Way Down, Down Under!

 Flying to our destination - Australia

Day 1 to 3

We left on Saturday the 28th and spent quite a bit of time waiting around for flights, both before and after. Airport food is pricey—especially in Los Angeles. Meals there cost anywhere from $10 to $15 more than usual.

The flight from LAX to Sydney lasted 15.5 hours—the longest I’ve ever sat still. My legs started to cramp up, and at one point I honestly thought I might fall if I stood up to use the bathroom. But I went anyway. When I got back, I found my wife chatting away with our seatmate—who turned out to be just as much of a talker as she is. Naturally, I joined in. The last three hours of the flight turned into a full-blown life story exchange.

Surprisingly, Sydney immigration was quick and well-organized. At first, it looked like we were in for a long wait, but it was mostly electronic—photo scans and all. After grabbing our luggage, though, we hit a bit of a customs maze—go here, then over there. Still, it ended with something unique: sniffer dogs checking our bags. Since we had nothing to declare, they used us as a test case, hiding a training container on our luggage for the dog to find.

Now we’re just waiting for our domestic flight from Sydney to Adelaide. It leaves later this afternoon, so for now… we wait.

Everyone we have interacted with was really helpful. We even encountered one person that for some reason looked like she was a grumpy. But it came out that she was there to help. The other person who checked in outlet luggage worked with us so that we didn't have to pay so much extra

Just trying it all in a more poetic form

We departed on a quiet Saturday, the 28th

stepping into the rhythm of airports and waiting.

Time drifted between gates and overpriced meals,

where Los Angeles served hunger with a heavier bill.

The sky carried us for fifteen and a half hours,

a stretch of time I had never dared to sit still.

My legs, like coiled springs, ached to rise; 

yet I braved the aisle to the dim-lit lavatory.

Returning, I found my wife deep in story

with the stranger beside us. 

For she had found a twin flame of conversation.

Soon I was swept into the current,

and for the last three hours,

our row became a confessional booth at 36,000 feet.

Sydney greeted us with gentle efficiency.

What seemed a looming wait melted into smooth,

silent checkpoints. We had faces scanned,

and greetings digitized.

But then the dance of customs began

this line, that room, another detour.

Still, it ended with a scene out of a novel:

sniffer dogs circling our bags,

a planted decoy giving them reason to wag.

We were, for a moment, part of their training tale.

Now, grounded in Sydney once more,

we wait for our next set of wings—

a domestic breath to carry us