
Oct. 5, 2024
Underneath the excitement of beginning a trip—more than a trip, a vacation—there is a contrary undertow of emotion. As thrilled as I am to start on my journey, I’m also feeling (already—still at Dulles Airport, as familiar to me as any large institutional place in the world) a sense of alienness. Of unease. Of “No! No! I don’t want to leave my safe little bubble and end up in places where I don’t really know where I’m going!”

With my business-class ticket on Air Emirates came a driver to take me to the airport at seven in the morning. And they didn’t just pop for an Uber; no. Mohammed was driving the latest-model S-class Mercedes, a car so ridiculously posh that I had to snigger at the vibe. There were snacks and bottles of water in the middle armrest and chips in the door pocket. A large fashion magazine (featuring a Balenciaga ad on the back to make me feel RIGHT at home) in the seat-back pocket in front of me; the seat back was tipped forward for fear that I wouldn’t have enough leg room. Or self-importance room.
The car featured lighting strips—not just one but two, and they were different colored lights. Mohammed was bombing along the empty highway and flicked on his turn signal to change lanes once he passed a guy. The Mercedes decided Mohammed was suddenly going to change lanes right into the guy we’d passed (which he definitely wasn’t), and the lighting strip on that side of the car flashed crimson. No, Mohammed! Not yet!
I giggled out loud. He was a very nice guy and laughed with me.
We were driving along the Dulles toll road. It was just past dawn and there was mist everywhere. I could not have been in better hands…and yet I realized there was a selfish creature inside me chanting “Nope. No. I don’t want to go! I don’t want to go where the road ahead is a mystery—where I don’t know anything! If I can sleep when I want, if I can find a nice bathroom, if I will be able to eat anything!”
Obviously that voice has to be ignored. I AM going. But I was thinking about it as we zoomed down the road, leaving twisting trails of mist in our wake. I’m very set in my ways. I’ve built up layers, like a pearl, around the possible confusions of life. I only do what makes me comfortable; I don’t challenge mysteries. What a luxury.
But what if the layers I’ve built up are not the nacre that makes a pearl? What if it’s tartar, clogging my teeth (or the equivalent analogy)? What if I’ve built up this coating that I think is protective but is really problematic?
Travel, it is said, is broadening. I’m altering that; I’m now saying that travel is the dentist with his wicked little picks, scraping off the layers you don’t even notice until they’re gone.
If you’re thinking that this is a pretty pretentious thought for a woman now sitting in the Air France lounge having some yogurt and fresh fruit while awaiting the boarding call for my flight that will eventually end up in Fiji—well, I surrender. I agree.

And even more than that, I’ll make my pretentiousness even more extreme, for Emirates offered me the chance to upgrade my ticket from business class to first class on the first leg of my trip. First class in Emirates—I mean, shit, man. That’s the gold standard for those who follow a gold standard. That’s not a seat—that’s a cabin. With a door.
And a shower. Shut up.
The upgrade cost was a fraction of the regular retail fee…plus I paid for my ticket seven months ago, which means the pain of that payment is forgotten in the mists of Mohammed’s speeding Mercedes….so yeah. I want to try first class. I’m still in business class from Dubai to Aukland, but for this first leg (Washington DC to Dubai), I’m living life like a sheik. So muttering about not wanting to leave my comfort zone…yeah. You’re welcome to snort in offended disbelief. I know.
Don’t care, though. TOTALLY looking forward to this!
While I’m bored in the lounge, here’s the itinerary:
Fly to Fiji. DC to Dubai is 13 hours. Two hours in Dubai (where you can be damned sure I’m going to check out the Emirates lounge at their hub). Fifteen-hour flight to Aukland in business class—a pod with a fold-out bed. Not a cabin and a shower, but definitely not steerage. And I can do a contrast-and-compare with first class. YUM!
Four hours in Aukland’s airport, followed by a three-hour flight to Fiji. Time zones and international date lines being what they are, I take off on Oct. 5 and don’t get to Fiji until Oct. 7. Long day!
I meet up with my sister Twig and her lovely husband Harry in Fiji. We spend two nights at a beach resort and then meet up with the Lindblad/National Geographic group. Charter flight to Honiora in the Solomon Islands (probably misspelled that city’s name) (or is it an island??), where we board the Orion. 18 days (I think) cruising the Solomon Islands and maybe New Caledonia (which seems to be suffering some civil unrest so maybe not going there after all), ending up in Aukland.
Lindblad/Nat Geo bids us adieu then, and Twig, Harry, and I fly to the south island of NZ for three days at some posh vineyard and then three days at a mountain-top ranch. Flights home begin at 11am on Halloween and the final leg begins at 7am ALSO on Halloween, which means my first of three planes on that day leaves four hours AFTER the third flight leaves…this was very challenging to enter into my phone calendar! International date lines and time zones—proof that our planet is very, very, VERY fucking large.
As if flying for thirteen and then fifteen and then three hours wasn’t proof enough.
A massive Air Qatar plane just taxied in to its umbilical cord. The guys wandering around the ground in their flare yellow vests look like Lego men next to a mini-van. Whoever drives that plane has GOT to think he’s one big swinging dick. How could you not be swollen with your own importance if you can drive—no, FLY—hundreds of passengers around the planet in something that massive? Damn. And I guess I WANT them to be arrogant and confident and demanding. For the next 32-or-so hours, the pilots are my Daddy, and I shall submissively obey!
My friend Mindy is writing dark romances; the “Daddy” trope is hugely popular in this genre. (Many, MANY people want to buy romances in which the strong-willed woman finds the man to whom she will willingly submit. The popularity of this subgenre says less about feminism and more about a generalized confusion of gender roles, so thank god for romance books.) My point is—this “Daddy” concept isn’t my particular vibe…until I get on a very large plane, and then YES, Daddy—I WILL buckle up my seatbelt! You are the boss, boy howdy!
Okay. Now what, while I'm waiting?
I'm late signing on to follow, but that means I get several posts to enjoy all at once. And look how many views you got!!
So very excited for you, Pru! Another adventure with Nat Geo/Lindblad and it is on the Orion!!! The sister ship of the Explorer. I wonder if you’ll see some familiar faces in the staff. I hope so. Maybe you’ll find a few characters aboard that will inspire you for a role in a future novel. I am so looking forward to reading about your South Pacific adventure. I remember you had me hooked once I discovered you were blogging about the trip to Antarctica on which we met. This trip I know you won’t be donning a bright orange parka and knee high insulated boots. I imagine you’ll be sipping tropical drinks and enjoying balmy evenings under the stars. Bon…
That's the way you do it! Break out of your rut by flying in high style!
-Not-a-goddaughter Nicole
I just love every single word you write ❤️ bon voyage! Enjoy every minute... Even the painful ones! So exciting, my friend! ❤️ Tonya