Travel Weary

FLYING OVER COOK STRAIT, NEW ZEALAND

I am pondering whether chloroform shouldn’t be a requirement on any plane carrying small children.

I love children. But I love them quite a bit less on an airplane in my 32^nd hour of air travel. Three airports, two long flights, 32 hours and one passport stamp into my journey, I find myself crammed into the tiny seat of a budget airline in a row with two adults and an 18 month old toddler who is clearly not very happy to be stuck on a plane. I don’t blame the mother for her child’s impatience and frustration. But I do blame the mother for bringing a toddler onto an airplane where her newfound mobility will be severely restricted, and not bringing a single toy, book, or snack to occupy the little one.

Neither earplugs nor headphones are drowning out the squealing tot, and I find myself leaning out over the aisle to compensate for the lack of shoulder room. I can feel my already sore back and neck clenching up. I peer down the length of the plane to see many of my fellow travelers doing the same thing.

We touched down in Christchurch this afternoon, our arrival narrated by a three-year-old who exclaimed, “there’s snow! it’s snowing!” It was actually raining when we arrived, although clumps of snow still dotted the grass from this week’s snowstorm.  I dug out a puffy coat and a luxuriously soft purple scarf, a handmade gift that I hadn’t expected to use quite so soon.

Returning to Christchurch is an interesting prospect. I left here 6 months ago on a humanitarian airlift after a 6.3 earthquake shook the city. The city had hardly stopped smoking, and certainly hadn’t stopped shaking. I am curious, though a bit anxious, to see the city. This is but a brief stopover on the way to Antarctica, long enough to pick up some cold weather gear and groceries, and get (almost) adjusted to the new time zone, an 18 hour time difference from where I started.