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Published: February 16th 2009
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The feast
When I was served this burrito for a mere $8 I felt more than ever convinced that it's not so much what Americans eat that make them fat, as how much of it. This burrito lasted me three meals. On Jan 31 I walk up to the Qantas check-in counter with one large and one small backpack. The woman behind the counter has long, blonde hair and clumpy mascara, and judging from the way she greets me I’m guessing she’s had a long day already.
She prompts me for my passport, and when I hand it to her she flips through it hastily and asks me where the documentation for my flight out of the States is. My brain goes numb and I feel a bit of panic setting in. “I beg your pardon?”
She repeats that she needs to see a printout of my ticket out of the US. How come I’ve never run into this problem before? I think to myself. It’s not like this is my first time flying to the States, although it is admittedly the first time flying there from Australia. “Everyone who travels without a visa needs to be able to show proof of their departure ticket”, she continues, while looking at me intently.
“Without a visa? What about the 10 year multiple entry B1/B2 visa in my passport?” I ask. She looks vacantly at me for a second and then flips through the
passport once more, this time finding the right page. “Oh, right. OK. Yeah, that’s good.”
I heave a sigh of relief, but the moment doesn’t last long; Miss Clumpy Mascara has now found something else to prevent me from catching my flight, vigilant as she is. “Your passport is expiring in 4 months. According to regulations it must be valid 6 months beyond your departure date.”
Shit. “Ok… Well, it’s not, I guess. Now what?”
“Well, ma’m, I can’t let you travel with this passport. Let me talk to my supervisor.”
She takes off, leaving me with a clear view of the guy who plays Tom, the messed up brother in my favorite Aussie drama ‘Love My Way’. Dave knows who I’m talking about, and Dave, I’m pretty sure it was him, although it was hard to tell as he didn’t look like a moody pothead. Or maybe I just really wanted it to be him since I have a minor crush on him.
Having a local celebrity within eyeshot was good entertainment for a while, and I was grateful for the distraction since the Qantas lady took her sweet time sorting out my predicament. Eventually she returns, informing me
that it’s alright because my tourist visa is still valid. “But your passport is near its expiration, you need to renew it,” she says brusquely, as if having an old passport is something illicit I have done on purpose with complete disregard for the law. “Thanks. I’ll get right on that.”
Life sympathized with my unnerving ordeal at the check-in counter, and to cut me some slack she gave me a whole row to myself on the plane. I couldn’t believe my luck as I happily stretched out over three seats in an otherwise full flight. When you’re that comfortable, 12 hours of flying isn’t so bad. You’re fed frequently, and entertained constantly. You sleep when you’re sleepy, you eat when you’re hungry; it’s like a day spa, minus the mud bath.
I landed in SF around 10AM, collected my luggage and went to the arrivals gate where I waited a few minutes before I spotted my pickup. He hadn’t yet seen me, so I took the once in a lifetime opportunity to side-tackle him as way of greeting. Romnee’s one of very few people I know who would appreciate such physical ‘hello’, and sure enough, he couldn’t
think of a better way to re-connect with his favorite Swede.
My first day back in the northern hemisphere was easy; we had some cheap breakkie in a downtown joint before going to my bank to retrieve the pin code for my American Visa, and to a T-Mobile store to sort out a cell phone for me.
On our way home we stopped in at my favorite grocery store, Trader Joe’s, and once we got to Romnee’s pad I took a much needed nap. When I woke up around 6pm it seemed about time to eat something again, so Romz cooked up the most beautiful Cajun salmon my tastebuds have ever stumbled upon.
Ah, it’s good to be back!
But if there’s any down-side to this trip, it would be that it’s a bit of a monetary challenge for me to catch up with my friends. My modest savings allow me to spend US$25 a day until returning to Sydney, and even though it may sound sufficient for a pro cheap-ass like myself, it’s actually quite hard to get by on, especially when one has to sort out things like starting up a temporary cell phone plan and figure
out transportation between various locations. Or when stopping in at H&M, a store that doesn’t exist on the Australian continent and that yours truly is quite fond of. Eating and drinking out is not something I can really afford right now, and all additional activities are paid for with a cringe.
A few days after my arrival Romnee and I set out on the road trip down south we’d been planning for a couple of months. We camped out an hour south of Santa Cruz the first night, then stayed with Rom’s sister in Malibu for a few nights, enjoying some live stand-up comedy and live bands as well as some death-defying surfing. On our way back we camped at Pismo Beach where we were meant to finally get some serious surfing in, but instead I decided to get really sick, so all physically demanding activities were out of the question, in particular those where you’re submerged in cold water.
I returned to San Francisco with a stuffed nose and general fatigue, not to mention frustration over not being able to go to Santa Cruz as planned. There was no way I was going to lug around my stuff
on public transport to SC, and I also wasn’t too keen on re-uniting with all my friends while spreading a mean-spirited virus, so I stayed tight at Romnee’s for a bit longer. To make certain these sickly days weren’t a complete waste of time I made sure to do a bit of writing and a bit of work every day while Romz was away. I would've gotten even more done if i hadn't also consumed a few hours a day swinging backhands and forehands in front of Wii Tennis, but dammit, that game is worth the sacrifice!
On Saturday Larry, Romnee, Christina and I went in to the city to partake in San Francisco’s Valentine’s Day Pillow Fight. Armed with a pillow each we joined the madness of smiles and feathers, feeling thoroughly re-juvenated with each swing.
After a few hours we were all hungry and thirsty, so we started a trek towards an Irish pub a few blocks away, jokingly whacking innocent, unarmed pedestrians on our way. All was well until Romnee decided to cripple a poor girl who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; one forceful blow towards her legs was
all it took to bring her down. She collapsed on the spot, moaning from the pain while fruitlessly rubbing her knee, her boyfriend squatting next to her with serious concern. Turns out she had really bad knees, and I think someone mentioned recent surgery as well.
Way to ruin the party, Romz. I can’t take you anywhere.
Yesterday I finally left San Francisco to go to greener pastures, in my case meaning Santa Cruz. Although the crappy weather prevents us all from playing beach volleyball, I'm ecstatic to be back. This is home.
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