada. Canada! Here we come, eh! We grab some drinks, run out, and get the only transportation available to us....a taxi. 300 USD service. The driver is nice. A Sikh guy, proud of his heritage, enjoying the US, telling us stories, letting me sleep. We arrive to Toronto in good time. Also, one side of the border looked about the same as the other side. I would say the only difference was all the signs in French. Poor Canadians. We try self-checkin and get a message "please go to a check-in counter for assistance." We go to the check-in counter and a perfectly nice lady checks us in, informing us that "all is well! You are checked in, Robert has his seat, and the rest of you are on standby." That statement hangs in the air for what seems like a minute. The airport went quiet. My mouth drops. I look at Carin.....and I realize I better say something before hellfire rains down on Toronto Pearson International Airport like Dragonfire rained down on the Lannister army (Game of Thrones reference). No need, Carin stays cool. And then I realize I was the one seeing red. Who do these airline people think they are?! She rebooked us from a foreign airport standby....and didn't even tell us?!?!?! Idiots! Nincompoops! Turds, I say! Carin quickly clarifies that we need to go the gate and the chances are extremely good that we will have our seats, and an extra note will be added that we are traveling with small kids and cannot sit apart. We then proceed to the gate. And this is when we discover that Toronto's airport is grossly under-dimensioned. The international gate's security line was, quite literally, 150 meters long before getting to the zig-zag roped area. But suddenly, fortune turns! We are informed we can go into the priority lane for families, and then we are moved to an even shorter priority lane...apparently for those who can afford to skip lines and are obviously better than the rest of us. We don't complain! Let's go! We then eat and enjoy a beer. The kids are well behaved, and after continuing to fight the extreme thick throngs of people at every bar, restaurant, bathroom, store and gate....we get our seats - together! - and are allowed to board the plane. Ah! We did it! We rejoice together and celebrate our tenacity, and our good fortune to be able to afford a shuttle to another airport, as well as end up sitting together after the standby screw-up. The flight goes well. The kids sleep. We do, too. We arrive in record time at about 10 in the morning. It's nice to be home. We take our time through customs - I'm sure the bags will take awhile. Are we looking forward to coming home? Reuniting with our dog, Maja? With our cat, Frey? Yes, yes, yes! Wow. It's taking the bags a long time to come down the belt. There's one! ... Three bags don't show up. The three bags belonging to stand-by passengers. The three bags checked in with a "special" tag. Three bags. Well, so be it. We inform the right people, get the instructions, and decide to go. Let's get to our car. It's one train stop away, across the bridge in Sweden. I pre-ordered the train ticket...it's on my phone. No. Phone no longer works properly. I try to open an app and I'm suddenly face timing my in-laws. No. Hang up. It re dials. No. Hang up. The screen starts wiggling. I'm calling Carin. Turn it off. We buy a new ticket, go down to the platform, board the train. Over to Sweden (yay! Kids cheer!), off the train, through the cold wind, into the parking garage, up the elevator, to the car. My keys are in my suitcase. Which is still in Toronto. Idiot! Nincompoop! Turd! That's what my wife is yelling at me. Rightfully so! How stupid am I? Taxi for Carin and the boys to her brother's house. My punishment is a train ride to Älmhult (1 hour 20), a pickup by my savior John, go home and get keys (20 minutes), drive back to train station (20 minutes), back down to the car (1 hour 20), pick up the car, pick up the family - who were well taken care of, happy(-er) and full bellies - and drove home (2 hours). Finally. I'm hopped up,on red bull, coke, vitamin well and Polly chocolate candies. But we made it. Together. In tact. Stronger.