Familial

I popped over to New Zealand for the first nine days of September. It was really nice being home. I went to Christchurch, Wellington, and Palmerston North, before retracing my steps. My mum had a hip operation, so I hung out with her and we watched the US Tennis Open. My twin sister, Kate, was down from Auckland, and it was out 27th birthday. I asked my dad what it meant to him to be a dad on father's day. I really wished I'd had more than 48hrs in Palmerston.
In Wellington, I stayed with Beth and we had dinner, went to a concert, walked about.
I stayed at my old flat in Christchurch. It was wonderfully familiar. I had a birthday get-together and saw my friends. I cycled around the cordoned off centre city: it was rather saddening. Alice, Eamonn and I set up a new blog of story readings - My Kafka Baggage.
Three of my four flights were delayed, and it really bothered me. I don't enjoy waiting at airports, but I tried to reconcile that with the magic of flight. Myself and hundreds of other people, all much heavier than air, travelling at hundreds of kilometres an hour through the sky.

Leaving

Gina and I drove to the airport (with The Lion King soundtrack playing), and found our way to the new, futuristic/completely sterile terminal. We saw Kim, and after checking in, it turned out she was sitting behind me on the flight. We had a wander around, and I felt sick with the feeling of what was coming up. We made small talk about the nature of flying, before walking down to the departure gate. It was heart-breaking, but in the midst of tears and hugs, we exchanged a 'bye for now', as well as plenty of 'I love yous'. It's hard to say the right thing when you're choking up.
I passed through Customs with no problems, and a few sympathetic looks (crying might be the secret to successful smuggling). In the departure lounge, I just felt empty, and waited for the plane to board. I thought of a lyric from Polka Dot Dot Dot – 'it's not the leaving, it's the never coming home again'. It felt appropriate, but for the opposite reasons; I know I'll be back, but leaving is tough.The flight was fine, and as I had a window seat, I witnessed an astonishing site: a circular rainbow. It happened not long after take-off, a beautiful complete oval of colour, floating just above a cloud. I wanted to shriek, but remained silently transfixed as the plane banked and it fell from view.
Things felt a little better.

Flying

I'm back in Christchurch now - I was in Palmerston North for christmas, and spent an amazing week in Wellington. I'll blog about the latter later, but I'll just write about my return journey here.

I met up with Simon and Luke, who drove me to the airport. "Thanks for everything", Beth and I said to each other, which is all we can ever say, instead of goodbye.

The plane out of Wellington took off steeply, over the city. I had a window seat, and just stared. I could see the Basin Reserve, and Beth's house. The plane turned around to head south. Flying over the Cook Strait, the water was covered in white caps, which looked like an immense school of fish; or an immense collection of rubbish.

Nearing Christchurch, a nor'wester was blowing, so the plane flew over the whole city. It was so beautiful. I saw my flat, and followed the path of the Avon River. "It's a good day for flying," the air hostess had said, echoing one of my favourite Belle & Sebastian songs.

Beth once said, "I don't know how people can read or fall asleep on a plane. It's so fucking beautiful."