Whew, I'm finally back from South America.  55 hours non-stop traveling … I think that’s a record for me.

Friday, at 5pm, I left my Andean village to head to the airport.  We bumped down the mountain in a rented pickup and made it to the airport by 6:30pm.  My friends accompanied me into the airport and waited for half an hour with me.  Then, it was check-in time.

My flight left at 9:45pm.  We did a stopover at another city, then arrived in Santiago, Chile at 5 in the morning.  My flight wouldn’t leave until 11 p.m. that night.

Thank goodness for the VIP Lounge.  Although it didn’t open until 9 a.m. that morning, it offered an open bar with coffee, juices, bottled water, wine, beer, liquor, and snacks … a business center with internet connection, telephones and printers … a shower facility stocked with toothpaste and toothbrush, fluffy soft towels, shampoo and conditioner … soft leather couches and newspapers from all major cities.  It was open to all passengers, and for US$18 it was the best investment I’ve ever made.

I spent my time in Santiago catching up on work and emails in between naps.  At 10 p.m., I made a quick stop by Duty Free before arriving at my gate for boarding.  The flight back home was 13 hours … and I’m not sure where it went.  I must have dozed during most of it.

Upon arriving in Auckland at 5 a.m. Monday morning, I walked through the cold dawn to the domestic terminal, which wasn’t open yet.  The lady waiting with me had been to Brazil and complained about returning to a New Zealand winter after the warmth of Brazilian beaches.

When the terminal finally opened at half past 5, I was lucky (I thought) to be able to change my flight to my city from 12:30pm to 7 a.m.  I checked in, passed through the metal detectors to my gate, and seated myself in front of the television to wait for my flight.

The news that morning was about the World Cup.  At 6:15 the station flicked to local news … and the BIG news was the weather.  "The snow is falling thick in Christchurch," the announcer said.  Snow?

I called my friend Daryn, who’d pledged his picking-up services.  "I hear it’s snowing there!" I said.  Groggily, he answered, "Snowing?  No, but it’s really raining hard."

Wonderful, I thought.  Rain is much better for airplanes than snow.

After hanging up, I heard our call to board.  I happily boarded the plane with the other passengers, dreaming of arriving in Christchurch at 8:30 and convincing Daryn to go to Denny's with me for a large American breakfast.

I was happy on the flight back.  Almost home, I thought.  I had all day to get laundry done, go grocery shopping, unpack, and enjoy my first gym workout in weeks.

An hour later, the captain’s voice came on the intercom.  "Due to the weather conditions in Christchurch, we’re awaiting confirmation about landing.  If they cannot clear the snow off the runway, we will have to divert to Wellington.  We’ll keep you posted."

And sure enough, ten minutes later, we circled Christchurch and headed back to Wellington.

We landed in Wellington with a bump and a skid.  We were all still in relatively good spirits.  They asked us to hold tight on the plane while they waited for instructions.  Ten minutes later, we were told that we were going to wait while the plane refueled, and we’d head back to Auckland.

I was surprised at how nonchalent everyone was.  No complaints.  People simply took out their cellphones and advised their family or businesses that they’d be unable to make their Christchurch appointments.

Twenty minutes later, the captain came on the intercom again.  "All power has gone out in Auckland, and the computers are down," he said.  "We’ll be another 20 minutes while they get the situation resolved."

Half an hour later, we were in the air again.  We’d nearly arrived in Auckland when the captain came on again.  "We’re in a holding pattern," he said.  "A plane from Singapore Airlines is blocking the runway, and we’re unable to land until the situation is resolved."

We all looked at one another with equal measure groans and laughter.

Finally, we arrived back in Auckland Airport at noon … right back where we started.

Inside the domestic terminal, it was chaos.  Passengers from all canceled Christchurch flights were milling about.  There were no seats, and people were sitting on the floor.  The lines in front of the ticket counter stretched across the building.  The computers were still down, and all tickets had to be checked manually or via the telephone.

I picked up my luggage and got in line.  When I finally got to the front, an hour later, they told me that the only flight available was an 8 p.m. to Christchurch … subject to weather conditions, of course.

"No," I said firmly.  "I’ve been traveling for 40 hours.  I’m on the verge of collapse.  I can barely stand.  There are not even any facilities in this terminal to rest.  Look, there aren’t enough enough seats for people!  What facilities do you have for international travelers in this situation?"

"I’m sorry, but we can’t do anything," the woman said.

I’d just been in South America, and it was there that I learned that sometimes giving into your "inner bitch" is the only way you can get anything accomplished.  And that is what I did.   I dared them to open their VIP lounge to stranded travelers (which they refused, claiming that you had to check in your luggage before you could enter the area) and then asked to speak to management.

My outburst served one purpose: she got me on a 4 p.m. flight.

After speaking to the manager, filling out a complaint form, and getting his promise that he would bring in more seats for the people who were sitting on the ground, I collapsed myself.

I didn’t know what to do.  Would it stop snowing in Christchurch and allow the planes to land?

I called Daryn and apologized.  He’d gone to the airport that morning and seen that my flight was diverted.  "Keep me posted," he said.

Next, I called another friend who lived just outside of Auckland and asked if he’d mind an overnight guest if all flights were snowed in for the day.  "I’m sorry," he said, "but my car isn’t working."  My heart sank.  "Okay," I told him.  "No worries, I can get a hotel."  "I’d recommend it," he said.  "I’ve been watching the news.  The snow doesn’t show any signs of letting up."

I managed to find a seat in the cafe and drink a coffee and eat a muffin.  I was in that zone of exhaustion … past my limit and unable to think clearly.

Finally, at 3 p.m., they announced that the airport in Christchurch had opened again.  Hooray!

It took an hour of standing in line to check in, and another hour of waiting at one gate and being transferred to another before our flight left at half-past 5.  We boarded the plane gratefully and waited patiently while they closed the doors and got ready to taxi to the runway.

Then, the captain came on the intercom.  "Sorry for the delay, folks, but there’s been an electric fault and an engineer is fixing the problem.  If he’s unable to complete the repair, we’ll have to switch aircraft."

The entire airplane erupted in laughter.  Oh my god … this had to be a joke, right?

Fifteen minutes, the fault was fixed … and we had to wait another ten minutes while they finished the paperwork.  Then we set out at last for Christchurch.

I arrived at 7 p.m. that night.  Daryn was waiting for me patiently, with a warm coat and red beanie.  After we collected my luggage and went outside, the full moon beamed down on a night landscape white with snow.  My breath sent out clouds of frost.  It was freezing.

But thank god … I was home.