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It's funny how little things happen that make you think about how different events in life are connected. A week ago I "nearly" went to see Rush Hour (the new Jackie Chan movie) with my flat-mates, but one thing lead to another and I ended up not going. Only a day or two ago I was relating this to a friend and surmised as a joke, that that's probably the movie we'd have on the flight.
Sure enough ....

My cattle class seat turned out to be the second worst seat on the plane in terms of movie-viewing comfort. Beaten in that distinction only by that of Sonia's, my new flying companion. Yoga training was definitly an advantage. Through much controlled breathing and relaxation I was able to crane my neck nearly 90 degrees to catch snippets of film from the large projection screen immediatley next to us on our left, or stretch my neck upwards, like a giraffe grazing, to view one of the little suspended TV screens way up in business class. I thoroghly enjoyed the bits I did see, as well as kept Sonia up to date with plot and held the usual travel chit-chat as well. Sonia, as it turns out, was on her way to Queenstown for a convention of some sort, to do with manufacturing of drugs with names I couldn't even pronounce let alone remember now. She was amused to note that her destination was not too far from my own.

Time flew by and soon I was walking into Christchurch Airport. First task: baggage collection... where are my poles ? Oh ... Cool! They made it too!... Next task: Customs ... Declared goods ? (Hmmm... Sporting gear? No... Camping Gear! Oh oh !!... OK Red line for me). As I pass through into the Quarantine area I see customs staff standing by watching while people are emptying all their belongings (and their lives) onto tables to be scrutinized for microorganisms or bacteria or just plain amusement....
I'm thinking ... My Tent! My God my Tent! ... Oh please! I don't want to unpack all my stuff! I'll be here all day! ...

"You're declaring sporting goods?", the customs lady asks me eyeing my ski poles as one might an Uzzi.
"Er... Yep!
Ah NO! Camping gear actually"...
Total silence. Her eyes flicker deftly over my bags and lock back on mine.
"I've got a tent with me, err, mumble, mumble....", already this is not going well...

She looks at me trembling under my 38 Kg load and glances at the tables full of other peoples stuff... No tables free yet...
"When was it last used ?"
"Um... a couple of weeks ago... Up in the mountains..."
"Any dirt or soil on it ?"
"No.. Just sand", I lie hesitantly. Actually I used it about 4 weeks ago down at Huskisson and it *was* pretty clean.
"SAND!?!?", she glares at me is if that's ridiculous.
"Err yeah... Heaps of sandstone 'round Sydney and uh... not much soil ..." I manage a weak smile.
She eyes me cautiously now ... I must sound like a fruitcake!
"OK! Through you go, have a nice trip !".
"Huh? .. Oh .. OK! Thanks!". I give her a big wave!

This is going to be a great trip !