A Harrowing Tale of Airporting

The aforementioned 27 hours of travel did not take into account waiting at the Oslo airport for hours, praying to the sweet baby Jesus that our flight would actually take off. Adding this in, our total travel time was closer to 30 hours. I will not include our stay at the airport hotel in our total travel time because that was a pretty sweet stay, albeit lacking a much wanted bathtub.

So the following posts make sense, our flights were:

1. Oslo to Frankfurt

2. Frankfurt to Singapore

3. Singapore to Brisbane

We awoke at 5 a.m. on Monday for our 7:40 first flight. There were ground crew strikes at the Frankfurt airport the previous Thursday and Friday, which resulted in me threatening bodily harm on anybody who dares strike and interrupt my travel plans come Monday.

There were strikes come Monday.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

We were flying SAS from Oslo to Frankfurt, and several Lufthansa flights before and after ours were already cancelled by the time we got to the airport, pre-6 a.m. Not a good sign.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

We checked in our luggage and, at that point, all was well with our flight. Bonus points for us, both our suitcases came in 2 kg under weight.

It should be mentioned that when we realized there were strikes at Frankfurt we decided to go straight to the airport and forego the hotel breakfast, which I had been really looking forward to. As I have mentioned before, hotel breakfasts in Scandinavia are a true delicacy. My belly was too filled with fear and loathing to fill it with meatballs. Sad times.

As we waited for the flight to Frankfurt (or the ball to drop) the flight time changed from 7:40 to 8:30, chopping our leisurely two hour layover in Frankfurt down to one not-so-breezy hour. And that's assuming the flight wasn't delayed even further.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

But there were no further delays! We got boarded on the plane to Frankfurt in record time and were informed that our travel time was a good half hour less than planned. Sweet! But one caveat: It would take 55 minutes before we were allowed to take off. Turning our not-so-breezy hour layover in to no-chance-in-hell-your-ass-is-stuck-in-Frankfurt-for-at-least-ten-hours wait.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

At this time I feel it's appropriate to bring up my belief in “travel karma”. Whenever I see someone running at an airport or train station, I don't giggle and say “sucks to be you, sucka” or wish them ill. I physically send out karma vibes to them, however that's possible, so they don't miss their plane or train. I root so hard for that person to make their transport, in the hopes that I am rewarded in the future when I am in need of good karma.

And rewarded I was. We only had to sit on the tarmac for about a half hour, rather than the expected hour. If the plane landed on time (it did) and we got offboard (is that a thing?) in a timely manner (we did) and the immigration control lines weren't hellacious (they weren't) we'd make our flight to Singapore (we did).

When booking our journey we had two options of routing within Europe: Frankfurt or London Heathrow. It is my goal in life (no kidding; italics warranted) to never, ever, ever fly through Heathrow, the global clusterfuck of world transport. Plus, those British bastards strike all. the. time. No way was I choosing them over practical, efficient, obedient Germans.

How wrong I was.

We are very lucky to have made that connection, but many of our travel companions were not so lucky, which resulted in both of us having 2 seats to ourselves. Hahaha, sucks to be you, suckas! More space for us.

And that, folks, is an example of bad travel karma. Next time I go anywhere I'm screwed because I relished in the misery of others. The karma gods giveth, and the karma gods taketh away. Such is life.

An entire blog post and we've barely made it 2% in to the 30 hour journey. I'll save the rest for later. This 9 hour time difference ain't fun.

*faints dramatically on to couch*

27 Hours to Kill

The upcoming flight to Australia is, to put it mildly, a long one. Twice as long as I've ever flown before.

*gulp*

And by flight I mean three flights (2 hours 10 minutes + 12 hours + 8 hours 10 minutes and that's not counting layovers). So I've gotten busy gathering shows and movies on iTunes, the totally legal entertainment downloading system that I pay for. Yes...iTunes, I'll go with that explanation.

Here is a glimpse of the super amazing, sometimes embarrassing, often woefully outdated entertainment that I plan to enjoy while rubbing my ass back to life after it fell asleep. Yes...to wake it from sleeping, I'll go with that explanation.

Will & Grace
Easy, easy, easily my favorite show of all time. Mainly because of Jack and Karen and the hilarity that they bring to the table, but uptight Will and harpy Grace will always have a special place in my heart.

That is...unless stupid sucky Leo is on screen ruining the entire show. In the words of the great Karen Walker, "He's dull, he's ugly and he don't make me laugh". Truer words have never been spoken! Leo ruined Will & Grace.

I don't find Harry Connick, Jr. unattractive but I loathe him on a personal level for taking my favorite show, the most hilarious awesome show of all time, and making it straight up suck. His character was clearly forced by the writers, having no chemistry with Grace and throwing off the mood and charm of the entire show. Usually this means I am forced to spend my Will & Grace energies on the first 4 seasons before Suckface McSuckerton shows up, but I will be feasting on season 7 during my travels, conveniently when Grace & Leo were divorced because he cheated on her which, eventually, Grace is totally cool with.

What the ever loving HELL?!?!?! Worst. Character. EVER!

There are precious few topics I am more passionate about than Leo's stupid appearance ruining Will & Grace. I could be fighting for human rights, or social justice, or environmental protection but nope, I use the fire that burns within me to bitch about a shitty character on a TV show that ended half a decade ago. If you hadn't guessed already, this planet is doomed. So let's move on to the next tasty morsel of entertainment.

Sex & the City
I purposely am using this old, grainy picture of the S&TC girls because I'm a sucker for nostalgia. I will be watching season 4, which aired in 2001/2002 which - holy shit - was a decade ago.

In this season Carrie is on-again-off-again with Aiden, whom I also have beef with for creating the Aiden (and general Hayden/Jayden/Schmlayden) baby naming craze of the early 00's. Painfully annoying, yes, but not enough to make me loathe the individual portraying the character (may you burn in hell, Harry Connick, Jr.).

Sam begins her relationship with Richard Wright, Charlotte's marriage to Trey MacViagara spirals down the toilet and Miranda gets knocked up by a bar keep. While the rest of America was busy giving their children ridiculous names life went on all hunky dory for the girls - until tragedy struck eight short years later.

That tragedy, of course, being that steaming pile of a movie they came out with to wring an extra buck out of the franchise. Kindly note that I am referring to the first movie here, not the second. I didn't even bother watching the sequel to the sequel for fear of permanent brain damage.

In the desperately-seeking-profit world of Sex & the City World Charlotte magically becomes fertile after years of infertility (which I predicted the second the movie was announced, *yawn*) and Miranda gets cheated on by the bar keep who knocked her up. Naturally, she was totally cool with this.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, what the ever loving HELL?!?!?!

At that point my brain shut off from what was happening on the screen, erased the previous 2 hours and the four girls will forever live in my mind as they did at the end of the glorious, magnificent, perfect series finale. Shitty movies? What shitty movies?

Groundhog Day
Should I be embarrassed to admit that I've never seen this movie? It's got quite a cult following and it was recently the sacred holiday of Groundhogs Day so I figured, why not? I'll be stuck in a metal tube for over a day so why not catch up on some classics that I missed.

I could write a book on the number of classics I have missed, as you will see.

Four Weddings & a Funeral (never seen) was on TV the other week, which got me thinking, what in the hell happened to Andie MacDowell's career? Let this be a lesson, Katherine-Reese-Jennifer-Sarah Jessica. The second that hot body of yours slips is the second the casting agents stop knocking on your door. Enjoy being insufferable on screen while you can, as it won't last forever.

Armageddon
How have I never seen Armageddon?! I don't know, especially when the name practically guarantees that I will love it. If the world is ending on film, there is no doubt I will enjoy watching it on screen. Bonus points for hoards of terrified citizens running in a single direction down the street.

Ahh, 1998. President Clinton was getting a little on the side, the Europeans devised this crazy currency called the €uro and the world was introduced to the greatest technological advancement of all time (bar none), Windows 98. Meanwhile, I was too busy wallowing in teenage angst to get to a cinema and see the freaking blockbuster of the year. I shall remedy this soon.

And last but not least we have:

Air Crash Investigation

I am told this show is called Mayday in the US. Semantics aside, it is a show about um, air crashes. And their investigations. And it is amazing.

"Watching a show about air crashes while on an airplane - why that's insanity!" you might be saying to yourself. But you know what? Because of that show I am 110% unafraid to fly. Every single crash, nay, every single "incident", regardless of how minor, receives YEARS of mind numbingly intense study and results in industry-wide changes to prevent future bad things from happening. Every incident improves the safety of air transport so by my calculations, in another 50 years the entire industry should be accident proof (I say that in jest, but for reals, it's super safe).

Plus, with my hardcore studying of Air Crash Investigation-slash-Mayday episodes I know the best ways to survive a plane crash. So if I ever happen to go down you damn well better believe my ass is going to survive. I bet you can't say that.

+1 for me, +1 for survival.

Don't think for one second I wouldn't crawl over your scorched corpse en route to my nearest exit, taking note that it may be behind me.

The above programming is, I'm sure, a solid 27 hours worth of entertainment but rest assured I have plenty more than that loaded up and ready to go. Shout out to the Airbus A380 for having electricity plug-ins at each seat, which makes all this entertainment possible.

I'd like to send an additional shout out to booze and pills which, when all else fails, will sedate me for 9,576 miles of travel.

Farewell, Whit Whit

If your name is Britney or Whitney your nickname from me will be Brit Brit or Whit Whit. Deal with it.

By now everybody in the damn world has heard about the untimely demise of Ms. Houston so I thought I'd add my two cents about the life and times of Whit Whit Houston-Brown.

In grad school, back when I had cheap access to a gym and therefore weighed a number of kilos less, the 80's channel on the gym TV played I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me) all. the. damn. time. It's an OK song, it's no I Will Always Love You, but good enough on a musical level. However, I will argue that it is one of the best workout song ever for one very simple reason:

Whitney Houston had the hottest body of all time.

Exhibit A:


This is the closest thing I could find to a full body shot from the video but damn, her body was slammin' in that video. Like, she-could-be-in-a-White-Snake-video good. Truly rockin'.

The mile high crimped hair and neon make-up were also a real treat to witness. I wish to god we could get away with looking like that today, as my thin, curly hair is ripe from the crimping - and "back combing".

Divas Live will be a little more somber this year (Is that still a thing? Does VH1 still exist?) but life must go on for Gloria- Celine-Shania-Mariah (Cuba-Canada-Cowgirl-Crazy).

Personally, I will remember her as a source of thinspiration, though I suspect the rest of the world will use her legacy as a reminder to Just Say No.

From Tundra to Tropics

Exciting news! I'm moving...

...Down Under!

My hot Norwegian why-don't-you-just-get-married-already boyfriend is transferring internally with his company and I, the good shacker upper that I am, am joining him as a trailing spouse!

We'll be moving to Brisbane in February 2012 once his Temporary Business (Long Stay) - Standard Business Sponsorship (Subclass 457) - got that?- visa is approved, which should be 2 to 5 weeks as of this writing.

As much as I've "enjoyed" my post-grad school life of leisure the past few months I'm ready to get back to work, so as soon as we touch down we'll be 1) searching for an apartment in a rental market tighter than Buns of Steel and 2) securing employment for me. If you happen to be in charge of an International Office at one of the three universities in Brisbane, and happen to need an extra body, and you happen to be reading this, give me a holla. It's time to put my edu-ma-cation to work!

Here is a short list of the things I hope to do/see/experience during my minimum-two-years stint living in Oz:

#1 Watch Steve Irwin dangle a baby in front of a crocodile

That baby is half grown by now and a sting ray smote him good, so I'll have to settle for visiting his zoo, the cleverly named Australia Zoo. Zoos to me are like cigarettes or heroine to others. I know it's wrong but I just can't quit them.

#2 Dive in the Great Barrier Reef

This will require me to get PADI certified, which I stupidly started but did not finish when I lived in the US many moons ago. I have zero faith in the assholes we call humanity so you know that reef won't be around much longer. I want to get a good up close and personal look before it's all gone (or bleached to smithereens; see asshole comment above - that was not a coincidence).

#3 Eat kangaroo

I'm working on the assumption that seeing a live kangaroo is a given. Eating one, however, might take more effort. I have really come to enjoy moose meat (as you will see in a future edition of Norsk Mat) and I'm expecting kangaroo to taste similar: Meaty, gamey, delicious. There's only one way to find out, NOM NOM NOM.

#4 Discover (embrace?) the sun

If I'm ever outdoors (and that's a big if) you will find me slathered in SPF 75 or higher, under an umbrella, wearing a hat, bitching about the heat. Then why would I move to Australia you might asking yourself. I have no rebuttal to that.

Australia has the world's highest rate of skin cancer and the sun is legitimately more dangerous than elsewhere due to a thinned ozone layer (or so I hear) so I guess my ultimate goal is to not bitch too loudly - or frequently - about the sun and heat. On the plus side I've purchased some adorable shorts which I look forward to rocking. I haven't worn shorts in years, so I'm excited. With the legs of an East German shot putter I just might be able to pull them off without horrifying the locals.

#5 Go cage diving

If there's only one thing I could choose to do/see/experience while living in Oz it is cage diving.

OMG OMG OMG I cannot wait. Can. Not. Wait.

I love sharks. Nay, I am in love with sharks. Shark Week on the Discovery Channel is the #1 reason I would ever move back to the US (almost). Cage diving and seeing a Great White would be an absolute dream come true. I can't even accurately convey my feelings into words, that is how much I want to do this.

And I will. And it will kick ass and I will probably pee a little from excitement. I just hope I make it into the water before I go on a tinkling spree.

Of course I want to see the Sydney Opera House and visit Ayers Rock (actually I could give two shits less about seeing a rock in the middle of the desert but Martin really wants to see it, so I'm in) and all the other tourist things one must do when visiting Australia. I want to nip on over to New Zealand, but don't care to bother with Fiji. I want to feel fat and inadequate on Bondi Beach, and hold a koala bear if I'm reasonably assured it lives a happy life in captivity.

This will be my third international move in just shy of five years. I am very grateful for the opportunities afforded to me and am very excited for the adventures that lie ahead for Martin & I.

Goodbye tundra, hello tropics! Stay tuned for future tales of cage diving, pants pissing and new adventures.