Air Safety and other Travel Woes

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.

I remember lying on the floor in the lounge in LAX while Zaia was visiting with his Uncle who happens to live in LA. But I was committed to getting to New Zealand come hell or high water. I found out were hell is, somewhere over the Pacific Ocean west of the Easter Islands, seven hours from land in either direction. I remember starting to feel like I wasn’t getting enough oxygen and just as I was about to faint, I tapped Zaia on his leg to wake him up. He did so immediately only to see me slump backwards into my seat, lose consciousness and hear the horrible sound of my tongue being sucked into my throat shutting off the air to my lungs.

The Stewardesses came to see what was happening only to stand there looking at each other wondering what should be done to get me breathing again. Thank goodness for Zaia being his calm, dependable self, he pried open my mouth with his fingers, reached into my throat and yanked my tongue back out with the resulting sound of a champagne bottle being uncorked.  My hero, see there are heroes in my sagas.

I spent the next seven hours with my head between Zaia’s legs so that if I fainted again my tongue would fall out of my mouth instead of into my throat, poor Zaia and poor me.

Back on terra firma I recovered from my visit to hell and we began our journey across New Zealand. But first Zaia decided that while so far away from home and no one knows him here he would shave off his moustache.  I had never in all our years together seen him without it and it came as quite a shock to both of us when his naked upper lip revealed a scar even he couldn’t remember getting. So our journey began, me looking at Zaia every few minutes and either giggling or looking horrified at this facial disfigurement.

When we looked at the map before our journey began, we figured there were lots of little towns we would explore while staying at some cute B&B. That was the plan, the reality was quite different, first of all those little towns had two things; a post office and a Masonic lodge and rarely any place to stay. As for those quaint little B&B’s we were hoping to find they all turned out to be homes where the now elderly couple’s children have returned to the Motherland, England to get their education, never to return. They would have a couple of spare bedrooms left vacant by the exodus, hoping for the occasional paying customer to offset the cost of their medical bills. It was really an uplifting way to spend an evening discussing their health woes.

I think the epitome of these experiences was summed up in a B&B in Whangarie.  This little gem was tucked away in a rather remote area but boasted of having the original woodwork from early in the century and it sounded on paper to be quite interesting. We managed to find it way before navigations systems, a proud accomplishment. Upon our arrival we noticed an elderly gentleman sitting on the wrap-around porch to this very lovely home. The owner greeted us by the car park and directed us into the kitchen to take care of the business end of our stay. We made our arrangements while she directed us to our room she whispered to us that the old man on the porch was her Father and that he was dying of cancer, but he didn’t know this, so we weren’t to pay him much mind but still we did have to know that he was a dead man walking.

After we unpacked we ventured around the home to find a little sitting area. But as we were about to settled into it, I noticed that her Father had moved in here from the porch and was what I could only hope, sleeping. Looking for a shard of mirror to hold under his nose to confirm that he was indeed only asleep and not dead, I failed to find anything to use. I was overwhelmed with the urge to wake him up and tell him that he had only a few days/weeks to live and that he should run away and spend every last dime on hookers and fun and not spend it here. Needless to say we only spent one night there with the owner very confused as we had told her we had originally planned to stay a few nights.

So there we were, we had travelled the length and breadth of New Zealand in less than two weeks and now what are we supposed to do? It was decided that we would fly to Australia to visit with some cousins of Zaia who lived in Sydney. Oh joy, another plane ride!

Arriving in Sydney we were going to stay with Fairuz and her husband Essa and family and visit the other relative, Albert from there. The second day they took us into Sydney by to have a look around. There is a tower in Sydney that has a revolving restaurant in it and we were warned by the Essa that Albert takes all the out of town visitors to it, that was his thing. So dutifully we passed it by knowing we would be back to see it.

The next night Albert and his wife came to join us for dinner and he asked us what had we done so far while in Australia. Zaia told him that we had gone into town and had a look around. I looked at Essa and then turned to Albert and said, “Essa took us for a wonderful lunch up in that amazing revolving tower.” Essa immediately picked up that I was pulling Albert’s leg and so of course did Zaia. Albert, however, took this very seriously and was about to lose it on Esau by telling him that he should have told us that he and his wife were planning to take us there. I couldn’t let Albert dig this hole any deeper when I confessed to him that I was only kidding.

We spent a lovely week in Australia and found it to be way more tolerant of ethnic people like ourselves who weren’t white folk from England. But now for that dreaded flight back home and this time it will take even longer as we are flying from Sydney rather than Auckland. Déjà vu, I’m sick again while the plane is on the tarmac and to make matters worse the only seats they had available for us was on the row before the smoking section at the back of the plane.

Zaia sat by the window and I was on the aisle side with a long row of seats in the middle. Behind us sat a couple of woman from the States and beside them in the center aisle were a couple of brothers from Saskatchewan. The woman on the aisle seat got very interested with the one brother who sat on the other aisle seat and a rather interesting exchange was about to unfold. The conversation got very suggestive and the woman showed him just how flexible she was by lifting her leg in the air and so on. Her travel companion was getting very uncomfortable with this turn of events, so she spent all her time looking out of the window trying to tune it all out. I can’t imagine what the guy’s brother was thinking but things were going to happen.

The flight wasn’t two hours old when the lights were turned down, everyone was given a blanket and the stewardesses disappeared until food was served. This had given these two strangers plenty of time to cover the foreplay that was needed to convince her to come join him in the middle section of seats where there were some empty seats available, giving them plenty of room to exercise her flexibility. Remembering that I am way too sick to sleep, to afraid to close my eyes in case I faint again, I was left with no other option but to be witness to their ensuing sexual encounter.

I always thought that this is what the bathrooms are for but apparently not. So he proceeds to go down on her much to her delight and obvious pleasure. Satisfying her on many levels, they disengage and have the proverbial post coital cigarette. So there I am, horny, sick and choking on smoke. An hour goes by and she is up for another round of fun which he happily provides once more leaving her on the receiving end of all of this sexual arousal. By now his balls have got to be a few different shades of blue but he bides his time. And once again the post coital cigarette, I’m not getting any better here. By now her friend is ready to jump out of the plane in disgust and his brother must have had to take matters into his own hands!

But now the serious negotiations take place for him to convince her that she should return the favor after all he did her twice, fairs fair. This took a lot of convincing but reluctantly she agreed and down she went, with no where to spit, I guess she had to swallow.