Back to Black
Travelling from DC to Buller can be something of a culture shock.
As I sat in an aircraft on the tarmac at George Bush International Airport in Houston, everything seemed locked and loaded (as I never say in the US) for my 14-hour flight to Auckland. Then we sat a bit longer. Soon, the captain came on the intercom to apologise for the delay in taking off.
The problem, he said, was that one of the lights in the cockpit that showed each engine was responding had not come on. “We’ve called Auckland,” he said, “and the advice is to shut down the engine, start it up again and we think that will probably clear it.”
I wanted to stand up and lead a crowd cheer for Air New Zealand’s help desk. Of course they had said “switch it off and switch it on again”. I’m surprised they didn’t say “have you tried turning it off at the wall?”
Electronics are now in everything from rice cookers to spaceships and “switch it off and switch it on again” seems to be standard troubleshooting procedure.
In due course, the captain came back on the intercom. He had shut down the engine, started it up again and, as anticipated, the problem had resolved itself. We took off and the flight was smooth and uneventful.
“Uneventful” is my type of flying. With all due modesty, I do uneventful flying with ease. I casually wondered whether, if the same light went off again, but this time at 10,000m midway across the Pacific, Auckland’s advice would still be to shut the engine down. I assume that did not happen, or if it did, the captain decided not to overshare. That’s another condition I favour when flying: ignorance.
My flight was as pleasant as a 14-hour stint in economy class can be. I think that at some point during the night that seemed without end, one of my feet was around my neck and the other was in my handbag, but that was fine. Up the front, the pilot could switch things off and switch them on again. That was all I needed to know.
The day after arriving in New Zealand, my son, elder daughter and I headed for Buller, which has always been a favourite holiday destination for us.
I have made a few trips to New Zealand since moving to the US just over two years ago and, disturbingly, this has been the first of my returns home in which I have strongly felt the urge to drive on the right. Partly, I think, that is because I initially avoided driving in the US, but now that I feel more confident, I drive more frequently.
The downside is that when I come back to New Zealand and share my new confidence about driving on the right, no one, for excellent reasons, appreciates it.
The day I arrived back in Auckland, I flew to Wellington, and while in town, caught a bus. I spent some time wondering how I would alight safely since the door was on the left.
I visualised myself getting off straight into the path of traffic, before remembering that the bus would also be on the left so I would actually be getting off on the footpath. Clever!
In Buller, I have “drive on the left” on an endless loop in my head, though New Zealanders’ aggressive driving is a more than sufficient reminder of where I am. “Drive on the left” is fine until I return to the US, where it will get me jailed.
Sometimes, the idea that I could switch my brain off and allow it to reset before switching it on again has real appeal. I should call the help desk.
This is the first time I have strongly felt the urge to drive on the right.