“How about today,” Marissa said. “There’s a United flight that leaves at five-fifteen that can get us to Sydney with connections to Brisbane. I think we may need visas, too. I’ll call the Australian consulate to check.”

“Wow!” Wendy said. “I’ll see what I can do. Why the rush?”

“So I don’t change my mind,” Marissa said. “I’ll explain once we’re on our way.”

9
April 5, 1990
8:23 A.M.

“My God!” Wendy said as she and Marissa waited for their baggage in the Brisbane airport. “I never had any idea the Pacific was so immense.”

“I feel like we’ve been traveling for a week,” Marissa agreed.

They had flown from Boston to L.A. Then from L.A. they had taken a nonstop to Sydney. It was the longest flight either had ever been on: almost fifteen hours. Then, as soon as they’d passed through formalities at Sydney, they boarded an Australian Airlines plane for the final leg to Brisbane.

“I knew Australia was far away,” Wendy continued, “but I didn’t know it was this far.”

When their luggage appeared, they cheered. Having traveled on so many flights, they were afraid they’d never see it again. They loaded the bags onto an airport pushcart and headed for the taxi stand.

“Certainly a modern-looking airport,” Wendy commented.

Getting a cab was a breeze. The driver helped them with their bags and even opened and closed the cab doors for them. Once they were all settled, he turned to them and said: “Where to, luvs?”

“Mayfair Crest International Hotel, please,” Marissa told him. Marissa had gotten the name of the hotel from an agent at Beacon Hill Travel. The agent had been an enormous help, essentially accomplishing the impossible: getting documents and reservations to leave the same afternoon.

“Do up your seat belts, ladies,” the taxi driver said as he eyed them in the rearview mirror. “Forty dollars if the coppers catch you without them.”

Marissa and Wendy did as they were told. They were too tired to question.

“Is the Mayfair a good hotel?” Marissa asked.

“It’s a bit dear,” the driver said, “but it’s orright.”

Marissa smiled at Wendy. “I like the Australian accent,” she whispered. “It’s like an English accent, but with a down-home coziness.”

“You ladies Yanks?” the driver asked them.

Marissa said that they were. “We’re from Boston, Massachusetts.”

“Welcome to the Lucky Country,” the driver said. “Been here before?”

“First time,” Marissa admitted.

With that, the cabdriver launched into a colorful history of Brisbane, including mention of its origins as a penal colony for the worst convicts of Sydney.

Both Marissa and Wendy were surprised by the lush greenness of the land. Luxuriant tropical vegetation lined the roads, engulfing entire buildings in a riot of colors. Purple jacaranda trees competed with pink oleander and blood-red bougainvillaea.