Issue Number 54
  (February 2000)

Trip to Aussiecon Three

by Lyn McConchie

I fled the area [Norsewood, New Zealand] August 30th. Tiger [one of Lyn's cats] spotted my case in the kitchen and put two and two together. Then he sat by it and howled. I could translate that. "She's going AWWWAAAY. It isn't FAAAIIRR." But Dianne arrived with her car and we left Tiger lamenting. Fast trip to the local airport. Quiet flight [to Auckland].

I collected my baggage, and caught a taxi for my sister's place. She'd been shopping and arrived back with Sarah, my adult niece about ten minutes before I did.

Tuesday was the busy day. I took a taxi to the TV studios, was dusted once over lightly with powder so I wouldn't glow, lipsticked with a neutral color to make my mouth stand out a little and then, to quote Chris, "had my fluffy bits fixed." My hair does tend to have a few tendrils fluffing out above my ears. After a quick dash of hairspray they didn't any more. After that various people shot in to talk to me quickly.

I'd been asked to arrive some 50 minutes before I'd be on but that was okay. I was enjoying watching events and several people drifted over to look at the books I had on the table and talk about them. Then the time came, I was hastily swept into the live studio, tucked into a corner, and the people before me were on. I waited. Commercial break. My turn.

In the end it was a breeze. The hostess of the show is a professional. I get nervous over some things but talking in front of strangers isn't one of them. We chatted, my books were displayed, then the commercial break was on and the hostess stayed to chat personally and off TV a few minutes. I don't know how many people watched/taped the show but judging by the phone calls once I got home and the comments from people I've met since, I'm left with the feeling that half the country saw me. If that results in many book sales I don't mind a bit. And I was pleased to find that while they did lean a bit on how I'd survived a childhood of abuse from nine to sixteen, two accidents, and a failed marriage, to bounce back and become a professional writer with nine books and over a hundred stories sold. They didn't do too much of the brave little cripple angle-which was just as well. It was live TV and I could have said something they'd regret.

After that a day with two of my sisters, my adult niece, and a very early rising to reach the Auckland airport for the 7.30am flight to Melbourne and Worldcon. With my case safely on the conveyer I picked up a Dominion to read and discov-ered that it was as well I was travelling by United Air. Some unfortunate woman on an Air New Zealand flight the previous day had found a rat on her lap. The rodent was a stowaway escaping some other country, boarded illegally and evaded pursuit. They thought he'd left the plane again. The shriek from his unwilling seat-sharer disabused the crew of that notion abruptly.

Once the plane landed the Agriculture boys had it off to one side being fumigated to a fare-thee-well. (A later paper indicated that the passenger suffering from shock, was being compensated by the airline. I should think so. Some of the people who share seats with you are bad enough but at least they bought a ticket.)

It was a quiet trip. Too quiet in the end. I staggered out into the airport to find that the airline had forgotten to meet me with a wheelchair. (I get stiff after plane trips. I'm ok arriving at the airport but prefer a wheelchair when I leave.) I waited briefly, started worrying about my luggage. And plodded off after the crowd. I never did see any sign of the wheelchair on the way to the gate as I headed down corridors and escalators. But I managed.

I dragged my case out into the main concourse and was stunned and really pleased to find Jean Weber, Wanda and Richard (the latter two being friends of Cherry's) waiting to whisk me to the hotel and with a car down in the carpark to do that. Considering that I didn't have the remotest idea of where I was heading, and that a friend who did make the trip on her own via shuttle-bus said it was awful and she had to drag her cases three blocks to the same hotel as mine from the nearest shuttle-bus stop, I was very lucky.

After that it was mostly fun all the way. Dump gear, head for the con hotel with friends, register. Grab programme and see what I wanted to attend. Which to be truthful tended to be 1-2 events a day. With the official stuff out of the way, I headed towards the huckters/ dealers room. Like introducing an alcoholic to their own brewery. The only down side was the dealers' expectation that I'd pay for every-thing I wanted to buy-which slowed me down a trifle.

I did manage to end up with a fair number of books though. Jean and Eric had earmarked some of their unwanted volumes for me. Sharman my frind from Korea had brought me several (some of mine back and a couple of others), and not all the dealers were charging full price. I headed for the Slow Glass section, having promised Cherry [Wilder] that the first thing I'd do would be repay Justin for a book he'd sent her. I made the mistake of standing in line and looking at the other books as I waited. Blenching at the current Oz prices, I still wound up with a couple of new books, paid Justin, left too slowly and added a third.

Then I had fun at the Aurealis tables. One was an "everything half-price" table. I bought 2 books, found I could have a free copy of one of the Aurealis magazine backlist from the full-price table, paused a bit too long and bought a couple of their full-price anthologies-which entit-led me to another freebie. I snatched that and departed before I was seduced further.

After which I stopped to chat a moment with Paul Collins who gave me some good advice and sold me a book I found ideal expansion of the advice. A coincidence no doubt that he'd written it.

Now ballasted heavily to one side by a book-stuffed shoulder bag, I resolutely headed for the art-show. I'd have to dump cargo before taking on more. There's a limit as to what my dud leg will permit me to carry about too long. The art show was good. I always enjoy them anyhow since I can't draw anything recog-nisable at all-apart from a bronto-saurus for some weird reason. Inside artists seemed to have drawn everything but. I admired pirates, mermen, indians, landscapes, painted stones (those were terrfic but mostly a bit outside my price range) and jewellry. I fixated on one laser print though. It was by a new artist and quite stunning. I put in a bid hopefully. There were so many other items for sale, maybe no one else would see in it what I did. Possibly because my opening bid was ten times the artist's minimum price, no one did, and wearing a very wide smile I collected it shortly before I flew home.

I didn't do many programme items but those I attended I really enjoyed. There were readings by Lucy Sussex, Elizabeth Moon, Jody Lynn Nye, the SF and Disability panel, Steve Baxter's reading, and a selection of others. In between that I ate lunches out at the food court five minutes' walk away with Jean, Weller, Sharman, and Linnette. After which I returned to prowl the art room-making sure my bid was still top for the print I wanted, and stalk the dealers' tables in search of more books I could afford. Affordability changed with finances too. I'd bought a number of my own books which Adrienne Losin was selling from her stall on commis-sion. As they sold, I could afford to buy more of someone else's.

In between eating, book-buying, and checking the art show I ran into friends. Well, most of them. After four days I caught the plane home without ever having managed to find Maureen Speller or Karen Johnson, both of whom I'd wanted to see if only briefly. But that's how it is when your prey is busy and the con is large.

So what stands out? Personal things really. Linnette who'd won FFANZ (Fan Fund of Australia-New Zealand) and was already working hard for it, helping on the FFANZ stall, getting books signed to auction in NZ next year, and making me thankful that we'll have a really good administrator for NZ for once. Meeting Sharman only 2 months after her annual trip to Farside and having this vague feeling that time was out of sync. Lunching with Jean and Weller. Liking Wanda Pease with whom I was sharing a room and finding we had a lot in common.

And that last night when Sharman and I found the SFWA con-suite and dropped by to spend ten minutes on the way to the ANZAPA party. We ended up in a circle of 7-8 people talking. You know-the kind of talk which ranges over everything under the sun. Comfortable, interesting, relaxed talk. And for once you know right at that moment you're having fun.

We wandered out several hours later, looked in at the party, felt weariness suddenly catch up and headed back to the hotel again after a few moments. Just that couple of hours at the con-suite made it one of the best cons for me. And there was no down side for my Worldcon. I enjoyed it all.

After which I slept in to about 6am, woke to bid Wanda goodbye, looked at the clock and got up as the door closed behind her. If I had everything already packed, I could have a leisurely hour over breakfast with Sharman, then be off by taxi to the airport. I packed quickly, fastened my case and went down to meet Sharman.

It had been a wonderful con but the trips to and fro seemed to be not so good. The hotel had made arrangements with a taxi for me the previous night when I returned. It was to arrive at 8.45. Nine am and no taxi. Sharman who was waiting to see me off rang the taxi firm who seemed surprised. According to the driver he'd been there at the hotel at 8.50. No sign of anyone and he'd left again. Since we'd been waiting very obviously with my big suitcase on a seat right in front of the main doors, and we'd been there since 8.40, that was strange.

The company sent another taxi, the driver of which spent the trip explaining to me the problems they had with foreign idiots who didn't spika da english so good, and couldn't tell north from south.

But owning to my pessimism over transport I'd left plenty of time and made the airport okay. I was approached as I settled into my seat. Was I the one with a wheelchair meeting me? I was. Good. It'd be there. The flight was enlivened by some sports team or another in red and white who kept dinging the flight attendant bell, until the head attendant came along and spoke to them in a way which would prob-ably have cowed the Hells Angels. It worked with the team too and we had peace the rest of the flight.

I crawled from the seat and slowed by the door. My wheelchair? No sign of it. I queried the person by the door. Oh, yes. Well, it was probably being held by the departure gate. I'd better walk down there. I plodded along the air bridge muttering. No wheelchair. Hell. I waited a few minutes, then worrying about my case again, headed for the carousel. Once again I hauled my luggage miles through the airport cursing airlines who don't live up to their promises.

This time I was annoyed enough to check my case into the link flight home, and then go in search of the airline adminis-trator. We had a brief terse discussion on this. He groveled, promised to do better, and to send me a letter of apology and explanation as to how this had happened. That I'd believe when it arrived but I left anyway.

The flight back was also quiet. Dean shot into the airport to collect me just as I arrived at the door. Perfect timing. Not so perfect last leg though as his alternator in the car packed up and we did the final few miles with all the road illumination of a senile glow-worm. But we made it.

I flung the door open. Tiger hurled himself at me. I clutched him and discovered that in the 8 days of my absence he'd done nothing but eat. To one side the stack of waiting mail threatened an avalanche. I could deal with that okay but Tiger... Di later told me that he'd been so pitiably unhappy without me he'd kept demanding food to comfort himself. He'd asked so pathetically he'd received it. I estimate that in the 8 days I was away he'd eaten just on twice as much as an ordinay 8 days with me and put on at least a kilo. We spent the two weeks after I got back very busily. Me catching up on the mail stack and Tiger dieting.

Dancer [the other indoor cat] looked up from the armchair when I returned. You could see what she thought. "Oh, right. she's back. So what." Tiger slept draped right across me all the first night home. It wasn't "so what" for him. He was making sure I didn't sneak away so easily next time.

(I did get a letter from the chap to whom I complained. Basically it appears that the idiot with the wheelchair did turn up. Just when I don't know but the impression is given that it was quite a long time after the plane landed. What use that would be to someone wanting to collect baggage, check it on a link flight, then travel over to the domestic terminal ten minutes away by a shuttle leaving every twenty minutes, when said person has 1 hour maximum to do everything, the overseas plane landed late, and they're supposed to clock in on the domestic flight half an hour beforehand, I have no idea. Quite apart from which in previous flights there's always been someone waiting right by the airplane door, chair at the ready.)

But Tiger is back to his own still rather solid but not over-weight. The mail stack has vanished. Dianne and Dean had a waterful time cleaning out the main house water tank while I was away so that's something else off the main list of work to complete. The weather has warmed up and the grass is starting to grow well. The geese stopped laying and started brooding. Curly [the gander] as I foretold had moved away from the main part of the lawn and was standing guard by the nest drums.

You can read some of Lyn's farming stories at http://www.users.bigpond.com/jhweber/LynMc/farmndx.htm