Madly rushing. The bags we brought seem overstuffed and I feel anxious that I won't be able to fit everything in. I filled a box with items we didn't need to take back with us (shampoo, sweaters etc.), but I still can't see the rest fitting. Rushing. The bags are in the rental car. We're taking one last walk down the steps to the Satake's. We give them gifts and cards. Scotty's voice cracks as he reads Maya her card. I lose it. One last group photo on the couch. Tears.
Back up at the hostel, Scotty says his last goodbye over the PA system. Some of the boys run to the foyer to say goodbye and watch us drive off. We're silent. Processing. As our car turns onto Stuart Street, giving us a top row view of the city, I whisper "last view of Dunedin, she looks so beautiful." The clouds have begun to part and thick pillars of light shine spotlights on parts of the city. We both start to sob as we descend into the city. We clutch each others' hands and cry. Both surprised at our reaction. This place was so good to us. What an adventure.
5 hours later we pull up to our Hostel. The hallways smell like hospital food, then urine, then hospital food. Two squat beds in a cramped room. We unpack our chinese takeaway and laugh at the fact that the "pool" that I had kept our swimsuits out for, was, in fact, a pool table.
We arrive at the Christchurch airport to find our flight delayed by nearly two hours. Four and a half hours early. Scotty throws our huge bags on the scale and we find we're 30 kgs over our limit.
No problem, I think. We were 20 kgs over on our way down. At $5 a kg, the $100 paid was far beyond any deal we would get by mailing it (I believe that it would have cost $100 to mail a shoe box down south).
First we're told that our bags are too heavy for the people loading the plane. No problem, we have an extra duffle shoved in one of these bags. I dig it out and lighten each bag by several kilos. Back in line. Bags back on the scale. The gentleman checking us in grabs his calculator and says, "at $18 a kilo, that'll be a total of $576."
HOLD.THE.PHONE.
"$18 dollars a kilo!?!?!" we both shriek in unison.
We got taken by the airline. Only $5 to bring it there, but $18 to bring it back. Tricksters.
"No, no, nnnno... I don't need any of my stuff that bad" I stammer.
The 4.5 hours early to the airport comes in handy as Scotty and I unpack 32 kg's (that's 70 pounds) of clothing (mainly mine- seeing as the bulk of our luggage was mine). As the pile grows, a couple single backpackers stop to watch. Scotty makes no secret of the fact that the price to bring our stuff back more than tripled and they want to charge us nearly $600 to bring our stuff back. I can feel the entire airport watching us.
And if that didn't get their attention, Scotty slinging underwear and socks across the floor and exclaiming, "Underwear, who needs them? I don't! We don't need our underwear!" I begin to howl with laughter at the ridiculousness of this scene we're caught in.
The clothes don't matter. I've worn them to bits over the past 8 months. I'm not spending a cent to bring anything home. It's very feng shui.
Being so bloody broke over the past few months has taught me that the stuff doesn't matter. Sleeping in that car in Australia was one of the greatest experiences of my life. I KNOW that I can do with less. Tossing all those clothes on the floor of that airport was actually quite liberating, but lets not get carried away, I DID put on 3 sweaters, a jacket and a scarf before checking in for the third time.
The guy checking us in feels bad. He tells us to just get it close to our limit, and he will fudge the final 5 kilos. We thank him. I don't want to wear more than 3 sweaters.
We take off at 2:30 pm on Sunday afternoon. I listen to a mix of Angus & Julia Stone, First Aid Kit, Bob Dylan and The National as I watch New Zealand pass by below us.
The sun sets. It casts a tangerine glow on the blanket of clouds under us. The moon, looking swollen, seems to float along beside us.
We're descending. The twinkling lights of Nadi grow larger. We disembark to an outdoor walkway. A wall of hot humid air hits me and my 3 sweaters, scarf and jacket like a truck. A firetruck.
I walk laps around the tiny airport and stretch. 3 hours seems to drag. I can tell my walking is annoying some of my fellow passengers. What I wouldn't do for a treadmill right now. The looming 14 hour flight overpowers the stink-eye's I am getting from the handful of already cranky travellers (let me be clear, I am only walking along the walkways, not between the rows... but I can tell that they think I am being obnoxious).
Middle row. Young couple sits beside us and pass out almost immediately. It's 11pm New Zealand time. We have 12 movies to choose from. Our own screens in the back of the seat in front of us. Scotty chooses Sherlock Holmes and I decide on a documentary called The Elephant in the Room.
Back up at the hostel, Scotty says his last goodbye over the PA system. Some of the boys run to the foyer to say goodbye and watch us drive off. We're silent. Processing. As our car turns onto Stuart Street, giving us a top row view of the city, I whisper "last view of Dunedin, she looks so beautiful." The clouds have begun to part and thick pillars of light shine spotlights on parts of the city. We both start to sob as we descend into the city. We clutch each others' hands and cry. Both surprised at our reaction. This place was so good to us. What an adventure.
 |
| DUNEDIN |
5 hours later we pull up to our Hostel. The hallways smell like hospital food, then urine, then hospital food. Two squat beds in a cramped room. We unpack our chinese takeaway and laugh at the fact that the "pool" that I had kept our swimsuits out for, was, in fact, a pool table.
We arrive at the Christchurch airport to find our flight delayed by nearly two hours. Four and a half hours early. Scotty throws our huge bags on the scale and we find we're 30 kgs over our limit.
No problem, I think. We were 20 kgs over on our way down. At $5 a kg, the $100 paid was far beyond any deal we would get by mailing it (I believe that it would have cost $100 to mail a shoe box down south).
First we're told that our bags are too heavy for the people loading the plane. No problem, we have an extra duffle shoved in one of these bags. I dig it out and lighten each bag by several kilos. Back in line. Bags back on the scale. The gentleman checking us in grabs his calculator and says, "at $18 a kilo, that'll be a total of $576."
HOLD.THE.PHONE.
"$18 dollars a kilo!?!?!" we both shriek in unison.
We got taken by the airline. Only $5 to bring it there, but $18 to bring it back. Tricksters.
"No, no, nnnno... I don't need any of my stuff that bad" I stammer.
The 4.5 hours early to the airport comes in handy as Scotty and I unpack 32 kg's (that's 70 pounds) of clothing (mainly mine- seeing as the bulk of our luggage was mine). As the pile grows, a couple single backpackers stop to watch. Scotty makes no secret of the fact that the price to bring our stuff back more than tripled and they want to charge us nearly $600 to bring our stuff back. I can feel the entire airport watching us.
And if that didn't get their attention, Scotty slinging underwear and socks across the floor and exclaiming, "Underwear, who needs them? I don't! We don't need our underwear!" I begin to howl with laughter at the ridiculousness of this scene we're caught in.
The clothes don't matter. I've worn them to bits over the past 8 months. I'm not spending a cent to bring anything home. It's very feng shui.
Being so bloody broke over the past few months has taught me that the stuff doesn't matter. Sleeping in that car in Australia was one of the greatest experiences of my life. I KNOW that I can do with less. Tossing all those clothes on the floor of that airport was actually quite liberating, but lets not get carried away, I DID put on 3 sweaters, a jacket and a scarf before checking in for the third time.
The guy checking us in feels bad. He tells us to just get it close to our limit, and he will fudge the final 5 kilos. We thank him. I don't want to wear more than 3 sweaters.
We take off at 2:30 pm on Sunday afternoon. I listen to a mix of Angus & Julia Stone, First Aid Kit, Bob Dylan and The National as I watch New Zealand pass by below us.
 |
| LAST GLIMPSE OF NEW ZEALAND |
The sun sets. It casts a tangerine glow on the blanket of clouds under us. The moon, looking swollen, seems to float along beside us.
 |
| FULL MOON IN FIJI |
We're descending. The twinkling lights of Nadi grow larger. We disembark to an outdoor walkway. A wall of hot humid air hits me and my 3 sweaters, scarf and jacket like a truck. A firetruck.
I walk laps around the tiny airport and stretch. 3 hours seems to drag. I can tell my walking is annoying some of my fellow passengers. What I wouldn't do for a treadmill right now. The looming 14 hour flight overpowers the stink-eye's I am getting from the handful of already cranky travellers (let me be clear, I am only walking along the walkways, not between the rows... but I can tell that they think I am being obnoxious).
Middle row. Young couple sits beside us and pass out almost immediately. It's 11pm New Zealand time. We have 12 movies to choose from. Our own screens in the back of the seat in front of us. Scotty chooses Sherlock Holmes and I decide on a documentary called The Elephant in the Room.
Preview: The Elephant in the Living Room
I can't stop crying. I lie my head on Scotty's shoulder and silently sob into my napkin.
Getting ready for bed in the tiny airplane bathroom is completely futile. I splash some water on my red face (I turn into a tomato whenever I cry) and brush my teeth. Back in my seat, I put my ear plugs in and lean my cheek against my neck pillow. My sleep is restless but decent considering I have so little space to work with.
Scotty is shaking me awake. Bright sun pours in the windows and my eyes sting with dryness. I sit up from my laying position across his lap. Breakfast is being served. I missed the announcement. Most of the plane is already awake and eating. I just feel foggy and dizzy.
It's nearly noon in LA when we touch down, but New Zealand time it's 7am. We have to pick up our bags and recheck them way down at the other end of the airport. We're greeted by the warm California sunshine as we push our bags along the sidewalk looking for Alaska Airlines departures. This is the first time since September that our accents don't stand out.
We scan our passports to get our electronic tickets and discover that our flight has been moved forward by 2 hours! Our 7 hour layover is whittled to 5.
We find a food court and try to track down wifi so that we can let Scotty's Aunt and Uncle know that we've touched down. As I am returning from the washroom, I see his cousin and aunt already sitting at the table with him. How they managed to find us in LAX without having any contact with us outside of me sending them our flight info before we left is unreal. My heart jumps in my chest. This is all really happening. We're back with family. They take us to Olive Garden. I had been lusting over the salad for weeks, so it seems fitting that our first meal in North America is bowls and bowls of Olive Garden salad.
Last plane ride. Scotty falls asleep while I watch The Artist (a silent film is a strange in-flight movie choice). The sun turns bright orange, signalling a warning that it is setting. This is the second night I watch the sun set from the air.
For the final hour of the flight I listen to music. My heart speeds up when we pass over Mount Rainier, then Baker. The "prepare for landing announcement" comes on and I get the shivers.
 |
| MOUNT RAINIER |
Below us twinkles Vancouver.
Below us is our loved-ones.
I have missed them all so much.
 |
| LANDING IN VANCOUVER |
The airport is quiet. We fly through customs. Our bags pop out on the belt within 10 minutes.
As we push our carts closer to the arrivals gate, we can hear cheering,
Scotty says, "I think that's my family"
We round the corner. The whistles and cheers fly. We hear our names. My eyes fill with tears as I lock eyes with a dozen members of our family jumping up and down holding a banner that reads
Welcome Home Scott & Chelsea- We Missed You
Our fellow travellers are so confused and keep turning to see who all the fuss is about.
A VIDEO OF OUR HOMECOMING
I am a puddle of excited tears. This is the biggest welcome home. Huge. There are excited hugs and more tears. I am HOME. This word has found great depth since we left in september- it is a much richer, much more beautiful word. My heart fills up on it.
 |
| WAITING FOR US TO COME THROUGH THE GATES |
We're whisked off to White Spot for late night burgers. This all feels like a dream. Being surrounded by all these people is such a blessing. Our nieces and nephews keep gushing over how much they've missed us, and we gush right back. I can't help but comment on how much they've grown. I knew they would but it still kind of scares me. These little babies I held are now children (and the oldest ones are going to be teenagers in a year!)- let's slow down on the growing up okay?
 |
| MY NIECE SOPHIE- WE'RE A LITTLE ALIKE. |
Home.
It's so good to be here.
