Don't Pack the Dog
I’m on flight 893 to Seoul, Korea, somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, after a crazy couple of days.
Thursday. Up til 3 am packing and checking email, and up again before 6am, I was so proud that I had everything beautifully organized and packed. Off to the airport through rush hour traffic, a hug by the curbside check-in counter, breezed into security, and they asked for my ID. My ID? Sure, I had my drivers license, but where was my passport? At home in the file marked Passports, of course. I attempted an instant rewind: out through the security line and out to the curb. No sign of husband’s peacock blue Honda Fit. His cell phone? Never turned it on this morning.
The only thing to do was to catch a cab and race for home, grab the passport and zip back to the airport. I’d have to take a later flight to San Francisco, and fretted over the cost of changing the schedule. But it was a gorgeous day, the kind people move to Southern California for. Along the PCH surfers bobbed offshore, waiting for a swell. Then we left the coast and followed the winding road up the canyon, where the blooming yucca rising like white flames above the chaparral.
When I finally got back to the airport, I rejoined the security line, feeling like I’d been on a carnival ride, but not a fun one. There was no point agonizing over the extra expense of my mistake. I remembered telling my travel companions that three weeks traveling in Mongolia meant we would have to take flat tires, detours and itinerary changes in stride. Already I needed to take my own advice – go with the flow!
My daughter Morley greeted me with hugs when I got off the BART in Berkeley. We exploded our bags on her living room floor and repacked, weeding out duplications – extra rain pants for the horse trek, too much moleskin for saddle sores, an oversupply of sun block. And we eliminated unacceptable clothing – a blouse that revealed the bra beneath it, and city clothes that were too hot for Korea in the muggy month of June. We each ended up safely under the weight limit of 33 pounds for Mongolian flights.
Friday. We made it to the airport on time this morning, but then we sat on the runway, all 300 or so of us packed in like sardines, while they made a repair. With 12 hours of flight ahead, and empty stomachs, this was another chance for me to practice my own advice. So I got some much-needed sleep.
We finally lifted off, on our way to Seoul! We had a grand view of the coast of Northern California, including Gualala where Morley and her boyfriend paddled the lagoon on surfboards just a couple of weeks ago. Then, the open Pacific. We caught a glimpse of the empty beaches and rugged mountains of the Aleutian Islands a couple of hours later, and, taking a stroll through the aisles of the plane we discovered the Korean flight attendants having kimchi and noodles in the kitchen. It looked a lot better than the packaged lunch they had served us, but they were generous with left over rolls and brownies, and we came back to our seats with our hands full of snacks.
About half the passengers on our flight appear to be Korean, mostly families on vacation. Of the rest, 91 are new Peace Corps volunteers on their way to Mongolia, including one girl from our hometown outside Los Angeles. I told her I was in the Peace Corps in Korea in the 70’s. It was an amazing, difficult, rewarding and life-changing experience.
We’ll arrive about 5 pm on Saturday, May 30, having skipped a day by crossing the International Date Line. We have a Korean friend meeting us at the airport, and a reservation at a small inn in Seoul. We’ll make up for the airplane food with a Korean meal at a real sit-on-the floor Korean restaurant, followed by a big sleep in the inn. Then, tomorrow morning, we’ll be off on our first adventure in Seoul!
