16 November 2006
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BUILD YOUR OWN DOORS OF OPPORTUNITY….THEN KICK 'EM DOWN!
A strong sense of relief consumed me the second I felt the tires lose contact with the runway. I breathed a massive sigh of relief. I glanced down at my watch. Airborne at 8:07:35 Los Angeles time. That very moment marked the final culmination of approximately eight months of preparations from scratch to finish. Doctoral research proposals, applications, more applications, medical exams, chest x-rays, blood tests, FBI criminal background check, passport renewal, mailing papers back and forth to Massey University, selling off my personal effects, a trip back east—hoop jumping at its best! There's something so powerful, so intrinsically motivating about creating opportunity where it didn't previously exist, planting seeds, nurturing them, and then reaping the fruits of the harvest. The journey into a new phase of my life begins.
SPECIAL THANKS TO DEAR FRIENDS
A special thank you is in order to my esteemed friend and colleague Dr. Bob Cheema, without whom none of this would have been possible. Our serendipitous meeting in Sydney in 2004 was followed by hours and hours of conversations on the dwindling state of health in industrialized nations and the commensurate rise in obesity, diabetes, and heart disease. In February of 2006, Bob accepted a lecturer position with Massey University. Nearly two years of discussions materialized into what would eventually become my doctoral research project.
I also wish to extend a sincere and heartfelt thank you to my dear friend Pablo Romo in San Diego. After receiving word from Ocean Pacific, the San Diego condo conversion Nazis, that we had to vacate our palatial ocean front apartment, Pablo graciously offered me a room in his home until I left for New Zealand. This made a world of difference since I didn't have to lock into an expensive short term lease.
HOW MANY ARE TRAVELING IN YOUR PARTY, SIR?
It's no small task packing up an entire life and cramming it into several suitcases. But I can say I've actually moved up in the world. Years ago, I moved from New Jersey to California with the entirety of my belongings packed into a microscopic Honda CRX. Now it required a triple surfboard bag, four suitcases, a guitar case, one monster duffle bag, one backpack, and a computer case…..and this doesn't include the three boxes I shipped via my friends at the US Postal Service.
Even worse than the packing ordeal was the joy of carting all this luggage first from San Diego to Los Angeles, then through the airports all the way through to Wellington. I rented a one-way SUV from SD to LA figuring I'd just put the boards on the roof and the suitcases in the back. Brilliant, except for one thing. It RAINED the day I was to drive to LAX. The weight of every bag was carefully measured down to the last kilo in order to avoid excess weight charges. If I'd have put the surfboards on the roof, it would have soaked the bag and added a significant amount of extra weight, while lightening the load on my wallet to the tune of an additional $80. Somehow I always seem to pull off a near miracle when it really matters. I was able to cram all my luggage inside the truck and still have a few centimeters of space to see out my rear-view mirror!
The next concern was my arrival to LAX and carting all this through the airport for check in. I phoned ahead to Avis and told them I'd be arriving with enough luggage for an entire family of six. I asked if they could spare a bit of human compassion and accommodate me by reserving me a private shuttle bus. I told them it would be a customer service disaster if they put anyone else on my shuttle, being that they'd have to wait an eternity for me to load and unload my bags. When I arrived, I explained my situation to the outside attendants. There just happened to be a guy standing around with nothing better to do so he said,
"Well, I'll tell you what. Leave your bags in the truck and I'll just drive you to LAX in the same vehicle."
Deal! He was a Mexican guy so we got to having a chat en Español. Turns out he was from my other adopted "hometown" of Tijuana. When we arrived to the airport, the guy was a complete legend. He helped me get my gear out of the truck and loaded onto two carts (see photo). Bearing in mind, I'm the guy who always gets stuck with the rickety shopping cart with a broken wheel, I miraculously managed to get two carts that worked magnificently (better buy a lottery ticket!). Suffice it to say, he earned a fat tip!
Next battle: airline staff. As I approached the counter, the young agent looked at my makeshift tractor trailer of suitcases asked me,
"How many are traveling in your party, sir?"
—"Uh, just me," I responded.
"All that is YOURS?!"
—Yep. You betcha!"
IS THAT A SURFBOARD IN YOUR BAG OR ARE YOU JUST HAPPY TO SEE ME?
While Air New Zealand is definitely one of the best airlines in the world for customer service, I had the good fortune of being hassled by a couple of stone-faced Gestapo "officers" put on this planet hell-bent on extorting an extra $80 from me, or so I assumed. That I could probably have dealt with had they not mispronounced my last name.
"Mr. Saluka, how many boards are in your bag? And you need to be honest."
After giving them a brief tutorial on sounding out the letters in my last name, I proceeded to inform them that this was already arranged with Air New Zealand headquarters and should have been "in the computer" that my surfboards counted as one bag, not three separate chargers PER board! But that's exactly what they did. We argued for a while. Then we argued some more. I wasn't budging. I told them they'd best pack a lunch because I had all the time in the world. I'd arrived nearly four hours before departure.
"Get the damn CEO of the company on the phone if you must. You're being unethical and unscrupulous. This has already been prearranged with ANZ by phone" I continued.
Eventually, we compromised on them allowing me to bring my guitar on the flight to be stuffed in an overhead bin. Before I left, I made it publicly known to all nearby employees (and other passengers within earshot) that I'd taken names and that they'd be hearing from the upper brass. I just finished writing my letter to Air New Zealand's upper brass.
I normally wouldn't make such a stink over surfboard charges but as a surfer, I've been screwed SO many times over the yearson useless board charges, more than I can count, that it's just gotten old. You'd think after dropping nearly $800 beans on a one way international ticket that perhaps they'd let a couple of boards through at no charge. But I guess if you're there at the airport and you're ready to leave, they think they hold the upper hand…….and they do. Damn it! Sore subject! I recommend the global boycott of Iberia Air out of Spain and pretty much every United States carrier, all of which charge exorbitant fees surfboards.
NICE GUITAR. HOW MANY KILOS OF COKE ARE YOU SMUGGLING?
I arrived in Auckland about 12 hours later. Because I was going through to Wellington, I had to reclaim ALL my bags again and get them from the international terminal over to the domestic check-in. Bearing in mind how much of a bitch it was in Los Angeles, I was not looking forward to an encore performance of carting it through Auckland airport.
Before reclaiming my bags, I went through immigration with no problem. In fact, I was impressed with the profuse courtesy of the agent that handled my arrival. I love New Zealand! I walked through with my backpack, computer, and guitar. I asked an airport police officer for directions to the baggage carousel to which he offered a polite answer. A minute later he walked up to me again and said something like,
"Soooo, how are you today? Can I see your passport? What brings you to New Zealand?"
I asked him what his job was at the airport and why he was asking me such questions. I'd already been through immigration. He told me that he was "just checking to see all was in order." I told him I was a physiologist here to do my Ph.D. I threw a bit of multi-syllabic medical vernacular at him causing his eyes to glaze over in bewilderment, much in the same way a dog tilts its head to the side when it's confused. Convinced I was neither a murderer or drug-runner, he then confessed that he'd seen the guitar and assumed I was a "muso" (kiwi slang for musician).
"Musos usually carry drugs, so we just like to follow up," he quipped.
I told him that although I was the owner of a guitar, I could barely play more than several chords with any convincing proficiency. Stupid jerk actually PROFILED me! "I would expect this kind of treatment in a U.S. airport, but New Zealand? Come ON already!! I wondered if my flight looped back and landed in Los Angeles. Then again, I hadn't shaven in some time, so perhaps I had that Pablo Escobar-esque Colombian drug lord look to me. Yes sir, the kilo of coke is INSIDE the guitar!
HUMAN SEAGULLS
The rest of my fellow passengers jockeyed around one another at the baggage carousel, elbowing and clawing for their luggage. I took a step back and observed how the "me first" mentality just consumes people in a crowded setting. They looked like rabid seagulls wrestling for a few sparse crumbs. It's amazing how we call ourselves so-called civilized and domesticated, yet after seeing these types of public displays, I have to wonder just how far removed we are from the animal kingdom.
KIWI PAPARAZZI
I was able to scrounge two carts together to load up all my things. I did the same "road train" technique I used in Los Angeles. That seemed to work mildly well up until I arrived to customs' x-ray scanner. Oh shit, I had to unload all that baggage yet again and put it piece by piece on the conveyer belt. I loaded it all back up AGAIN yet this time, for some reason, the wheels weren't cooperating. I exited into the arrivals lounge to what appeared to be a Hollywood style paparazzi feeding frenzy. Throngs of people stood waiting for exiting passengers. I soon became a major amusement attraction for the rest of the travelers. I could feel their stares and glares as I grunted, groaned, and wrestled with "the beast" as I quickly came to call it. Eventually a guy came up and offered to help get me to the domestic transit check-in counter.
I figured I was in the clear once I rechecked my bags. Unfortunately, they could only take the suitcases. The surfboards I actually had to walk over to the physical domestic terminal which was about 1km (0.62 mile) away! This after sitting on an airplane all night, contorted, twisted, and tweaked from an economy class chair.
LIKE AN OLD FRIEND COMING FOR A VISIT
I spent the entire month of October 1998 in New Zealand. One of my lasting memories was the deep green landscape fueled by a wet climate. In 31 days, I saw 23 days of rain.
My recent arrival into Wellington was rather pleasant, a bit windy, but not raining at least. Bob greeted me at the airport, at which point I promptly made a Himalayan Sherpa of him. We loaded the boards on the roof, the bags inside, and off we went. Like an old friend coming for a visit, the rain decided to pay a visit as a reminiscent gesture of old times!
(Continued....)
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