Flyin' High (in the Friendly Sky)

The International Terminal in New Zealand's Auckland Airport is half mall, half natural IMAX theatre. I arrived there at 5:30 a.m., just in time to catch a sunrise to go with my mocha latte. I spotted an unclaimed leather couch amidst the assorted art deco furniture. I sprawled out, waited and watched.

The sky was dark and thick, but soon beams of light started to slice through the fog. Like theatre spotlights on a rock and roll band, they began to illuminate the featured players. One by one, these celestial lasers lit up the Boeing jets right outside, then the bright green fields in the foreground, and finally, the dark high hills across the horizon. A lush Gothic landscape slowly came into being.

Of all the scenic views I plan to admire on this trip, I'm sure this was the the least of them. Still, it was stunning, especially for someone who so rarely sees a proper dawn. My backwards lifestyle usually precludes these opportunities, but Down Under I am right side up. During my red eye from San Fransisco to New Zealand, I slep from 8 p.m. Til 5 a.m. That's 3 a.m. to noon New Orleans time. Perfect.

The pace and vibe at the Auckland Airport were relaxed. Everyone was dressed casually, and no one seemed to be travelling for business. The lines were short and the conversations were quiet. Both the airline and airport personnel were chipper and matter-of-fact—a marked contrast from their American counterparts. American flight attendants have that sugary corporate sweetness that is so forced it's painful to watch: “Buh-bye now. . . I'm soooooooo sorry. We're all out of apple juice. Thank you. Buh-bye. Buh-bye.” You can literally see them peeling off their game faces when they step off the plane.

The Air New Zealand staff, on the other hand, seems much more natural and sincere, even when peppering their sentences with superlatives: “Absolutely. . . That's quite alright. . . Yes, our water is indeed the finest.” They wear crisp blue univorms, walk with their chins held high, and me you feel like you are voyaging on a luxury liner from an earlier era. The hot meals are delicious, the cocktails are free, and the entertainment options are overwhelming—82 movies, 18 video games, 162 TV shows, and a custom “Airshow” for your flight route in progress. It was too much for me. After 45 minutes of flipping in awe through the channels, I decided to read my book.

I had specifically requested a window seat on the right side of the plane so I could sleep in a somewhat natural position. I ended up having the entire row to myself. I guess that's the benefit of flying in the off-season.

On the way to New Zealand, I got called “mate” for the first time by a stranger. He accidentally bumped into me with his luggage as I was stowing away my backpack. “I'm sorry, mate,” he piped over my shoulder. Under normal circumstances, a physical intrusion on my personal space would leave me slightly annoyed, but not on this occasion. The apology felt like a hearty “Welcome!” and a slap on the back. For the first time, I got it. It's the perfect word—mate. It's very much in the present. We are sharing a particular experience, a particular moment, a particular space. Therefore, we are mates. It always sounded a little cheesy to me before. But what are the alternatives?

“I'm sorry, sir.” ? Too formal. And supplicating.

“I'm sorry, man.” ? Too casual, like you don't really mean it.

“I'm sorry, brother.” ? Too dated, and possibly perpetrating.

Yep, mate is just about right.

During the leapfrog leg from the tip of New Zealand over to Melbourne, I was exiting the bathroom with a paper coffee cup in my hand. A middle-aged Aussie woman and a younger man were waiting in line outside the the door. As I passed them, they giggled and said something. I could tell by their glowing cheeky faces that it was probably about me, but I wasn't sure. I couldn't quite make the words out. I checked my zipper, looked back, and returned to my seat.

Then it registered. The words unjumbled themselves and reached my cerebrum about seven seconds after the fact: “Is that a coffee or a specimen?”

I settled back into my empty row on the great ship Mateship. Oz or bust.




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