It felt for so long that this day would never come. Time has been passing slowly for me. I have this strange sense of time with this trip. As though everything will stop when I get on the plane. My world will freeze at 5 PM tonight, as I enter a liminal period, across many time zones, in which time is meaningless. And 22 hours later, time starts again, in a new continent, a new hemisphere, a new season.
I'm trying to figure out how to get a jar of pickles into New Zealand. For my sister, the pickle addict. Apparently there are no kosher dills there. I'm bringing a bottle of Cholulua hot sauce for myself. They don't have that there, either. In fact, I hear that there is no Mexican food at all.
At first, I thought I'd just bring a jar with me on the plane. But then I remembered the 3-oz rule. (Stupid 3-oz rule.) I could pack it in my checked bag, but if the jar broke, all of my clothes would smell like pickles. Not appealing. Then I thought maybe I would just take some pickles for her in a ziplock bag, minus the juice. But customs might take it away from me at the border, because they're strict about food products coming into the country. This seems like the best option though. And it's not like I'm going to get in big trouble, even if they take it away.
Back to my last-minute preparations.
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