Brisbane to Atlanta
24 May 2015
Master Map
I walked down the air bridge at Hong Kong International airport, tired but pleased to be boarding the flight for the next leg of the journey. Officials were searching passengers' luggage, but I thought little of it. Until it was my turn. Due to a conversation or two with a user on the CB1100 Forum known to me as Elipten, I was carrying a bottle of Bundaberg Overproof Rum. There was nothing secretive about the way I was carrying the bottle: it was in a sealed plastic bag swinging gently from one hand. I was directed to a table.
"What is that?"
"Bundaberg's finest rum."
"Where did you buy it?"
"Brisbane, Australia."
"You can't take it on the plane."
"Why not? I was told in Brisbane there would be no problem."
"The US Government does not allow you to carry more than 100 mls of liquid in your hand luggage."
"But it's all sealed up and in a duty-free package."
"Sorry. It is not our requirement. The US Government will not allow you to take it on the plane. We have no choice but to take it away."
Bye-bye Bundy.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The trip from my home 130 kilometres north of Brisbane had ended with a pleasant surprise. I'd spent the last part of the afternoon with my three sons, the partner of one; my stepdaughter, her partner and their baby; another friend of mine and my sons; and her brother. One son lives in Brisbane, another was in town for a conference and the third had flown to Brisbane to surprise me. He did.
They took me barefoot bowling (an Australian trick to lure fee paying youngsters into lawn bowling), out to dinner and then delivered me to the airport. All in honour of the birthday that would occur three days later. It was a much more agreeable afternoon and evening than I'd expected.
At 0050 on 24 May, my flight to Atlanta via Hong Kong and Los Angeles took off. Due to one of those curious global tricks that involve the International Date Line I arrived in Atlanta at 1735 on the same day. The curious bit was that I'd travelled for more than 30 hours, watched a few movies and not slept much. It was no surprise I had a slight feeling of dislocation when I arrived. Still, having made my way to the hotel, I had enough of my wits about me to find a shop selling beer and take note of the bar across the road.
I'd nearly succumbed to sleep when there was a knock on the door. Wearily I dragged myself out of the chair and opened it. There, wheeling an enormous suitcase, stood my mate Pterodactyl.
"G'day," I said, "Beer?"
"Bloody oath," he said.
I showed him to his room and went to fetch us a beer.
There is a certain inevitably about the way one beer with Pterodactyl leads to another. This evening was no exception. A trip across the street to the Publik Draft House, a pleasing craft beer establishment, followed. Sadly, the kitchen there was not working to expectations and we had to make do with beer, snacks and an acceptable Californian Zinfandel. Sleep came easily and lasted rather longer than usual.
