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The trip was a marathon in and of itself; after we finished packing up the apartment in Oregon (mom had flown over to help) we went down to California to visit friends and family. It was hectic and lots of driving was involved but I’m so glad I got to do that since I don’t know when I’ll see a lot of people in person again. Video chats are great but I’m old fashioned and there is still a degree of separation with a screen. 

Getting to Hawai’i was fairly simple, even with some Trump-inspired political drama and traveling with more luggage than ever before (one large suitcase, two medium ones, and a large backpack). 

After a few days recovering in the tropical heat the real fun began. I flew out of Kona in the early morning so we had to get over there in the middle of the night. And of course even though the airport website says to arrive 2 hours beforehand, nothing – and I mean NOTHING – is open until about 45 minutes before the first flight. No staff, no lights, and no signs explaining this. As the sleepy staff start to populate the waiting area in front of the ticket counters a little over an hour before the flight we and a few other confused families run over. In an obvious practiced script and expression of ‘Why do I have to explain this every single morning?’ they calmly explained the timeline and assured us we and our luggage would make it on board. 

Having several extra bags, extra paperwork to go over with the ticket counter (passport, visa, etc.) took much longer than domestic check ins and after bidding mom and dad goodbye I ran over to TSA, which is never quick. Being sleep deprived already (I can never sleep well the night before a big trip) I went to the wrong terminal and had to double back through the agricultural inspection point to a terminal I had never been to. One bonus – it was the only one with AC and I was plenty sweaty by then. 

The 45 minute hop to Honolulu was nice as the sun finally rose; most of the airport is open air and I passed a very nice courtyard-style park but couldn’t stop to enjoy it. I had injured my knee right before leaving my job in Oregon and the packing/moving hadn’t done it any favors. Having it wrapped in a robust brace was fun (because of course the terminals were on opposite sides of the whole complex) and along with the lack of maps of gate locations was fraying my patience. 

Enter a godsend of airport employees: I asked a staff member if I was headed in the right direction and she pointed at the electric cart she had just offloaded some elderly travelers – “Sure, but it’s a ways away. Why don’t you hop on?”. I almost cried; I had plenty of time but I would have made at least two or three wrong turns (again, lack of layout maps) and had yet to have breakfast or proper caffeinated tea. 

Waiting at the correct gate I had to do the same song and dance with visa and passport in hand. I was also notified that I needed to check in with them closer to the flight to make sure my bags had been transferred. Not sure what I was supposed to do if they didn’t, but I came back over when they said to – several more times – being told that they hadn’t verified they were transferred and to come back in another 20 minutes. Forward to my seating group is boarding and I desperately ask if the bags were on the plane; staff replied ‘we don’t know, but they must be since your flight here came in several hours before’. 

Thanks, that’s very reassuring. 

Once we were in the air I asked the stewardess (per gate staff instructions) how to verify my bags had made it on the flight. The flabbergasted NZair staff said ‘We can’t verify from here, but once we land ask any staff person at the gate and they should be able to look it up.’ 

So I spent the whole flight worrying I had no clothes except what I had on for however long it would take for my bags to make it first to Auckland then Wellington. Weeks, most likely. At least the food was quite good. 

Landing in Auckland after a 9-hour flight, and about 2 hours sleep in the last 28 hours I looked for any staff to verify the status of my bags before going through border security. I didn’t see a single staff person between the gate and passport control, which looked like a point of no return. After walking back and forth again I tentatively went to an empty counter at passport control and tried to explain the situation. 

To be fair, I probably looked and sounded a little deranged by that point. But instead of answering any questions or even acknowledging I was supposed to stay or keep going she started grilling me on what I was doing while in New Zealand. Given my mental state I panicked and stumbled over questions, which made her ramp up the questioning. She then said ‘step over there’ and waived over her should at another desk just behind her. At this point I was convinced I was either going into a cavity search room or was being deported. After standing at the counter for about five minutes having a silent panic attack I asked the clerk at the new desk what I was supposed to do. She looked at me and said ‘What? I don’t know.’ After I tried to explain what just happened she said ‘Bag check is at the end of the hallway. Pick them up there.” 

I probably showed way too many teeth as I smiled at her. 

The bags were all there. I sent a mental curse at the passport control and proceeded to border security, which was supposed to be the difficult part. 

The immigration consultant organization (shout out to IMMagine – I will forever recommend them) had given a lot of prep material and had conversations about this step. There’s even a multi-season reality tv show about NZ and Australian border security. Thinking of the last half hour I was quite nervous. 

I had a list of declarations, a letter from my doctor for my prescriptions, which bags contained what, and had packed everything for easy access. 

I breezed through it so quickly I kept glancing around thinking I was doing something wrong. The security agent was so happy I had the list, paperwork, had scrubbed my hiking shoes – didn’t even need to open any of the bags. 

On the other side I had the thought – “I will never again judge someone having an airport meltdown until I hear the whole story.” 

Other than walking way more than my knee could handle comfortably the rest of the trip to Wellington went smoothly. One fairly long Uber ride to the Park Hotel in downtown and I FINALLY got to sleep. After figuring out how to manually switch on the outlets – more on that in the next post. 

Note: there will be a lot more photos starting in the next post. Sorry for the lack of them here.