I left Ireland, lived at home in the USA for 11 months, came back to Dublin, visited Italy for the first time, moved to Edinburgh, became CELTA certified to teach English, moved back to Dublin for two months, spent a few days in London and saw Shere, Surrey, and now I'm on my 17th day in Wellington, New Zealand.
It has been an interesting experience so far.
I flew from Dublin into Wellington after 30+ hours, four flights, and three layovers, with tears in my eyes as I viewed the infamous windy Wellington sign on the cliffs near the airport. This sign is similar to the "Hollywood" sign in California, except the 'ton' part of 'Wellington' looks like it's being blown away.
That is not my picture, it's one from Google images. I would have taken a photo if I was actually excited to be arriving.
The truth is, I was the opposite of excited. What's the word for that, anyways? Anti-cited. un-cited.
I was not excited to be arriving in Wellington. There were so many thoughts in my head, so many worries and doubts, and this did not look or feel like home. It was grey and raining. I was anxiety ridden.
What is home supposed to look or feel like? I guess you just know when you're there.
The trickiest part of my journey was the 1 and a half hour layover I had in Brisbane, Australia. I wasn't sure if that would be enough time to make it. But I had to be positive.
When I checked my luggage in Dublin, they tagged it through to Australia. At that location, I would be changing to Singapore Airlines (operated by Virgin Australia) and they were not partnered with Aer Lingus (the airline I was departing on). Well, Singapore Airlines is a partner airline of Aer Lingus, but not when they are operated by Virgin Australia. That's why they couldn't tag it to Wellington. I guess. It got pretty confusing.
In London, my first layover, I spoke with a woman at the Singapore Airlines desk (because I still needed to check in for that last flight). She was able to check me in AND re-tag my luggage for Wellington! Happy days! Except she told me I needed to retrieve my luggage in Brisbane, then drop it back off at the check in desk... apparently tagging it was just going to save me time. I'm not sure how. I nodded and smiled like I knew what she was talking about.
Then I was off on a 12 hour flight to Singapore, where I was welcomed by tropical weather and Pikachus scattered throughout the airport! The airport train that passed through the terminals was painted all in Pikachus. There was a blow-up Pikachu next to some plants inside one of the halls. There were Pikachus on t-shirts. It was a happy site to see.
However, my smile faded after I spent fifteen minutes walking to my gate only to find there was a security check right before it. I passed gates 1-15 and they all looked normal, then SPAM security check before gates 16-19. I was expecting to have to go through another security check, I just thought it would have been when I got off the plane, not right before I got onto my next one.
It would have been fine, except I completely forgot I had replenished my water bottle and they confiscated it! So I was left with another hour and NO water. Rawrs.
Then I spent 8 hours flying to Brisbane. I tried to mentally prepare myself for the hussle I was about to endure. I confirmed with the flight attendant that I wouldn't be needing a boarding card because this wasn't my final destination. I practiced my game face. I was ready to go.
Loaded with my bags and feeling like a pack mule, I sped walked through the terminal. After I passed through some duty free shopping, I arrived at a passport check. Wait, what? I hadn't needed to do this at any of my other stops! I asked a worker where to go, and told him I only had an hour and a half until my next flight. He pointed me to the appropriate line (which had over 50 people and wasn't moving) and told me which desk to go to after I've retrieved my luggage to get a new flight to Wellington.
Boom. My heart dropped. I wasn't going to make my next flight.
I almost cried. Reluctantly, I shuffled to the end of the line and accepted my fate. Then I waited. And waited. And kept waiting. There was no sense of time, only rows of people.
I tried to peek at my neighbors' passports to see where everyone was from. No Australians in my line; they had the luxury of residential perks. I spotted an Italian couple and my heart fluttered. There were loads of red passports; no blue ones like mine that I could see. I slide my hands around my waist and hid my passport under my arm. When I finally neared the end, there was a worker checking boarding cards. I was told I didn't need one! When she got to me, she directed me to a DIFFERENT LINE and told me to ask the worker at the back how to get there. I had no time to be furious.
I went to this other line, presumably where I could scan my passport to get through, but the light blinked red. A nice worker came to help me and said, "why did they send you over here? You should be over there!" and I nearly lost it. He was kind enough to lift up the rope and put me next in line to see the passport checker person. The guy behind me said, "Welcome to our queue!"
I was finally there! The clouds were parting, and I could see the sun! When I spoke with the passport checker person, she said she could not let me in because I didn't have an Aussie visa. And then the sun vanished and dark clouds filed in above my head, and rain started to pour over everything.
How was I going to get my bag? Would they notice the Wellington tag and send it along? Was I given misinformation in London? I had no time to think, I just had to run where they told me to go. Before I knew it, I had passed through a security check and was sprinting to my gate.
Now remember, I still had pack mule status.
They were announcing "final call for flight blah blah blah to Wellington" and I was wobbling like a penguin under the weight of my things. Still, I persevered. I did not stop running. I've never actually witnessed someone running through the airport before, but here I was sweating like a mother pheasant plucker. By the time I reached the desk, I was huffing and puffing. Before I could say anything he said, "Erika Bradbury?" I made an exasperated comment about my luggage, and the man had a look in the system quickly before nodding in a non-confident way and sending me off to the plane.
I was too exhausted to dwell on his lack of confidence with the head nod. I made it to my flight literally ten minutes before take off. I was super happy and super lucky.
My neighbors on the flight were a bunch of guys from a sports team. Rugby? Football? I'm not sure. They were wearing a blue uniform and they were all tall and thick. Probably rugby.
And now here we are at the part where I was looking at the Hollywood-Wellington sign out the airplane window through teary eyes. But it wasn't the long journey that made me cry. That's a story for *potentially* another time.
Thanks for reading and I'll be updating again soon!
Cheers,
xx Ka
I need you back in my life!!!:) I miss you
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