TUESDAY 22ND APRIL 2025

We left home at 3pm on Tuesday 22nd April and 21 hours later landed in San Francisco at 5pm on Tuesday 22nd April. Some kind of mysterious physics at work there. Aka the International Date Line.

The Qantas flight #73 was no drama. We did the fourteen hours easily. There are only 28 seats in the Dreamliner 787 Premium Economy section, in a 2-3-2 configuration of 4 rows. When we paid the airfare back in December all but a few of the central row seats were booked. I was kind of dreading being in the middle of Bill and an unknown person. In the event, no one was beside or in front of me and other seats were vacant – maybe even 6 or 7. Whether cancellations or denied boarding it was hard to say. It’s a lot of money to forgo if you cancel with no valid reason that would trigger an insurance claim.

Denied boarding? Possibly.

Gaining entry to the USA was quite a process. First there was the ETSA visa requiring detail such as parent’s names, social media sites, and previous jobs. We could enter “retired” although that was not immediately obvious. Even though that application included contact details in the US, i.e. our first hotel, on two subsequent occasions we had to electronically provide those same contact details again. At Sydney airport we had to drop our bags in a separate area and then pass a further security check and get a special stamp in our passport. At the boarding gate there was a double-check we had that stamp.

After all that, when we arrived in San Francisco, the immigration officer we got was pleasant and straightforward, and after being thumb and finger printed we went on through. There was a minor hiccup when I thought my bag was missing, but it was among a cluster that had already been lifted off the carousel. Probably by travellers mistaking it as theirs.

Back to the flight. We boarded in the second group and were on to a sparkling wine as others were filing through to economy. Refuelling was taking place, taking so long we took off half an hour late at 10pm. By then we’d settled into movies. The Brutalist for Bill, and a biopic on Ronald Reagan for me (getting in the mood).

Bill’s gluten free special order was a tasty looking chicken dish. From a choice of chicken salad, pumpkin tortellini or braised Angus beef with roast vegetables I chose that last one. Being so late, and considering it came with salad, bread, a chocolate pudding, and cheese & biscuits (plus wine) my tray looked like a mouse had been through, sampling half of each offering and leaving the rest.

We were probably a few hours into the flight when we settled for sleep. The seats were roomy, a good incline, adjustable leg rest, head rest and wing support, a fluffy pillow which fitted over the head rest to stay in place and a double-layered blanket made of … recycled plastic bottle tops. The complimentary comfort pack included ear plugs and eye mask. I stuck in the ear plugs, put noise-cancelling headphones on, held them in place with eye mask straps, reclined, snuggled in with my blanket and slept for the next six or seven hours.

Breakfast was a muffin plus your choice of muesli, strawberries and a fruit plate, or potato frittata with beef sausages and fruit salad. I went the meat option again. Bill had his special meal and particularly praised the bread. That is one of the hardest things to get right on a gluten-free diet.

Meantime we settled into another movie. Bill wisely chose something of ninety-minutes, but I was drawn to Dr Zhivago. I’d last seen it as an eleven-year-old when my older brother took me with him to the drive-in. At the time I took it in my stride, even the part where Lara is called a not-very-nice name. Seeing it again, I think it was remarkably brave of him to expose me to the raunchy themes in the early seduction scenes. Anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing the second half on our return flight.

Once out of San Francisco terminal, we stood in the fading light of a surprisingly cool evening, awaiting the free shuttle to our first night’s accommodation, which I’d chosen for its proximity to the airport. On the drive there we could easily have been in the Mascot area of Sydney. One airport radius is much the same as another.

Just in case we might get hungry before bed – haha – we crossed the road to a Mexican restaurant and shared a bowl of nachos and a drink each. Our Hispanic waiter was a riot, and he probably thought we were too. This was our first introduction to the American version of the cost-of-living crisis. The prices in pure dollar terms were what we would expect to pay in Australia. Use the current conversion rates and they were practically double, e.g. A$25 for a glass of Pinot Noir.

And so to bed for our first night of forty-nine in the USA.