Travel Biography - Week 96.

Preparing for the Trans-Pacific Flight.

As I headed by bus for Sydney's Kingsford Smith International Airport, I turned around for the last glimpse of the city and Australia. I was at the furthest place from home, and the record will stand for life. Would I be back? At the time, I thought that was a possibility. At the back of my mind, a plan for another Round-the-World trip for the year 2000 was already formulated. Little did I know that a future turn of events would keep me from boarding the aeroplane at the turn of the Millennium.

As I was vacating the city hostel, at the reception, I made a Book-a-Bed-Ahead reservation for HI AYH San Diego. This was possible, even across the ocean, as both hostels were under the umbrella organisation - Hostelling International. I felt sorry to leave Australia altogether, yet anticipating another stint at the YMCA building in San Diego, so I thought, a repeat of the experience two years earlier in 1995.

It was at this southern Californian hostel that the concept of visiting Australia began. As narrated on Week 63,* I shared a bedroom with an Aussie builder who had a work contract in the States. After his contract ended, he did some backpacking before flying home. That was when we met, and it was he who planted a seed in my mind. If he, who was from Australia, could travel the world, why couldn't I?

And so, the seed the bricklayer had planted in my soul flourished, growing into a fruitful tree, increasing my knowledge of the local geography, and learning about places I had never learned about at school. In 1997, I was in Australia for just shy of six weeks, and that was after a five-day stopover in Singapore. At the time, I couldn't decide which was the better of the two continents - Queensland or California. And this indecision was constantly brought to my attention by my late parents after I returned home. They kept asking me which I preferred if I had a chance to emigrate, Australia or California. Looking back over 26 years, at present, I would have chosen Queensland, mainly for the Great Barrier Reef and tropical environment. However, on the downside, the Aussie summer, especially around Cairns, isn't particularly nice during the monsoon season. Swings and Roundabouts...

Inside the Foyer in the Opera House, Sydney.

View of the Queen Victoria Building from "the Gearstick".

At Sydney's Kingsford Smith Airport.

Preparing to board the flight to Los Angeles.

I arrived at the airport terminal to check in for a Qantas flight to Los Angeles. At the check-in desk, a female assistant asked me whether I was aware of the United States Visa-Waiver Green Card. As a British passport holder, I was a qualified recipient, ending a moment of near-panic as she stapled the green card in my passport.

While I was waiting at the departure lounge, my thoughts were on the YMCA building at Broadway, Downtown San Diego. Fond memories from two years earlier. Would I have a similar experience this time around? Another Aussie builder, perhaps, and this time, telling him of my experience Down Under. I dug into my small knapsack (as my main rucksack was being loaded into the luggage hold of the 'plane) and took out the hostel reservation voucher. I had to look hard at it. If I recall, the YMCA was at Broadway. This hostel booked was at Market Street. I felt my spirit drop a rung or two. What was going on?

Eventually, all on my flight were called to the gate. As I walked through the glass-panelled corridor, I saw two Boeing 747 planes parked side by side. One was bound for Los Angeles. The other was for London, and I wondered where the stopping point for refuelling would be. After all, the outgoing flight I was on was to Perth, Western Australia, with a refuelling stop at Singapore, where I alighted.

Unlike the London-Singapore flight which was almost empty save for a handful of Singaporeans, this flight out of Sydney was almost at full capacity. I noticed a large group of young people looking as if all were dressed in a scouting uniform, sitting on the other side of the aeroplane. Although I didn't speak to any of them, by their conversation, I got the gist that they were an Aussie group out on some form of expedition. Due to the duration of the flight, now and again I rose from my seat to pace the length of the 'plane. Like that, I kept the blood flowing and avoided the possibility of leg cramps.

We took off around 6.00 pm local time on July 4th, 1997. The flight was a 13-hour overnighter, landing at Los Angeles around 12.00pm on the same day as take off. By crossing the International Date Line midflight, the plane had gone back in time - literally! After all, at the earlier 12.00 pm on July 4th, I was walking the streets of Sydney. When I was in Australia, I was nine hours ahead of London. In California, I was eight hours behind London. Also, during the flight, we crossed the tropical belt and the Equator itself. As a result, we also crossed from winter into summer, back into the Northern Hemisphere from the Southern Hemisphere.

The Trans-Pacific Sydney-Los Angeles route was once the longest non-stop commercial flight in the world, according to the Guinness Book of Records. However, by the time I boarded the flight in 1997, the honour of being the world's longest was taken by the New York-Johannesburg non-stop flight. I believe that the record is now held by the Singapore-New York flight, covering 15,349 km or 9,537 miles.

Since the airline was travelling faster than the rotation of the Earth, like on the London-Singapore-Cairns flights, the darkness of night was of an unusually short duration. It was already daybreak when a break in the clouds revealed the Hawaiian archipelago beneath us. It was early morning of July 4th, the same time of the day and date I was still in bed in Sydney city hostel. A couple of hours later, the Californian shoreline appeared beneath us, with a full view of Los Angeles LAX International Airport. The 'plane continued to fly inland, looped around to land at the airport, commencing the third stage of the 1997 Round-the-World journey.

Cloud cover over the mid-Pacific near Hawaii.

LAX International Airport was seen just before landing.

The Skywest plane was ready to fly me to San Diego.

On to San Diego. 

Journeys bring contrasts. I had just completed the longest direct flight in my life. After landing, I saw that the border security, like that in Cairns, was strict, and insisted on emptying my rucksack after claiming it from the carousel. As within Cairns, when a Bible fell out with the rest of the gear, the officers were taken aback and became more respectful. It's this cultural prejudice that gets me at times and is quite capable of putting a dampener on what was otherwise an exciting, adventurous experience. For example, had I been dressed in a suit and tie and carried a traditional leather suitcase, I might have passed through border security like a breeze. But a long-haired, casually dressed backpacker, feeling and looking tired, having just got off from a long flight - it took the presence of a Bible to show them that we pose no threat to society.

I need to get to San Diego, as my bed for the coming ten nights was reserved there. But to hassle with the buses was a little too much, especially in Los Angeles. The city bus terminal was on the other side of town from the airport, and I was in no mood to look for and change local buses to reach the Greyhound Bus terminal. Therefore, it was my turn to ask the border security officers where I could buy a ticket to board a domestic flight to San Diego.

I arrived at the domestic departure terminal. Here, a row of desks represented different airlines that took off from this airport to all domestic destinations. I approached the first one and asked about the flight to San Diego. The person cautioned me that the cost of this particular airline is $100 one way, and advised me to go to the next desk where the price was cheaper. She was right. The price for a Skywest flight was around $60 and within my budget, thanks to the past six weeks of hostelling instead of hotels, buying groceries and cooking my own meals instead of visiting restaurants. By then, I could travel in some style.

The departure lounge was tiny compared with the international terminal. After buying a one-way ticket, I had to sit and wait for a time before the next departure. Eventually, a stewardess led the few of us, a single backpacker among a small group of American businessmen, to a small, propellor-powered aeroplane.

Everything about this coming flight was a contrast to the one I had just completed. While the Sydney-Los Angeles flight was the longest I had ever taken, lasting more than 13 hours, this flight was the shortest I had ever taken, covering ninety miles in just thirty minutes. Inside the Skywest airline, it was small and almost cramped. I was allocated a seat right at the back as if my presence was an embarrassment to the group of suited men who shared the flight. When the stewardess offered all of us on board a choice of refreshments, I was the only passenger who ordered a coffee. Why not? It was covered by the price of the flight ticket.

I had just finished the coffee when the plane prepared to land after flying over the coastal region. After landing, I was left to collect my rucksack from the tiny carousel without the need to pass through any security barriers. Nor was there a need to show my passport as I made for the exit, the journey over.

From the airport, I walked along the wharf to the city.

Approaching San Diego

The city of San Diego is seen from Broadway Pier.

The difference between winter and summer wear.

San Diego Airport is located north of the city, but south of SeaWorld and Mission Beach, the two venues I had already visited. The footway ran along the coast, and it wasn't long before I arrived in the city from the airport, already feeling warm and sweaty in the subtropical summer sunshine. I approached the Broadway Pier and turned inland, walking through the Broadway. After a couple of blocks, I arrived at the YMCA building and entered through the open door as memories of the glorious 1995 experience rushed back. But this time, it was all sad. Across the foyer was the AYH reception desk, closed down and abandoned. Fastened on where I would have paid the fee was a notice saying that the HI AYH hostel has moved to Market Street. So my reservation voucher was right all along. There was no printing error.

I found Market Street a few blocks south of Broadway. I came across the hostel, and without a code issued at reception, I had to ring a bell to be let in. Indeed, American hostels were tighter on security than those in Australia. I was let in and took an elevator to the third floor of a three-storey building. And that was automatic, as the lift didn't stop on the second floor.

I presented my voucher to the receptionist, and after submitting my name and nationality, I was allotted a bed in one of the dormitories. I chose a vacant bed by the window, where the top floor offered stunning views. I was surprised later that evening when I saw fireworks let off at and around the wharf. Another piece of information to educate me further. July 4th is American Independence Day, another little fact I never learned at school. Perhaps our teachers didn't want to admit that the USA gained independence from none other than Great Britain. And it took a worldwide journey for me to learn that.

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*To read about my first account of my arrival to San Diego in 1995, click here. 

Next Week: Life in San Diego Continues.