Departures, Arrivals

Hello readers!


Welcome to Where In The World Is KH? I, KH, am currently sitting at my gate at LAX (Los Angeles airport) waiting for my connecting flight to the city that never sleeps – New York – in the big, old US of A.
That’s right – the United States of America and its glorious star spangled banner.

I am still trying to get my sweaty palms around this simple fact. I have officially left the county and am a citizen of the world. And for now, the home of Peanut Butter cups, the New York Yankees and Michelle Obama is calling me its own.

Unfortunately, after you’ve been sitting on two planes for the last 16 hours with another eight hours still to go, not to mention having been awake for over 24 hours (it’s a blessing from God to be able to sleep on planes, right up there with discernment and spirituality) you can’t quite pull as much excitement as you feel the moment deserves. I would love to be swinging from the rooftops at the moment, expressing my inner-most joy at this moment of independence finally arriving, but a). This is LA. You don’t do such things unless you’re high. b). This is LAX. They’ll put you in jail for emotional-overexertion and c). I LOOK HORRIBLE! Like a rat pulled through a drain backwards and I really don’t want to be drawing attention to myself when I’m in such a state. So I’ll just keep it all bottled up inside until I feel up to owning it properly.

So every traveller has a few horror stories to tell in those first few moments of going overseas, the type of stories that have them stressed out in the moment, but which they gingerly laugh about when reliving them later. So here’s mine - four and counting...

1. On the way to the Brisbane airport, we got stuck in a traffic jam. Deciding we might be able to take the back routes, we went bush with the GPS in order to avoid said traffic jam. What ensued were 30 rather horrifying minutes where I was sure the GPS had no clue where it was going, and despite still having two hours until my departure, I chewed my nails down worrying I was going to miss the plane.

2. I get on the plane, ready for my four hour trip to Auckland (first stop over) to find I had been seated in the front row of the plane. Sweet, extra leg room. I turn to my left and what do I see? A baby. Turn to my right – a baby. Look behind me – a baby. Look behind it – another baby. I’m sure this is what it must feel like when an army officer realises he’s surrounded by landmines ready to explode. With nowhere to hide, I was sure it was going to be a long painful journey of burping and poo emissions and crying crying crying. But happy days – they all slept and I swear one winked at me.

3. I get off the plane in Auckland and realise I have precisely 7. 2783 minutes to make it to my connecting flight. So in a fit of stress, I tear down the passage way to the transfer customs, jump the line of about 100people and dash off to the gate, only to discover the flight had been delayed as the 100 people I’d hoodwinked in the transfer line were also boarding the same flight. I kept my eyes down when they arrived for fear they’d hit me with their carry-ons.

4. Before I left the country, I got a concerned talking to by my father about the importance of security and consequently, am now a security freak. In my concern, I put a self-coded padlock on my carry-on bag and during the flight from Auckland to LA was opening and closing it every 2 seconds. Little did I know, the last time I locked it before getting off the plane, I managed to re-code the lock so I couldn’t undo it. No amount of jimmying could fix my own security problem and the whole issue resulted in a very large man with a very large set of bolt cutters having to crack my poor, pathetic bolt in half so I could get to the contents of my bag. So I figure, there’s safety and then there’s stupidity. Needless to say, I’ve bought a new padlock and have learnt my lesson.

Next stop New York. Stop after that – bed.

Ciao for now. xo