Travel Photography, Writing and Photoblog from Matt Feldman

Just over 1700 km from Marquesas now. The in-flight map is almost all blue with only two prominent features: the Date Line and the Equator. In the air some 4200 km from Los Angeles, the massive 747 heads southward on the map. I had hoped that we would move towards the intersection of those two famous lines, but in banking left about an hour ago, chances of that were ruled out. And besides, such a trajectory would take me to Papua New Guinea.

5:15 pm. Lunch is finished. But instead of relaxing in a post-prandial stupor, all I can think of are numbers. 9 hours, 23 minutes left to Auckland. 2444 km from Honolulu, Hawaii. A blistering 888 km/h. At 10 km above the Pacific Ocean, it's -38^oC, contrasted by the undoubtedly balmy clime of Mona Kea, Hawaii, now some 2168 km to the west.

As the plane pushes on, more figures fill out the story of how I got here. It took 120,000 frequent flier miles to redeem my Business Class ticket — representing three years of flying routes with extra segments instead of nonstop flights, detours, cris-crossing the country on gratuitous trips, pouncing on bonus mileage promotions like a crazed airline coupon clipper and pursuing the holy grail of air travel with an almost religious zeal: the voucher for free travel. I've been dubbed the Airline Whore for my unflagging willingness to give up my seat on full flights in exchange for a later flight and a voucher, but having racked up $2500 in free travel in the past two years, 120,000 frequent flier miles — three years of flying extra routes, detours, cris-crossing the country on gratuitous trips, pouncing on bonus mileage promotions like a crazed airline coupon clipper and pursuing the holy grail of air travel: the voucher for free travelperhaps the moniker is appropriate. Strategic planning to select overbooked flights, flexible travel plans, the cooperation of the weather on travel days and a little luck have all conspired in my favour: free travel has been a self-propagating wave that has led me to a trip otherwise impossible.

This trip wasn't the original goal of the mileage hoarding, however. As my frequent flier balance ticked upward, I had my sights set on the most improbable of trips under normal fiscal circumstances: France on the Concorde. An astonishing $10,000 per ticket, the extraordinary experience of supersonic jet travel would be worth every mile in my account, even if the actual dollars for such frivolity would never be there. But with the Concorde service suddenly and tragically discontinued and my miles insufficient to secure a seat for the few remaining flights, I continued to earn miles for an otherwise equally unreachable vacation: New Zealand. In the big seats. And then I waited. And flew.

Booked 330 days prior to departure to ensure an available seat in the prized Business Class cabin, this is my farthest airplane voyage to date at over 27,000 km round trip. And as much as numbers comprise the story to this point, the numbers going forward are just as formidable. 21 days in New Zealand, seeing both islands. On the south island, I aim to do 2500 km of driving in seven days. On the wrong side of the road. In a mid-90's rented Toyota.

But first I have to get to Auckland.

The day started in South Bend, Indiana, at the crack of early. A 4:20 am alarm would normally set off a round of irate shooting, but I was ready for the car in less than 20 minutes. Thermostat turned down, everything unplugged, I left my house in the criminal hands of my neighborhood and made for the airport for my flight to Chicago. Bag checked, boarding passes printed, film un-x-rayed, I settled down into a departure lounge chair to news of the capture of Saddam Hussein. People were high-fiving each other like they had conducted the raid themselves. What would this mean? A revisionist history view that the ends had (finally) justified the means? And an early Christmas present to the Republicans with assurances of a 2004 win? Talk about headache material.

The plane left South Bend in the dark. Late. And cold enough that everybody's breath was visible in the cabin air. But still gone. After a short walk to C-19 at ORD, I medicated myself into submission for the flight to Los Angeles. My plan was to sleep to the west coast then remain awake across the Pacific, land in Auckland at 10 pm, sleep and wake up having dodged the jet lag bullet. I settled into 8F with my pre-departure orange juice, popped in my ear plugs, pulled on my blanket and was asleep before taxiing.

Los Angeles was a zoo. And a half-drugged blur going down the jetway, through the terminal and into the gray morning to cross the airport. The temperature was in the low 60s. People were in jackets and wool hats. I crossed the parking lot to Terminal 2, Air New Zealand's home, where a swarming mass of humanity crowded the security lines back to the doors. Lines which I skipped, thanks to the express lane designated for Business/First Class ticket holders. Sheltered by the quiet seclusion of the ANZ lounge I read, napped, drank wine and munched snacks in front of the windows. In the pouring afternoon rain, airplanes from around the Pacific rim came and went. Places exotic and distant all, but few seeming as exotic or distant as New Zealand. And with a flashing television monitor making the boarding announcement, it was time.