Sleep is for the weak

The last 36 hours have been a bit of a muddle for me. So much has happened that my jetlagged little brain cannot cope. I travelled for a looooong time, entered a new country, had to learn a new language (or so it seems - I will chat about that later), moved into a new place and started a new job. Phew - I need a holiday.

It was nearly not possible as my ride to the airport decided alarms were for the weak and opted on the honor system of waking up where she trusted herself sub-consciousness for the job. Unfortunately, she has a less than reliable sub-consciousness and there was a slight hiccup (I woke her up with a phone call at the time she was to be picking me up). We made it with time to spare in the end and thanks for the ride - much appreciated (really).

So, the plane ride was a monotony of working, reading, watching movies and walking around the plane. We left at 11am Qld time and flew east towards the evening. The plane was thrown into a slumber after lunch was served and everyone decided to go to bed. I have thought about this, and the more likely story is they were all in a conspiracy to mock me because I was unable to sleep. The other 200 passengers would close their eyes each time I looked at them. What was worse is their feigned sleep made me feel like wanting a beer made me an alcoholic so I was sober on landing.

I got to LA and I will say I was a little excited. I followed the herd through the tunnel to customs and waited dutifully with everyone else. We were lucky as there were a couple of planes which landed soon after us so the wait at customs for me was not bad. Overall, the experience between landing and getting out in the real world (great song) was not bad at all. I was geared up for long waits, delving questions and invasive body searches but got a quick process, a pleasant immigration officer and no inappropriate touching (no infringement there).

I moved through the arrivals door in the airport, through the people waiting for loved ones (Love Actually style), and handed in my bags to the American Airlines transfer desk. I then headed to terminal 2 as was required by my itinerary. Soon after walking the length of terminal 2 (and it is well endowed), I noted no American Airlines kiosk. In my sleep deprived stupor, on my itinerary I was reading the Chicago terminal reference, not LA. I turned around and did find the right terminal. The up side of this detour was I saw an LAPD patrol car, LAPD motor bike and fire hydrant. Not exciting to a local but I was impressed.

So it was through security and on to Chicago. This was a 4 hour flight on a smaller seat, next to a smellier person (I knew my luck could not last). I nearly missed this one as in my dazed and confused state, I had no concept of time (actual or relative time) and did not hear the call to this flight until it was “last call”. I was the final passenger to board, but did get there (double phew).

We arrived in Chicago and I had 3 hours to kill. This transfer was much easier than LA as there was no customs and the airport was much better with more shops and places to walk. I took the time to get some food, and spend some US$ for the first time. I was more excited about using US dollar than the possibility of running into Dr Mark Green, and just as nervous. What if I gave the wrong note, did not add the tax, fainted? Luckily, it was like any other transaction involving goods and a currency and no one died (triple phew).

From there, I had a pit stop at the little boys’ room which required me to read the instructions to the toilet it was so complicated- seriously (and the biggest toilet seat in the history of man, I kid you not). Whilst in there, I noticed a vending machine of a curious nature (curious vending machines are going to be a theme of this blog I think). The yanks have defiled a symbol of our beloved nation and sell Koala branded diapers. I am not sure of the relevance of Koala’s to this and I am getting K Rudd to raise it at the next meeting of the UN as a human rights violation. He does love a cause so let’s see where this goes. They can change it to rattlesnake diapers.

So I had a couple of hours to spare, and I plucked up the courage to sit at the bar at the Chicago Bar & Grill in the airport. I spent an hour watching Gridiron and drinking beer. With all of my adventure drinking at the bar, I ended up ordering Becks. I should have had Budweiser, but at the time, I was already overwrought with the adventure so needed some home comfort (not that I am from Germany but is my home beer of choice). I spent the rest of the time at the bar stressing tipping – how much and how to do it if I was paying by card. It was the most stressful beer I have ever had.

I then boarded American Eagle flight 2344 to Chicago. It was a little one and I got confused on boarding (I was at 27 hours without sleep at this point so give me a break). There was a bag rack on the walk to boarding that I thought was for hand luggage at the plane was too small. I had to make a quick decision so I put my bag on there and boarded (in my defense, the 2 people in front of me did it as well). So I took my seat and watched the rest of the plane get on with their hand luggage.

We took off and I started to think about the fact that the hand luggage I stowed in the port rack outside the plane had my passport, baggage receipt (for my officially checked in baggage), and pretty much everything that was important. You can understand, this increased the stress levels. Like a Shaolin monk, I moved past it and spend the 45min trip hooking into the latest Dan Brown adventure which matched the drama of my travels so far.

On the decent to Cleveland, the stewardess gave the standard speech about tray tables, electronic equipment, and also the red tickets we had for the oversized hand luggage we deposited on entry to the plane. So the fact that I had no red ticket cause me some concern.

It turned out this was all wasted worry as all of my bags showed up in quick succession on the baggage carousel and I was able to get out of their quickly (quadruple phew). I was picked up at the airport by a car service and whisked off to my new home. So I can hear you saying “thank goodness this is all over and he has made it to his hotel room”. Don’t think too soon.

I approached reception to the hotel and asked to check in. She handed me a sign in sheet and was confused when I asked for a key. At this point, it was clear she could not understand a word I was saying and she had no idea who I was or how to check someone into the apartment block (the sign in sheet she made me sing was the visitor sign in sheet). At this point, I was 30 hours without sleep and not really looking forward to sleeping the foyer. I grabbed my phone and called my US boss (in $4 a minute Telstra global roaming style). Before she could answer, the receptionist said “are you Ian Beaton?”. I could have both kissed her and slapped her at this point. Apparently this is not the kind of place where people “check in” and, to be honest, I was not even convinced she knew where she was.

I was just thankful that I had a warm bed for the night and was looking forward to settling into a horizontal position for a change.

I walked into my unit in my sleep deprived state and just felt wholly homesick. At ttwhat point, if someone offered me a free ticket home, I would have taken it. It was a combination of my exhaustion, confusion and the state of the apartment. Don’t get me wrong, 24 hours later looking at the apartment, I actually like it but it was clearly refurbished 15 years ago and I am used to my Southport Central glory. I slept it off and now really like it.

That night was one of my better sleeps – 8 hours of uninterrupted zzz. I went to bed watching episodes of Friends for some familiarity (ironic I know).

Tune in tomorrow for my first breakfast in Cleveland (yes Carla, the bagel makes an appearance) and more instances of Americans thinking I speak an undiscovered language.