So here I am. (Part 1)

Yes, I've arrived in LA. Sorry about the big gap, but it was a bit hectic for a while.

Where did I get to? Oh yes, I was heading off to collect the rental car to get to the airport.

The trip to Ballarat was about as exciting as most bus trips are. Then I walked to the rental outlet, having looked at a map and thought it was only two blocks away. Nuh uh, those are major roads, not streets, and I ended up walking about 6km. Won't do me any harm to have done that, but wasn't really expecting it and might just perhaps have worn better shoes for it if I had been. No matter. I get to the Thrifty shop, and the lass behind the counter says "Oh yes .. we have your reservation..." and we set about the paperwork. Easy peasy. Then we go out get the car. That's when the confusion starts. The car isn't there. It seems one of the staff wanted to go out for lunch. It's the only car they have available. "I beg your pardon?" I said, all polite and friendly. "Err ... we've called his phone and he's on the way back." Fine. Awkward pause ensues.


So, home again. Figure I need to depart by 6am the next day, so perhaps it's time to think about putting stuff in a suitcase. I have just the thing, a nice big hard-plastic job. Everything fits quite nicely without to much squashing. SNAP! One of the latches breaks off, leaving one end of the case gaping open. Crap. Out with the other suitcase; a soft-sided and quite a bit smaller job. Time to re-assess what I actually need to take with me. This time there is some squashing. Riiiip! A small section of the zip has torn away from the lid. Not enough to gape, but the actual ... whatever the little slide thing is called (a slide?) wont go past the torn section. Fortunately it's one of those with twin slides, and the other one is on the other side of the tear, so bringing them to each side of the tear makes a reasonable effort at closing the case. It's now 10.30pm, and I should be asleep. Crap, again. I decide it's not going to get any worse, and I'll replace the suitcase if I need to while I'm away.


The trip to the airport went without a hitch, and so did checking in the rental. I joined the queue at the Virgin check-in counter with time to spare, registering a little bit of surprise that there is already a bit of a queue. Then a bit more surprise when I realise that the queue isn't moving. At all. Even by airline check-in standards. My eyes come to rest on the departure sign, and the horror arrives. "CANCELLED" is written next to my flight number. "Crap" doesn't quite cover what went through my mind. In the following 15 minutes the staff of Virgin swung into action. Actually, that's not quite true. It did take about 15 minutes, but what they swung into was chaos, confusion and incompetence.

Now let me stress that the front line staff on the counters were not to blame here. They were friendly, patient and apologetic. The next tier up in their management structure, however, were farcical to watch. Some of the passengers were swapped over to a QANTAS flight. (lucky buggers.) Then everything stopped again. The rope barrier forming the queue to the check in counter was re-arranged several times. I could almost feel the deck chairs being re-arranged to the strains of "Nearer My God to Thee." I over-heard some passengers being transferred to Brisbane to connect to another flight. (Not quite so lucky buggers.) Virgin then handed out letters of apology that we could use to verify the cancellation with our travel insurance providers should we suffer any loss because of the cancellation. By the time I got to the counter, I was told that I was being transferred to Sydney to catch a connection leaving early in the afternoon, so would I Please take this bit of paper over to the domestic check-in counter straight away. When we, about 200 of us, joined the domestic queue, there was more rope tricks, and a very real sense that I wasn't going to get to Sydney in time for dinner, never mind an afternoon flight. Sure enough, after lots more bustling around by supervisory types, when I get to the counter, I'm told that I wont get to Sydney in time, and Virgin are going to put me in a hotel overnight and I'll be on a direct flight from Melbourne tomorrow morning. Could I Please take this piece of paper over to the International check-in area? My patient smile had become a bit fixed at this point. Virgin arranged the rest of us into various hotel lists, and handed out letters of apology that we could use to verify the cancellation with our travel insurance providers should we blah blah blah.

So we were herded out to waiting buses to take us to the hotel, and Virgin handed out letters of apology that we ... oh for goodness sake! The four 'guests' on our 30 seat bus didn't exude much joy on the trip to the luxury awaiting us in Rydges. That's Rydges in Preston, I might add. Nice enough place, though it did lose some charm when I recognised it as a renovated hospital. Virgin had arranged for us to have $50 credited to our rooms for meals etc, which I spent pretty easily before returning to my room to find a voice-mail message on the phone advising me that Virgin had not arranged any transport to the airport for the morning (a shortage of 30 seat buses perhaps?) and we were to arrange our own taxis which Virgin would re-imburse us for. At the airport, Virgin staff discover that they don't have cash to do re-imbursements, and we'll all have to contact "Guest Services" ourselves to arrange that. A couple of canny 'guests' are straight onto the phone, only to be told that it can't be done over the phone, they'll have to write or email Virgin to get the money back. I haven't done so yet. Better to wait till I'm calm enough to be polite, no?  You'll be pleased to know that once on the plane, all went well. Although the car rental company had cancelled my booking as a "no show" because I was over 24 hours late. But more about that later.


It's late, and I need to go to bed. You've been very patient reading this sorry tale. Take a break and I'll finish the story tomorrow.

After I look at a boat, that is.