Voyage (Part 1 of 2)

This the first of two posts detailing my trip to Auckland. This post was written at LAX on Sunday, July 4th

Not my plane...yet

The roar of the 777s taking off into the night sky shakes the gate windows here at LAX. It's amazing to see so many big planes together in one place. As we were taxiing after landing from Phoenix, I saw a couple of Qantas Airbus A380s parked in a maintenance hanger--it's very likely that I'll be flying one of those back to the US when this trip is over. Out the window right now I can see a LAN jet, likely bound for Santiago, and a Lufthansa A340 that's probably going to Frankfurt. An American 777 just left this gate for London, and now the next flight up is mine.

OK, enough plane geeking.

I'm here in LAX thanks to a Southwest flight from Manchester, NH, via Phoenix. Manchester might be an hour drive from me, but it reminded me why I love small airports. Instead of standing in stoic silence, the TSA Agent ("Agent Pitman") had a friendly conversation with me about New Zealand ("My kids did Australia, New Zealand, and Fiji. You have to go to Fiji"). It was a 30-second walk to the gate area, and I watched the planes land for two hours before my flight boarded.

Me in MHT, ready to go

Manchester-Phoenix is the second longest flight in the Southwest system (Providence, RI-Las Vegas beats it out by a few miles), and the five-hour journey is unusual for an airline that built its business model on making short hops from city to city in the same region. The lenght of the flight seemed to throw my flight attendant for a loop, as she kept commenting how long we would be up in the air with typical Southwest humor ("That took forever! We appreciate being able to serve you all week here at Southwest"). Main flight attendant Linda seemed unsure of how to pass the time, so she spent it passing out all-you-can-eat snacks and refilling waters.

My seatmates were the Carlsons, Donald and Lorene, a pair of septua

genarians

who were on their way home to Indio, CA. They had been to New Zealand in the early 90s (it seems like everyone has been to New Zealand at some point) when they rented a camper van and drove the entire length of the country. I hope I'm going to be able to do the same over the next few months. We spent a few minutes talking and then they turned to their books and Sudoku and I to my iPod.

The Carlsons deplaned in Phoenix and boarded a flight to Ontario, CA. Since there were only two of us continuing on to LA, Linda let us get out of the plane and stretch our legs in the Phoenix terminal. Then, after a short while, it was back on the plane again and on with a short flight to LA.

The LA flight lacked the typical Southwest charm but made up for it with efficiency. The short flight was a relief after the 5-hour trek to Phoenix, and the flight attendants served a beverage (no can this time) and a small snack, picked it up, and then it was time to land. My rowmate was a woman who smelled of McDonalds and fell asleep immediately after takeoff. There was no one in the seat next to me.

LAX is a strange airport. In the span of 15 minutes, I saw the following:It

--From the window of an airport shuttle bus, the camera flashes of paparazzi at the Tom Bradley International Terminal. Unfortunately, my flight doesn't leave out of the central international terminal, so I wasn't able to get my glamour shot taken.

--At the security line, a girl dressed in a body-length green dinosaur costume.

--TSA Agent Forrest Hunt, an odd bird with full length scruffy sideburns (with armhair to match) who declared to me: "Thank you for traveling tonight, because it will allow me to pay my rent this month."

The sun has set here in Los Angeles. It's almost midnight eastern time, and I'm already exhausted even with a 12 hour flight to go. I've gone through a Tall Starbucks Tazo Passion Shaken Iced Tea Lemonade and one of Linda's leftover snack packs. Next stop, Auckland.

These seats would soon be filled by some interesting people...