I had flown since I was a child and never really liked it, especially landing, but I was never sick until our honeymoon trip to Greece. I started to feel ill on the tarmac here in Calgary and it only got worse as the flight progressed. I ended up having to be wheel chaired off the plane in Heathrow, spend the layover in the medical clinic injected with mega doses of gravol only to be wheel chaired onto the flight to Athens. I had nothing to eat or drink in over twenty four hours by the time we landed in Athens. The flight home wasn’t much better, thus began my aversion to flying. But I refused to allow it to stop me from ever travelling again, which I did.

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One of the consequences of the Gulf War was that our planned trip to New Zealand had to be cancelled because they wouldn’t let anyone born in Iraq into the country. So this trip was rescheduled for a year later.

We had planned to spend the three weeks only in New Zealand thinking that there would be plenty of things to see and do to need that amount of time. Our flight took us from Calgary to Los Angeles, Los Angeles to Auckland, all told 36 hours between actual flying time and layovers. Once again I was sick on the tarmac in Calgary and once again I was unable to eat or drink. This isn’t classic motion sickness and it isn’t because I am afraid of flying, because I’m not, it has to do with the vibration of the plane’s engine.

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