Oceania: Day 19: 7-22-07: Midair Mishap (Flying To Auckland -- Twice!)

I awoke in Christchurch to a beautiful day -- a perfect day to do all I had failed to do on my initial visit. First, I returned to the Canterbury Museum, where I had inexplicably missed the Antarctica exhibit last time. Christchurch is known as "the gateway to the Antarctic," because it is often used as a stepping stone to the icy continent. I arrived just as the building was opening, so I had the museum all to myself. I looked through the exhibit leisurely, learning a lot about the flora, fauna, climate and historic explorers of the South Pole. I vowed someday to go there myself -- perhaps it would be the ultimate stop on my lifetime quest to see all 7 continents.

Next I repaid a visit to the Christchurch chapel. After my previous visit, I read in my "Lonely Planet" guidebook that, for a nominal fee, I could climb 130 steps to the top of the bell tower to get a bird's-eye view of the city. I labored up the spiral staircase, and was rewarded for my efforts with a panorama that did not disappoint. (As I looked down out of the window at the ground way down below, I momentarily experienced bungee flashbacks!) My eyes sought out Victoria Square, one of Christchurch's central plazas which -- I'm embarrassed to admit -- I never found during my first run through town.

Finally, I went to a local gift shop and bought presents for Mark (a leather necklace with a bone Maori pendant), Dad (New Zealand golf balls), Mom (handmade gloves) and grandma (a sheep T-Shirt) -- the last two items indicative of New Zealand's world famous wool industry.

Then it was off to the airport for my 3:00 flight to Auckland. The trip went smoothly for about three quarters of an hour, when suddenly the plane began to shake violently (my stomach couldn't decide whether to go to my throat or my ass!). When we stabilized, the captain got on the intercom, calmly explaining that our alternator was damaged, and reassuring the passengers that it was really quite a minor mechanical malfunction, and there was nothing to worry about. Engrossed as I was in A Time To Kill, I only half listened to the captain's announcement (having been through "turbulence" before, I saw no cause for alarm), and once he said there was nothing to fear, I tuned him out, missing (and dismissing) his final words.

The tip off that all was not business as usual should have been the sudden repositioning of the sun -- its light, heretofore directed at the other side of the plane, was now hitting me straight in the eyes -- but again, I wasn't really paying attention (I closed my shade and didn't ponder the significance). It was only when were preparing to land -- and I questioned a stewardess about our seemingly early arrival -- that I discovered we were back in Christchurch (!). It seems the last few lines of the captain's announcement had been important, after all -- namely, that the damaged alternator needed immediate repair, necessitating a return to the originating airport, which was closer than Auckland. (Wow! All I have to say is that the old adage is true: "Ignorance is bliss." Given my neurotic mind, I would have been apoplectic if I actually had known of the emergency -- thank God for small mercies!)

So here we were, back where we started ("Here we go around again . . ."). I had to sit at the departure gate for half an hour while the airport mechanics made the necessary repairs (personally, I would have preferred a new plane), and then I re-boarded the aircraft at 5:05, where I was promptly greeted with the same seat, same song over the speakers, same stewardess, same safety briefing, even the same meal -- talk about deja vu!

We finally arrived in Auckland at 8:30 p.m., 2 1/2 hours late. My main concern was contacting CCB Backpackers before they closed up for the night at 9:00. I knew I'd be late, and if I failed to reach them right away, then I'd have nowhere to sleep (worse than that, the luggage I had stored there would be inaccessible until after my flight to Sydney left at 8:00 a.m. the next morning). Luckily, I caught the receptionist, and she kindly offered to hang around until I arrived.

I made a late check-in, quibbled over reimbursement for my shuttle ride (my fault, really, having failed to request a receipt -- the shuttle company eventually hand-delivered one), retrieved my baggage, packed for the morning and attempted to fall asleep. Unfortunately, I was in the largest and loudest dorm room, and I didn't manage to nod off until 11:00 p.m. My slumber was short lived, as I awoke at 12:45 a.m., freezing my ass off. I quickly donned a sweatshirt, swiped an extra sheet from the bunk above me and buried myself under the covers. When my alarm clock rang at 4:00 a.m., I had already been stirring for half an hour. I hadn't gotten much sleep, but I planned to make it up on the plane.