Uluru: A Twist of Beauty and New Dimension of Hell all of Its Own (Part 3)

     At around 5:30AM Friday I heard my dad get up and go outside to see if the Sun was peeking it's face above the horizon. Alas, it was playing bashful again and would not be seen that day. I set my alarm too...for 7:30AM forgetting that, unable to connect to a strong wifi signal, my clock was still an hour and a half forward. So, I lay in bed for another half hour and arose to get breakfast.

     Yes, it was another one of my mother's breakfast cookies and a banana. My sisters eventually followed suit. While I was content with my proportionate breakfast, my little sisters seemed to think all the English muffins and raspberry jam (and most of the Nutella) needed be devoured before we flew home.

     My morning was just as simple as the day before, and I was bored watching them eat their breakfast, so I grabbed my camera (okay, my itouch) and walked outside to try and get close enough to take a picture of a peculiar-looking bird I'd seen on far too many occasions these past few days.

Look at him. Just chillin' like it's cool.

     Walking down the dirt stretch I found my new friends with their puffy chests and their hipster feather-cuts popping their little beaks into the dirt for the morning meal. It turns out the bird I encountered is the Australian crested pigeon, your modern-day troubled adolescent version of the ordinary American pigeon. I say this because the crested pigeon sports a black mohawk feather-do starch off the top of it's head and sounds like a dying quail (nice one, Australia). It's a good laugh.

     It was now time to head to the airport, which I was already dreading, because of the eight flights I've been on in the past four months not one of them was without great hassle or delay. Whether that be having to lose a large bottle of lotion because it turned up in the wrong suitcase (or in my most recent encounter my all too multifunctional Leatherman utility knife), or an hour or more flight delay because of weather conditions there has ALWAYS been a hassle.

Doesn't he look troubled? Rebel, if I ever saw one.

     You know, I think they should have you check your luggage AFTER security. That way you have more than just a skim and vain hope that you have a relative standing on the other end of the tape to take whatever it is back home for you, with your only other option left for them to toss your possession.
When I realized all too late as we walked through security (this was going TO Uluru) that I'd forgotten to take my utility knife off my keychain, my brain took that along with all the other emotional memories of my past flight experience of months previous and mashed it all together in one big, livid flame on top of my head. Great. Just great! I thought I checked that. One of the few most multifunctional and purposeful items I own(ed), my human error, and my only option is to toss it! What a perfect way start to this get-away!

     To say that I was frustrated is an understatement. What makes it even more frustrating is that the security folk look at you like they're completely indifferent and don't care that they're about to throw your things away, and that money doesn't go on trees. I get that they have to do this all day, but come on, guys! You're not making it easier! When I travel I don't start packing and think, "Hmmm...now, what would I be okay throwing out on a whim? ", and only pack those things. No, I pack what I need and plan on bring it all with me and back with me with the exception that it's edible.

See those hairs sticking straight out of my head? Remember my surgery? Yeah, seven months later
they're taking a little bit of forever to grow out.

     Oh, don't get me wrong, I love traveling! It's the getting there I hate. Unlike trains, trams, and buses I can't just say Don't worry, I'll catch the next one in 20 minutes. You miss a flight, it's hours layover time. Ugh.

     I guess you could say at this point I'd about lost my patience with commercial flying. In terms of flying, I'm overdue ready to be back in Utah and stay put for awhile. I think it's a new peeve of mine. I hate flying.

     I was praying with everything I had left in me that somehow, by some miracle things would go smoothly. Thankfully they did. I finished my book, and the landing was safe.

Now, to land that internship.

Cheers,

Jess