Ahh travels

This morning (despite it being over 24 hours ago), we jumped on board our delayed flight from Brisbane to Sydney, connecting to San Francisco. The delay meant we had 15 minutes to disembark in Sydney, transfer to the international terminal, get through immigration, security and then board the flight. We managed to do this with about 3 minutes to spare, thanks to Qantas express lanes. Unfortunately my backpack wasn't so keen to make the dash between planes and was still hiding at Sydney airport after I had already gone through immigration in the USA (not without some lengthy explanations of why I have a Pakistani visa in my passport).

The actual flight -13 hours, went by without major incident - such as sleep. But I did almost throw a bowl full of sultana bran on the woman behind me. After a long night of knees in my back she (obese) and her husband took the last two hot breakfasts, leaving me with fruit and said sultana bran. My devastation caused some turbulence in the air around the plane and storm clouds gathered, but after staring, desolated, at my little box of bran, I finally forced the 4 spoonfuls of milk and sultanas into myself. And I felt slightly better afterwards.

Negotiating the public transport to our hostel was simple, meeting Hobbsy there to watch the Socceroos pull off a fantastic but pointless (in terms of the WC) victory over Slobodans serbs (probably a horrendously thoughtless comment, just popped in). Fighting to keep the eyes open, we walked the length and breadth of downtown San Francisco, in the sunny but chilly (15C! in summer!) weather.

This is the first real backpacker hostel I've been in for several years now, and it has reminded of how you need to swallow your pride when you become instantly intimate with an eclectic group of strangers. It's like breaking the seal on our comfortable private lives, once it's done you hardly think twice, but I think it's a necessary leveller so we don't get around with our head held too high.