Arguably the worst snowstorm in 23 years hit in the evening prior to our date of departure and continued through the next day. We got hit with the worst of it: 32 inches of accumulation, although it felt like more. We shovelled the driveway every couple of hours to keep up with it, which was a good thing. As it was, our truck, further up the driveway than our car, got snowed in for the winter. The snow banks lining our driveway reached six feet tall, which meant that's how high shovelled snow had to be heaved. Our birdbath was engulfed. The squirrels could walk on the snow and reach our hanging birdfeeder without any strenuous acrobatic exertion. It wasn't sufficient to sweep snow off our back steps. The snow to either side was heaped higher. Our outdoor grill and trash barrel were not readily detectable.

So we didn't depart out of Logan Airport in Boston on the day we intended. The airport was practically shut down on Monday and Tuesday, the 5th and 6th of March, and the busses to the airport weren't running either. After spending hours on the phone with everyone imaginable, we transferred our flights without any cost. We would depart on Wednesday, March 7th, and return a day later as well, on Wednesday, March 21st. That meant Dave, departing for New Zealand from Colorado, would get there before us, but it couldn't be helped.

Two Forms of Torture

There are two particular forms of torture that I can imagine as being cruel and excruciating. One, to be locked in a windowless cabin of a boat at sea. Two, to be locked in a box too small for you to bend your limbs or straighten your back. Only barbarians and airlines would inflict such things on anyone. The flight to L.A. from Boston took six hours, and the flight from there to Auckland took twelve and a half. I'm not prone to airsickness, although I was as a kid, but being that cramped and overtired, it hit me harder. We would arrive in Auckland at 8am local time, which would feel like 2pm to us. A few hours into the second flight, when it was stupid o'clock EST, I couldn't imagine being able to do anything but collapse on Brunnen-G's living room floor and sleep for the next 24 hours. Fortunately I started feeling better toward the end of the trip, when my body stopped thinking it was the middle of the night, and I was able to face the day.

Of course, the plus side to long flights are the in-flight movies. Never mind that the bottom of the screen is always obscured by people's heads and the colors are desaturated and the sound is not greatly distinct -- nothing passes the hours like a good movie. We saw "The Legend of Bagger Vance" on the way to L.A. On the Auckland flight, they showed FIVE movies, but we only watched two: "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" and "Space Cowboys."

Missed Mousie Mooseconker

We pulled into LAX at 9:05pm local time, 12:05am ours, and scoured the terminal for Mousie, who was going to meet us in the airport between our flights. We couldn't find her, so I rang her up on the cell phone. The day before she had met Dave on his way out, but his flight was late getting in, and she had approximately two minutes to speak with him before he was off again. Understandably, she didn't want to come down to the airport for the second day in a row just for another two minute visit. So we missed out, which of course meant that our flight was on time, and we had time to sit around the terminal for a bit.

The Criticizer of Persons

With the full knowledge that by criticizing a criticizer for criticizing I am pot to her kettle, I just have to speak up about something. I really really don't like it when people adopt critical attitudes of everyone around them. When boarding for our Auckland flight started, people in the terminal started meandering in the general direction of the gate. There wasn't a proper line so much as a roughly ordered swarm. Rows 50-62 were permitted to board, and a ton of people maneuvered to the gate to show their boarding passes and hop on. We were in row fortysomething, and Criticizer of Persons A, standing next to us, was in row thirtysomething. Before anyone at all was called to board our flight, Criticizer of Persons A had already taken exception to Foreign Language Speaker B, who had maneuvered ahead of her in line (swarm) even though it was not immediately clear that he was maneuvering ahead for the purpose of boarding our flight sooner, even though it was not immediately clear that he was booked on our flight at all. When rows 50-62 were called to board, and a HUGE mass of people filed through, Criticizer of Persons A was quick to express bitterly that not everyone heading for the gate was in rows 50-62. She went so far as to ask those filing in what rows they were seated in.

Granted, there WAS an impressively large looking crowd of people who moved in when rows 50-62 were called. But it doesn't take more than a moment of calculation to figure out why. The plane was a 747. There are ten seats across in the coach class. Ten seats times thirteen rows in 130 people. Even so, what, exactly, is the big deal about someone cutting ahead of you in a line to board a plane? It's a 12.5 hour flight. The last thing I can imagine anyone wanting to do is be first to get on.

The Flight

Our pilot's name was David Stoddard. Airline food is a lot better than it was when I was flying back and forth between America and Europe in the 1980s. Among the items passed out during the flight was a pair of complimentary socks -- truly the strangest item I have ever seen dispensed by a transportation service. Even more bizarre than that, the socks were only just long enough to extend above the heel and not quite above the ankle. We threw them away.

Welcome To New Zealand

The flight that never ended ended, and the crampedness, airsickness, and sleep deprived exhaustion all passed. We were landing in Aotearoa, as the Maoris call it, and this would be the first time either Leen or I had been anywhere so far away. We spotted funny looking trees from the airplane window as we were landing and noted the unusual terrain. There was no snow on the ground, and it was 70ish degrees and mildly humid, which was possibly even stranger, as we had been in snowy Boston a mere forever prior.

Our instructions were to collect our baggage, then go through customs. The layout of the airport required us to go through immigration, then baggage claim, then customs, which was confusing at first. The immigration guy, who was very friendly and gave us our first real taste of the New Zealand accent, checked our passports and the immigration card we filled out on the plane. Claiming our baggage was routine, and then came customs.

We had food (lots of American candy for BG to try) and Darleen's riding gear, which had been cleaned but previously used with horses here. New Zealand is remarkably disease-free and is very cautious about keeping it that way. They didn't care about the candy, but they wanted us to go over to a big counter and unload the riding gear. A customs guy inspected the boots, pants, gloves, and helmet. "They've been washed," Darleen said to the man as he inspected the riding pants. That very instant, as if on cue, the man found a hair on them. "Heh, that's one of mine," Leen said meekly. He took the boots and gloves, but not the pants or helmet, and took them back into a back room. He returned moments later, having drenched them in some kind of cleaner fluid and put them in plastic bags, and handed them back to us. At first we didn't realize he had sprayed them at all, so once we were out of earshot, we speculated on what the plastic bags were for. "It's so the bacteria won't get out. Yeah, hold them upright, so they don't fall out the open end."

So at last we emerged into the waiting area of the terminal and were given an enthusiastic greeting by Brunnen-G and Dave. I wasn't sure if I'd recognize Brunnen-G at first, because every picture I had seen of her looked a little different, but it turned out to be easy. We scanned the crowd of faces and INSTANTLY, as if we had known her all her life, picked out the one person who was grinning ear to ear and charging at us for hugs.