“People don’t take trips, trips take people.” – John Steinbeck

There are a lot of things to worry about when you’re headed off on an extended trip to a foreign country. Visas, bank transfers, insurance, packing… the list goes on. It was a pretty massive undertaking and I spent A LOT of time trying to be as prepared as I could be. As it turns out, none of the ins and outs of arranging an international move confounded me as thoroughly as San Francisco International Airport. I assumed my less than two hour layover at SFO would be a piece of cake. After the stress of getting packed, getting my life in order, and saying goodbye to my friends and family, the actual travel part was supposed to be smooth sailing. But when I landed in San Francisco, a series of small mishaps and wrong turns led to me missing my flight to Auckland.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so horrified as when I discovered I’d missed my chance to check in by a matter of minutes. Though the plane was still sitting at the gate in the process of being boarded, I would not be getting on it. I had to book the next available flight which was scheduled for 9:45 the next night. So here I was — stuck for 24 hours in an unfamiliar city with no idea what to do.

I decided against getting a hotel room. San Francisco is one of the most expensive cities in the country, and I was already hurting from the significant cost of rebooking my plane ticket. Paying a small fortune for a last minute booking at a seedy motel would have only added insult to injury. I found a little workstation at the airport with an outlet to charge up my phone, hooked up to the free wifi, and spent the rest of the night alternating between researching things to do in San Francisco and sleeping awkwardly propped against my bags. It turns out sleeping in public while surrounded by all of your valuables does not make for a restful night. The whole experience reminded me of pulling all-nighters back in college except, you know, way worse.

Once the sun came up and the airport began to stir back to life, I freshened up and took a BART train into downtown San Francisco. As luck would have it, I stepped out of the train station and directly into a visitors center. I purchased a one day “passport” that gave me unlimited rides on the cable cars, buses and trolleys, and the helpful checkout attendant provided me a map and the best route to circle around and see the city highlights. I rode the famous San Francisco cable car, standing on the outside, hanging onto the pole, just like you’re supposed to do. It was like a very gentle amusement park ride going up and down the hills of San Francisco.

I hopped off the cable car at Lombard Street, and after winding down the crookedest street in the world with a horde of fellow tourists, I walked over to Fisherman’s Wharf. It was gray and chilly, but I’m always excited to see water, whatever the circumstances. I was also excited to stumble across an In-N-Out Burger. I’ve always heard how amazing their burgers are, and they’re not found on the East Coast, so I waited in an obscenely long line for one of their famous cheeseburgers. Honestly, I didn’t think it was as amazing as advertized, but I was happy to have tried it. And I was also happy to have food at all since I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast the day before. After a couple more stops I made my way toward the Golden Gate Bridge.

Confession: I LOVE bridges. Definitely more than is strictly normal. Atlanta is distinctly lacking in bridges and waterways so I happily seek them out whenever I go to a new city. That put the Golden Gate Bridge next on the agenda. I took an extremely long walk along the bay, admiring the wild sandy shore and watching the bridge draw closer. It was cold and windy, but apparently San Franciscans are made of stern stuff; I saw people out jogging and walking their dogs in shorts and bare feet while I zipped up my jacket and prayed I didn’t die of pneumonia before I made it out of the country. I stopped occasionally to sit and enjoy the view and fought my body’s urge to drift to sleep whenever I stopped moving. I may have technically been homeless for the day, but I drew the line at sleeping on park benches.Thankfully, the sun came out, and I was able to unfreeze a bit while I continued to see the sights.

There was no way I was missing another flight, so I made my way back downtown and onto the train to the airport a few hours before takeoff and didn’t breathe easy until I was checked in and through security. As I sat waiting at the gate I reflected on this unexpected detour on the road to New Zealand. This was not what you would call an auspicious start to my journey. What if this was a sign of things to come? Cue panic spiral. NO!

I shut down that unproductive train of thought and focused on the positive instead. I got to see San Francisco, something I had always wanted to do, and most importantly, I proved to myself that even when things went terribly wrong I could handle it. I didn’t fall apart. I rolled with the punches and made the most out of a bad situation. I hadn’t expected such a big obstacle so early on (and in my own country no less), but it’s for the best that I learned sooner rather than later that I can’t expect everything to always go according to plan. That’s a lesson that can only be learned the hard way, and there are worse things than being forced to spend a day wandering around San Francisco. So I’m calling it a learning experience and a successful first trip to the West Coast.

Now it’s goodbye to the USA and hello, New Zealand!