Remember how, just a few hours ago I mused that my most thoughtful, contemplative posts occur when I’m bedded in somewhere, like an isolated Irish cottage, or hilltop Italian farmhouse for a while. Does “stranded in an airport food court” count?

I’d typed out the previous post while waiting in the departure lounge this morning. Then a few more while waiting for the plane to finish boarding. Then a few more when we were “holding for a few minutes while the crew checked on a mechanical issue.” The rest of it, along with the pictures got added when we were back at the gate while the mechanics worked on the issue, but before the captain informed us that, due to the delay, they’d timed out of their duty allocation. Which meant that, regrettably, the flight would have to be cancelled. We would have to deplane, fill out NZ immigration forms, retrieve our baggage, clear customs, and report back to the New Zealand Airlines booking counter for further instructions.

At the New Zealand Airlines booking counter they gave us meal vouchers for the food court and instructed us to wait for further instructions. 

Which brings me to this moment of frustration, four hours later, with no word from the airline powers that be. Unexpectedly, my inner Stoic is cracking just a little. Sure, I’m disappointed. These past two weeks have been lovely and (mostly) carefree. Aside from that one commitment in Wellington, we were completely freeform, with us pretty much playing things by ear where we’d drift off to each morning.

Tasmania, on the other hand, I had planned out. It was so magical last time, and I wanted to recreate that magic for Devon. Boat rides, outdoor theaters, ocean beaches at midnight while wallabies try to steal your food. Caves. Robotic dairies and weird cheeses. Wooden walkways under unrecognizable stars. Friendly geologists in the saloon of a zero-horse town at the bend in a wilderness road. I’ve put a lot of choreography into trying to capture as much of it as I can for this trip. Right now, it looks like the next available flight to Hobart is two days out, which of course throws a spanner in all of that careful choreography. Hotels and ferries to be canceled, museum tickets, camper van rentals to try and rejigger.

Then again, maybe it’s an opportunity for a lesson on Buddhist non-grasping, non-attachment. An opportunity for some perspective: remember, the world is in flames and on the edge of climate catastrophe as deniers shout “Drill, baby drill.” Our cherished democracy is being gutted from the inside in a weird kleptocratic techno-coup. And we’re stuck in an airport food court, frustrated that we can’t flutter off to our next adventure as hoped.

Perspective. We may be stranded in a food court, but it is a food court. With wifi. And surrounded by an island paradise.

So I’m going to start by using one of those vouchers they gave us and some food. Then we can start planning what we want to do if we happen to be graced by a couple of extra days to explore New Zealand.

As always, I’ll keep you posted.