Views from Airplane Windows

The captain flicks on the intercom and announces a third patch of turbulence since we left Toronto. Considering we’ve traveled less than 500km, it’s been a bumpy flight. For my safety and the safety of my fellow passengers, I should remain in my seat with my seatbelt fastened. A brief pause. The same message in French, but so quiet this time that it’s functionally inaudible. I wonder if it’s the first officer speaking and he’s too far away from the microphone, or maybe the captain is just less confident in his French. I empathise.

How confident do I feel right now? I ask myself this question but fail to see an obvious answer. I’m not worried about getting to New Zealand, even though my connection through Los Angeles might be a bit messy. I’m not worried about finding a place to live or even a job to work. Maybe I’m worried about making friends, but the shape of that worry doesn’t fit nicely in the outline of what I’m feeling.

Apprehension springs to mind as an alternative descriptor. The version of worry that’s more nebulous, fleeting. There’s just too much uncertainty for me to feel totally comfortable with this trip. But comfort was never the point. The Boeing 787 hits another pocket of turbulence, sending my stomach into a brief freefall as my seat drops out below me. I smile, having always loved the free rollercoaster aspect of air travel. The plane is stuck in a perpetual dusk as we chase the sunset west; not fast enough to catch it, but fast enough to make the process take hours.

Las Vegas! At least I think that's Las Vegas.

Stepping off the plane into LAX I walk up to the nearby customer service desk and ask a clarifying question about baggage and ticketing. I’m told my bags are checked through, I just need to get to the other side of the airport. I don’t know how tight of a window this is, so I run. Frankly I run faster than necessary, taking stairs three at a time and running down hallways weaving through people. Then I realize that I no longer feel apprehensive. I’ve left my home country and I have no return flight, laughing a little bit at myself as I hurtle past a woman who says “Well I guess he knows where he’s going” in a bemused tone. She’s wrong, I have no clue.

But I find my terminal, and a very helpful Fijian attendant advises me about visa requirements when I enter Auckland. She’s mildly surprised when I produce the documents from my backpack, saying a lot of people get to that point without all their papers. I shudder slightly at the thought of having to print documents in an airport. Having sorted out my boarding passes I check the time, almost a whole hour to spare. I take the opportunity to brush my teeth before the eleven hour flight.

And let me tell you, Fiji Airways knows how to run a flight. Two hot meals, breakfast and dinner. With free wine (Including a refill!) to go with the evening meal. I got laughed at (kindly) by the flight attendant when I first asked how much a glass of wine cost. “Free, but two dollars now that you asked” he replied with a smile, and I was honestly willing to pay him just for the charm. Even more surprising, the food was good! Barring a pair of uncontrolled screaming children, the eleven hours passed quickly and without any issues.

It would be a failure of mine not to mention my seatmate for this flight. He was returning home to New Zealand after a trade show in Denver. I got some good tips about various cities, though his accent didn’t seem to be pure kiwi. As most small talk does the conversation eventually devolved into some version of “who’s yer faader?” where I discovered he was born and raised on a small Scottish isle. Not only that but he is a native Gaelic speaker. I encouraged him to visit cape Breton at some point, and he got a kick out of learning there is a Gaelic College there. Oh, did I mention he was at the trade show in Denver because he grows and sells decorative metal crystals? Cool guy.

He said I could have the window seat as we came into Fiji, as he’d seen the view many times before. I told him that wasn’t necessary, I’d be able to see from where I was. On our approach to the island he gestured to the window and sarcastically asked “Are you sure you don’t want to switch?”. It was still an hour before sunrise and the window was featureless black.

The best view I could get of Fiji, Unfortunately.

Entering the Fiji airport, I realize this was my first time in the southern hemisphere. An interesting note, but not the end of the journey. I brush my teeth, then briefly consider and dismiss the idea of a 6am beer. I peer at the mountains of Viti Levu through dirty glass as the sun rises, thinking that maybe I should come back to visit sometime. My seatmate from the previous flight finds me before my next boarding and gives me his contact information, saying that he’d be glad to put me up for a few nights if I was in his area. I thank him and as he walks away I feel less distant from home. I think he would fit right in with my family from PEI or Cape Breton.

Now flying into Auckland, I look out the window as my destination country slides slowly into view. Though New Zealand is five times larger than Nova Scotia, its edges are still recognizable. A far cry from the functionally endless expanse of Canada. In the airport I hand my passport and visa approval letter to the customs official, she quickly scans the documents as my hands find my proof of insurance and bank statements. Having previously travelled mostly to the united states, I brace myself for a torrent of questions. She stamps my passport and hands it back with my visa letter, saying only two words: thank you. Stunned, I conclude that this must be a pre-screening of some sort. I am miraculously wrong, and I’m on to baggage claim without further interrogation.

Biosecurity is slightly more involved, considering the giant bag of used camping gear I’m bringing into the country. The officials here are even more kind however, explaining to me exactly what they were looking for and what they were going to do with my equipment. In respect for my time, one official says he will sterilize my boots while I wait in the next line. He would find me once he was done to return the item. Furthermore, he apologised for the faint smell once he did return the item. I think my jaw hit the floor at this point. It speaks Ill of our north American systems that I am awestruck by these basic demonstrations of humanity.

The Auckland Sky Tower

One bus ride, a hotel check-in, and a short walk later I find myself eating sushi and drinking beer on the Auckland waterfront. The bartender recommends a few local brews and I’m not disappointed by his choices. He tells me he’s on a working holiday himself, a Welshman far from home. The other bartender is French and I briefly wonder if anyone actually comes from New Zealand. I walk back to my hotel and sleep finds me quickly. I’m almost there.