The Day that Never Ended...

Okay. So big update. I should probably split this into two, so it's not so long. We'll see how we go.

The week up to my trip was kinda busy. I had a lot to finish before my trip. But my secret strategy was to think that I had more to do than I actually had. So once I'd completed it all, it was like, 'Oh. Is that all? I thought I had more... Oh well, bonus time.' So the last two days were a bit more relaxed.

Anyways. I left what seems like weeks ago, but was actually two days ago in Australia. I woke up at 6:45am, got to the airport at 8:45, went through customs at 10:10am, got on my flight for Sydney at 11:15, arrived at Sydney at 12:30 midday.

My United Airlines flight from Sydney to San Fransisco was actually early, and I almost sat by completely stress-free, as the plane boarded and did a final call, before realizing it was mine and dashing to line up for the Final Boarding stage. It was scheduled to leave at 2:40, and left instead at 2. Lucky I had bought an Orson Scott Card book, which I was casually reading as I sat at the gate to wait it out. Anyways. The important thing is that I got on the plane. And my Maori friend at Melbourne Airport's check-in had managed to get me an exit row on both flights.

So I got the aisle seat. It was such a good thing as well, cause United is renowned for not yet having left the stone age, and I would have been stuck for 14 hours without a personal movie screen (The world ends when we aren't being entertained, everyone knows this). That is, I would have been bored witless, if by great fortune, I was not seated next to a really nice, Christian girl called Deb, who was a Brisbane-dweller moving over to Detroit. She was really friendly, and we had a fantastic conversation for most of the flight. We covered pretty much everything – she's a Missionary kid, a worship leader, a singer/songwriter/pianist, she was into the Prophetic in a big way, we knew the same people at CCC Whitehorse, she had been to a church in Brisbane that my own church is ministering at while I'm away, she'd homeschooled, and everything.

So anyways - bottom line, couldn't have had a better neighbour passenger. And we both were relieved that we were able to sit next to a Christian, and have a good flight. Cause it was very long.

SAN FRANCISCO

Two words. FUEL CONSUMPTION. How can they afford to drive their cars up those streets? It really was crazy being there. I tried to take some photos of what the streets were like, but it doesn't come out nearly as steep as it was. It is a pretty amazing place.

So after finally arriving in 'Frisco (my Lonely Planet Guide to the USA tells me never to use the name 'Frisco, at risk of completely castrating me from society, and permanently branding me with FOREIGNER on my forehead), I shuffled my luggage around, (not wanting to carry Junior in my man-bag through the streets of San Fran), and waited for Debbie's luggage with her. Which didn't show up.

So I helped her lodge a complaint with the Airline, and ensure that it would be forwarded on to Detroit. Apparently others who had flown on Qantas' flight from Brisbane had the same trouble. I think she was grateful for the help, cause it's pretty worrying to have that stuff happening when you're travelling alone, and everything you own is in those bags. And then we parted ways.

I jumped on the BART (horribly named, I can only assume it stood for Bay Area Rail Train), which was amazingly speedy (at the expense of ear-pressure), and arrive 20 mins later in the heart of the city. I had delusions of checking out the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, and then proceeding up to Fisherman's Wharf to take in the sea. These plans quickly changed, as the Art Museum of San Francisco turned out first to be a private Gallery, (whose staff could not direct me to the MoMA, only to another gallery up the road) then a University of Art, which only housed students, and didn't display any art works, and finally (when I found the right place on the other side of town) quite expensive, and I had arrived late for the tour.

After that hike (I kid you not, those streets are a killer by foot), and crossing town a couple of times, I needed food and drink much more than I needed to take in the aesthetic beauties of Matisse and Beyond. So I ducked into a Subway (trust me, I tried to find a decent restaurant in the heart of the city, but was only met with Fast Food...) and proceeded round the corner to the infamous Cable Car stop.

For $10 USD, I bought a two-way ticket (this was a major rip-off, considering what you'd pay for a two-zone Metcard on a higher-powered Yarra Tram) and did the thing proper. It was kind of fun, in a crawling, grinding sort of way, and at the end of the trip, we got to Fisherman's Wharf.

But I had overestimated the resilience of my body, which had been awake for the better part of 26 hours, and was rapidly fading. (The Red Bull I had drunk at the Airport before my little tour was fondly saying farewell) When I disembarked from the Cable Car, I had little to no desire to see the sights Fisherman's Wharf offered, and after about three blocks, I felt the urgent need for sleep overwhelm me, so I turned around, jumped back on the Trolley, and caught the BART back to the Airport. By which time I was nearly asleep on my feet. I managed to take this picture of an owl who was silently observing the Cable Car's comings and goings from a nearby perch.

REDDING
So I checked through into the gate for my final flight, with only thoughts of sleeping on my mind. I set an alarm on my phone, and settled down to sleep for the next four hours, until my 9:25 flight to Redding. The lady at the United Express ticket counter was aware of my layover, and kindly offered me a place on Standby for an earlier flight. That suited me just fine, and I was able to fly in two hours earlier, on the 7:05.

I rang Brittney, who arranged to come out earlier than planned to pick me up at eight. My flight in was quite uneventful, but I was surrounded by very nervous passengers, who all seemed to have a morbid fear of small planes. Maybe tiredness brings with it false bravado, but after all the flying I'd done that day, I couldn't have cared less that one of the rotors didn't start, or that the Stewardess (politicorrection - flight attendant) confessed to us that she hadn't been on one of these planes in over 6 years, and couldn't remember where anything was. But not so for my fellow passenger Ed, who twiddled his thumbs the entire trip. But we chatted along, and I just joked around with him about the flight, and I think he got over it, when he realized that we were not, in fact, hurtling towards the ground, engines on fire, with an amnesiac hostess directing us towards the toilets instead of the exit row.

Anyways, I landed safely in Redding, where it was still light at 8:03pm, and I was 'welcomed' by Ben, Britt, Delani (their daughter - so cute), and Brittney's brother Levi. I say 'welcomed' cause it actually involved me scanning the airport for anyone I knew, while they took the opportunity to jump out from behind a counter to surprise me.

So we drove home on the wrong side of the road (what the heck, no one lives forever), and had dinner together. I got to sleep on the world's most comfy couch (or is that my insomnia speaking?) and waited til about 10:30/11 to sleep, so that I could get into cycle.

So there you have it. I am awake, alive, anything else you can think starting with A. I will keep you posted as I go.

Can't say I'm homesick or anything, but I'm sure I'll be blubbering about how I'd sacrifice my left foot to have one last Aussie meal (or even just a simple 'G'Day') soon enough.

Miss you later,


Joel
– I'm all, 'Totally awesome, bro'...