Tom Bradley International Terminal, Los Angeles Airport

I enjoy traveling, I really do. Travel is an adventure and each event on the journey a new experience to be savored and enjoyed. When one travels there are sights and sounds and smells galore to tickle, titillate or assault the senses. There are obstacles to overcome and pleasantries to be passed with and by people who generally work hard and still maintain a smile despite constant abuse from tired, disgruntled, anxious travelers.

Entering the environs around Los Angeles airport means stepping out of a prosperous, clean, modern America into a rather seedy, dirty, crowded suburb of what could be a minor city in a third world country. The buildings around the airport are drab and in need of repair, there are potholes in the roads and the only bright lights come from neon lights around the entrances to strip – sorry gentlemen’s – clubs and a profusion of signs announcing the presence of all the major international hotel and car hire companies. Entry into (and exit from) the airport is difficult at the best of times and traversing the terminal road hazardous, though Angelinos take near misses from the crawling taxis, buses, limos and private cars very good naturedly.

The International terminal, like much of the airport is being renovated. There are six long aisles with check in counters and one of them is walled off to travelers. People are everywhere trying to speak to porters or check in clerks in many dialects of English then turning to the accompanying parents or grandparents or multiple children and translating into Mandarin or Punjabi or French or Spanish or Cantonese. All seem to be carrying enough luggage to clothe a family of ten comfortably for a month. It is a teeming sea of frantic humanity. The destination board lists planes heading to London, Taipei, Mexico City and 20 or so other cities including, near the bottom, Brisbane, Australia.

There are beacons of light amongst the scowling passengers. A friendly Avis bus driver who hopes I have a good flight and a smiling gate clerk who manages to persuade me that my single bag should be checked since it is too heavy for the overhead bin. She takes my passport, finds my reservation in the computer then tells me I need a visa to enter into Australia. Panic strikes. Visa, what visa? This wasn’t mentioned when the flights were booked on line. But all is well, the gate clerk tells me I am eligible for an instant multiple entry visa that lasts a year and, because I was not told I needed a visa she waives the $25 fee they normally charge. Whew.

The check in lady suggested I eat in the terminal before going through security. It was a well intentioned suggestion, but next time I will eat before arriving at the airport.

There is one restaurant and bar – The Daily Grill – and a choice of fast food – Mexican, Sushi, Chinese, Ice Cream, Coffee and the ubiquitous McDonalds available up one flight of stairs at the end of the check in hall. After much pondering in the Daily Grill while imbibing a pint of Newcastle Brown I chose the chicken pot pie for $15.95. The pie dish was enormous, perhaps 10” in diameter and the pie crust was domed and golden, a beautiful presentation. Unfortunately there was a dearth of chicken inside the pie, the advertised vegetables were conspicuous by their absence, though I’m sure at least a couple of the crunchy things were barely cooked potato pieces. But at least it was hot and the Stoneybrook Cabernet Sauvignon at $6.50 a glass was acceptable.

The check in lady was correct. The barely acceptable fare at the Daily Grill was preferable to having nothing to eat once I had passed through security. The gate area of the international Terminal is one long corridor of 20 or so gates spread out over more than half a mile. In the gate area are a couple of small bars and a couple of snack shops at opposite ends of the corridor. Where are the restaurants and bars normally available at an airport inside the security cordon? There is a captive audience of hungry and thirsty travelers who would be delighted to patronize such places. The situation was desperate for one young man – a youth aged 14, 15 or 16 - who was trying to fill his water bottle at a water fountain. The pressure in the fountain was not enough to produce a stream high enough that the bottle could sit under the stream and be filled, so this young man was filling the bottle cap with water then pouring the cap contents into the bottle. He had quite a rhythm going and after countless trips of full caps poured into the bottle he had a half full bottle of water, which appeared to suffice, since he picked up the bottle screwed on the cap and wandered to his gate area. Can you imagine how much patience this takes. One good swig devours 10 or 12 capfuls. Wow, what patience.

The comparison to a third world airport was further strengthened when they started to load the aircraft. 350 plus people were loaded onto buses, 30 or 40 at a time, then driven to the far side of the airport to board a Qantas 747-400. I wonder if Qantas counts it as an on time departure if all the passengers are on buses by the scheduled departure time.

We pushed away from the remote gate at 12:20 am, some 25 minutes late and a quick look around at the sea of hair peeking over the tops of seats confirmed that nearly every seat was occupied.

The flight, fortunately for all, was uneventful. A can of Victoria bitter and a couple of glasses of Australian wine with dinner, helped put me to sleep for a few hours, though the sleep was not really restful, it would have been much worse without my Bose noise canceling headphones. Woke with four hours to go (my goodness will this flight never end) to watch Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman and enjoyed it a lot. Breakfast was advertised as a mixed vegetable Frittata, I guess that sounds better than a warmed up square of pressed scrambled egg and peppers.

Then 13 hours and 20 minutes after taking off, we landed in Brisbane. Eight am local time. The adventure continues.