There was nothing that I felt like watching on TV, so I kept myself occupied by read my book "The Dark Tower". It's the last of a seven-part series, so I will be really sad when I finish it. I'll tell you more about it when I'm done.
The flight went by quickly, and there was nobody sitting next to me. I always love having extra space. After an hour and a half, we landed in rainy Sydney.
Luckily, big international flights start boarding very early since the planes are so big and there are a lot of people to get on them. The problem was that the international terminal in Sydney is separate from the domestic terminal, and you have to take a bus to get from one place to the other. I just missed the bus, so I had to wait a good 15 minutes while the bus drove to the terminal, unloaded the people and drove back. There was a TV screen in the waiting room with the international departure information, and it said "GO TO GATE" in huge letter for my flight. I was very tense (and sending my typical freak-out text messages to Al...as if he could do something magical to make me make my flight while he was in Adelaide), but I started to relax once I finally got on the bus. I started talking to some other Americans on the bus, and I learned that a few on them were on my flight. That made me more sure that Qantas would hold our flight if they knew that there were enough of us.
We finally made it there, and I sprinted out ahead of everybody, filled out my departure card since I stupidly forgot to grab one before, got through customs, wove in and out of people in the duty free area, went through another security check for the American flights and finally got to my gate. I was sweating profusely by the time I got there. When I finally made it to the front of the line and gave my boarding pass to the staff, my ticket wouldn't work. The staff member with my boarding pass asked me where I was going, and I said I was going to Dallas. He kindly pointed to the gate next to me and told me to go there. I then realized that I was trying to board the plane to Los Angeles. Silly me.
I was sure that my plane was about to leave without me, so I started running like I was being chased by a Hungarian Horntail (the most dangerous dragon in the wizarding world of Harry Potter) down the thing that connects the plane to the airport gate (what the heck is that called?). I finally stopped when I saw two male flight attendants standing at the door and holding out their hands as if they were pleading me to slow down.
The good news was that I made my flight. The bad news was that I rushed for no reason. Since it was so rainy in Sydney, a lot of the connecting flights were delayed. They were still waiting for flights to come in from all over the country. We ended up waiting about an hour before they closed the doors for good. At least I got a really good sweaty workout in for the day.
Again, I got super lucky with my seat. I was in the back of the plane in the middle section on the aisle (the seat I always request), and nobody sat next to me. There was also a really nice Texan-Australian couple in my row. They got on the plane after me, so they were pretty sweaty like me when they sat down.
The Returning Curse
Well, this time, I had the emotional distress of almost missing my flight. Then, I ate my dinner. I thought I requested my Oriental vegetarian meal, but I must have done something wrong. I got the normal dinner. It was the same crap that I ate on my last flight to Los Angeles. I was hungry, so I ate everything on the plate except for the nasty chicken.
Soon after that, I realized that I felt really sick. I had terrible nausea. I wanted to go back to sleep, but my head spun every time that I closed my eyes. I knew that it couldn't have been the alcohol, because I drank the equivalent of two glasses of wine. It would be a very sad day for me if I got that intoxicated and sick from just that.
The nausea hit me about four to five hours into the flight, so I had a miserable eight hours or so of being awake. I watched some TV shows on demand, and I spent the rest of the time starting into space and wishing somebody could knock me out. I had sleeping pills, but it was too late to take them. Around the four-hour-to-go mark, I started dry heaving and gagging in my seat. I had the comfort of knowing that I had a barf bag under my TV, but I was also able to get up as many times as I wanted and throw up in privacy of the bathroom. My gosh, it was terrible. I don't know what made me so ill, but I would not be surprised if it was the plane food. I have a history of feeling very sick from it, but this is the first time I actually threw up.
Breakfast came a few hours later. I requested the continental breakfast, since I knew I would not be able to hold down fake eggs and sausage. It came with cereal, fruit and a bread roll. I was focusing on trying not to vomit in front of an audience, so I didn't take any photos.
The only thing I was able to eat was the outside of my bread roll. There was fruit in the middle, and that was just too much for me. When I feel that sick, I can only eat plain bread or crackers.
The last two hours of the flight, I was finally able to get some shut-eye. My head still spun, but my body really wanted to sleep. I woke up to the plane landing, and I was relieved.
Dallas is for happy people
I had some time to kill before my flight to Chicago, and I needed to get something to eat. Before I got sick, I was really looking forward to eating Tex-Mex food. I wanted a burrito or an enchillada or something like that. Unfortunately, I knew that eating something like that would send me right back to bowing to the porcelain throne (the toilet). I was smart, and I got a turkey sub from Subway. It didn't upset my stomach at all.
By the way, the route from Sydney to Dallas is brand new (it replaced the San Francisco route), so it's nice if you live in the Midwest or eastern parts of the US. Just keep in mind that the flight to Australia is about two hours longer than it would be from the West Coast. I despise LAX (rude staff, long lines, dirty airport, no tram system to get you from terminal to terminal, bums hustling you for money, etc), so DFW was a big treat for me.
A few hours later, I arrived in Chicago and greeted my very happy parents.
My dad heated up some leftover chicken and rice with broccoli. I knew I was feeling better, because it didn't make me feel sick.
More on that later! For now, I'm just happy that I'm not on an airplane anymore.