Final Trip Report

Tuesday, May. 24, 2011 - 12:00 a.m.

On the next to last full day of my visit, I packed most of my stuff, and then I finally sat down to enjoy the chocolate Easter Bilby that Paul had given me on the first day of my visit. It had been living in the fridge:

An Easter Bilby is the Australia-centric alternative to the Easter Bunny.

A few moments after the above picture was taken, this chocolate Easter Bilby succumbed to humanely administered massive head trauma.

It was delicious.

Later that night, we also had pavlova, and for the first time since 1983, I ate some slices of bananas.

This is Paul's piece:

Pavlova is really good, and like an Easter Bilby, it's best as an occasional treat.

The next day, my final day there, Paul took a picture of me with the meme-friendly tarantula backpack:

This is the very one that was featured on various websites a couple of years ago. The part I got to see that hasn't been photographed yet is that there's a brilliant red interior. Does anybody want one for themselves? Let me know, please. Paul says he's wheeled through town on his bicycle with this thing on and garnered a fascinating array of double takes.

At last, it was time to leave Chez Carmichael and head to the airport.

Paul went through security and waited with me, until it was time to board the plane. Making sure I could see him during my first and last moments in Perth was really nice of him. He says when I come back in 2012, he'll do this again.

The first leg of the trip back was a flight from Perth to Melbourne, at night, and in complete darkness as it flew over the Great Australian Bight instead of over dirt.

I landed in Melbourne, ate at a McDonald's for the only time during my entire stay in Australia, and sorted through my paperwork; the airline would have my baggage all the way through to Los Angeles, so it was important to make sure I knew the bag check ticket was accounted for:

The flight from Melbourne to Los Angeles was pleasant, and the time seemed to pass quickly, as I had the magnificent fortune to be seated adjacent to a couple who was emigrating from Australia to none other than San Francisco! We becamse acquainted, and plan to see each other as soon as they're settled in and I'm over my jetlag and dreaded lurgi. Dreaded Lurgi is what I've called that strange kennel cough that we all seemed to have caught on that flight.

We arrived at LAX, disembarked, and then went to stand in an interminable customs line. While I was there, I lost my peripheral vision, became weak and sweaty, and flagged down a security officer to see if they had a folding chair that I could use. The lady I collared took one look at me, announced that I looked like I was going to faint, and ordered me out of line and into a wheelchair. I felt like a goob for causing difficulty, but the security folks were very good to me, and wheeled me through the customs line, helped me claim my luggage, and made sure I could stand up again and walk steadily before they'd let me exit the terminal.

As per our arrangement, none other than Old Buddy Dave picked me up. He made sure I was fed, took me to Anaheim, helped me up the stairs, ladled me into bed, and went to work.

I stayed in Anaheim for less than twenty-four hours, but I simply had to take that travel break so I could get some sleep (not to mention a little bit of Cat Time with Laila and Solange). Thanks again, Old Buddy Dave!

I flew back to San Francisco the next morning, and when I got there, John was running a little late.

So I called him.

Me: John! I'm under arrest!
John: Oh SHIT! That's just great! What happened?!! Shit!
Me: I was waiting in the designated pickup area for you, but they only let you stand there for fifteen damn minutes, and this little runty Filipino guy in a yellow vest came up to me and told me I had to get moving, and I thought he was kidding, and he started to write me a ticket and I tried to take the pen out of his hand and I guess I shoved him or something, because he left and came back with security! They've got me in a holding area and they're gonna charge me for trespassing and assault, and you're my only phone call!!
John: Oh, shit, Brin.
Me: And honey?
John: Yeah, what?
Me: I'm kidding. Everything's fine, I'll see you when you get here. Aren't you glad I'm back?!
John: (sigh) You suck.

So that's how I returned to my fair city, and I have been recuperating in one capacity or another ever since.

That's it. See you next time.

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