I Like the Way you Move

And moving we are. Today we made the trek to Melbourne after a four day hiatus in Brisbane. It went a little something like this:

-8:30am- Alarm sounds on the mobile phone Chris and I share. I vaguely register Chris hitting the snooze button, roll over, and fall back asleep.

-8:40am-Alarm resounds. On a slightly higher cognitive level this time, I am awake enough to squeeze my eyes firmly shut and pray the snooze has been utilized again. No joy (that's Aussie for no luck). Still with lids clenched shut I feel a nudge at my shoulder; Chris, being the responsible one, is trying to gently force me out of bed. Unfortunately forcing someone to do something generally is not achieved in a gentle manner. After a few minutes of nagging and the threat of missing our plane hovering on my mind I decide to acquiesce to the inevitable. Also inevitable: me being grumpy. Sorry Chris.

-9:25am-After dressing in my comfy travel gear, dining on the remnants of our grocery supply, and hastily finishing my packing I feel mostly prepared for the day but only slightly more human. Sitting in the middle of my bed, my eye feels drawn to the evil that is lying in the corner-my luggage. Even after sending 11kg (nearly 25lbs) home yesterday via seamail, donating a small bag of clothes to charity, and doing a vigilant repack of my remaining luggage (one massive green rolly bag and a gold bag so sizable that it just barely qualifies as a tote) that would make any army officer proud, I still have a nasty feeling I am over the minuscule luggage allowance allowed by the budget airline we are flying with. This should be interesting.

-10:30am-Sitting atop the massive heap that is our luggage on the Airtrain, Chris and I congratulate ourselves on at least one achievement today-we are on schedule. However my nerves start to rise as we ride closer and closer to the dark menacing shadow of the domestic terminal. I swear I can hear it mocking us as our train comes to a stop, 'Look at you and your preposterous amount of luggage-how do you even call yourselves backpackers? It's preposterous! I mock you you silly American, you and all your silly little preposterous possessions.' I guess domestic terminals of the mocking persuasion like the word preposterous.

-10:45am-Standing at the front of the line at the check-in counter, I wait to be called forward. Called forward by the harassed looking attendant in the bright orange polyester jacket that will decide my fate. I wonder if she realizes the immense power she holds over me? Probably. They always do.

-10:46am-'Next Please.' I step up to the counter, confidently surrender my boarding pass, and try to nonchalantly heave the black matter I am currently traveling with onto the scale in such a manner that says 'oh this little dainty piece? It's really not as heavy as it looks.' Unfortunately for me, scales don't lie. I sneak a look at the monitor to confirm the worst-24.2kg. The counter attendant looks at me in what I swear is a suspicious and accusatory manner, glances at the prominently displayed sign that practically screams 20KILOGRAM WEIGHT LIMIT, lets out a sigh and asks 'where is your traveling companion?' I motion Chris over as my dread escalates-Chris' luggage weighs even more than mine. After eyeing the two of us together doubtfully-accomplices two the same crime as it were-she asks for his check-in bag. He drops it heftily from his shoulders. 'And that one?' She points to the monstrosity that is his carry-on. Bigger than mine if you can imagine. 'My carry on?' He weakly asks. An unbelieving stare is his only reply. I take this opportunity to stealthily shift my own oversized carry on which I know weighs as much if not more than my already-over-the-limit checked bag out of sight. We are in deep airline doo doo.

-11:10am-After paying an accumulative $140 in over limit baggage fees, we are mercifully allowed to finally proceed through security. Chris and I exchange grim looks. Maybe we'll stick to the ground next time.

Thankfully the subsequent 3 hour flight and hour bus ride into Melbourne was uneventful. From our drop off point we successfully navigated our way through the bustling transit station, purchased the appropriate tickets, maneuvered down the escalators and onto our train with aforementioned ridiculous luggage, found our stop, and eventually ascended the exit stairs to step out into the crisp winter afternoon air. Blinking in the weak sunlight we take in our surroundings. Gaping at the architectural delight that is Federation Square, my eyes quickly consume the sight of the vibrant city center complete with a vibrating pulse of people, a melodic city hum, towering buildings that seem to shimmer in the sunlight, street lights blinking playfully, and colorful cafes and boutiques on every corner vying for attention. And this, this moment, is why I travel.