Touchdown

My heart did a tiny somersault when I spied the mountains of Central California through the frosty plane windows. I would have been more excited, but it is difficult to muster a lot of enthusiasm after 13 hours of contortion and some Hall of Fame Flatulence. I’ll spare you that description.

Perhaps it is a sign of the dwindling economy, but the airports on either end of our journey were sparsely populated, making our transition through immigration and customs a near pleasant experience. Despite my fatigue and disorientation, getting onto BART was nearly effortless, and it was fun to contrast this modern form of mass transit to City Rail.

Mind you, I really do enjoy commuting by rail in Sydney, but there is a special place in my heart for the Bay Area’s rapid transit, especially now that it goes somewhere useful. It only cost $5.35 US to get from the airport to Powell Street Station – which to be fair, is about the same price as to get from St Leonards to Sydney International, if one was not required to pay a $10 AUD ‘Gate Fee.’ I was pleased to note there was not one bit of graffiti on BART, nor were the windows etched with tags, though Kevin seemed to think the car smelled like ass. Evidently, his sense of smell on the plane was faltering.

I was approaching delirium when we exited at Powell Street, but was thrilled to discover our hotel was just across the street – indeed, we could see it from the station. With remarkably uncharacteristic efficiency, we settled our first order of business:

And then we took a deep nap.