By: Blonde Two
I have travelled backwards and forwards to New Zealand through Los Angeles many times now; and each time, I have had to do something different with my bags, my passport or just myself. This time, for a change I will have a fun-packed six hours in San Francisco (I will let you know if I am brave enough to leave the airport); but here are a few of my Los Angeles stories:
Trip Via LA One: Eighteen, travelling alone. I had to transfer from British Airways to United Airlines, which meant a terminal change. I took no US dollars with me (always travel with US Dollars) and made the swarthy chap who put my bags onto the transfer bus very cross when I couldn’t give him a tip ( I thought he was just being nice)!
Trip Via LA Two: Bags checked through, so no baggage hassle; but the “where to go” system involved a confusing mess of tape barriers, lots of queues and very shouty security guards. I came out of it all in such a sweat that I vowed never to travel through America again.
Trip Via LA Three: Air New Zealand, premium economy Spaceseats (to be recommended) tempted me back to LA after travelling through China, Singapore and Hong Kong. No access to the terminal at all; just a sit in a room for two hours munching on the packets of crisps provided. There was the additional excitement of having my fingerprints and photo taken, which involved a weird circular queuing system.
Trip Via LA Four: Same as above but this time allowed into the terminal after the required shouting of directions.
Trip Via LA Five (2015): Despite transferring directly to another Air New Zealand flight, I had to collect my (through checked) bag from the carousel, wheel it through customs, put it back on another carousel, exit arrivals and then go back through security. This process involved minimal shouting until security, where they shouted at me but at least included the word, “Ma’am” in the shout.
I will let you know how I get on with San Francisco. See you on the other side!
Definitely the wrong way. We did it because we wanted to see friends in San Francisco but the onward journey was via LA and we suffered various hassles, as you mention. However the return journey involved Auckland – Chicago and that’s fourteen hours. Landing amidst snow and all. The last plane out from Chicago before snow closed the airport. Confirmation for the nty-nth time that if one is reading solely to pass time, time doesn’t pass.
On the third and final visit to NZ we cracked it. Overnight stopover in a Kuala Lumpur hotel which is in fact part of the airport. But here’s the point: the hotel had a swimming pool. Emerging from a long distance flight the thing you want to do most is swim – the body borne up by liquid embrace. All normal physical restrictions forgotten.
Welcome back, kid.
Thank you for the welcome. Am sitting watching the sun set over Dartmoor while I decide which way up I am. You are right about the swimming, I dream of it whilst flying. I was lucky enough to get good weather and be able to spend my last New Zealand afternoon in and around Norm’s pool. Bliss!
Do all Americans shout? I taught a visiting American 10 year old once for a whole term. He 1. Couldn’t sit down. 2. Couldn’t get his voice down to a normal level. 3. Couldn’t let anyone near him do any work. What creates this desire to shout?