We’re at the airport by 7:30 and use our remaining Aussie cash to buy several bottles in the duty free shop. Our first plane, from Sydney to Auckland boards about an hour late. Even though the plane is on the tarmac in front of us, the helpful announcer says, “Regrettably, this flight is delayed as our flight’s incoming aircraft has not arrived yet.”

We finally board and have 20 minutes to make our Fiji flight when we get to Auckland. But we have to walk down a mile of corridors and through security again and security has to test every single bottle in our sealed duty free bags, slowly removing them and removing their plastic protective sleeves and putting them in a machine that labels the Hardys HRB Shiraz we bought an “unallowable substance.” This causes a delay and David, who is getting sicker by the second, to give the slow, careful security guy some, to be polite here, instructions.

You can imagine how well that works.

With minus two minutes to go, the security staff keep the Hardys but release the rest of our goods and David runs up some stairs and along a 300 yard corridor with five bottles and a heavy backpack and totally runs out of gas. He climbs some stairs and a uniformed guy on a cart says, “Are you David Grant?”

Breathing so hard he can’t speak, David nods. The guy says, “Your wife told us you were coming. Hop on.” We drive at least a kilometer — no exaggeration — to the gate, where we are the last two people on board. God knows if our bags are below us in the hold. Que Sera, sera as Doris Day might sing.

David listens to a video of Fat Freddy’s Drop at the 2017 Sonar Festival for most of the flight, liking the reggae-esque beat and Fat Freddy’s trombone. For a big guy, he has some great moves on stage. Fav tunes: Slings & Arrows, Cortina Motors, and Shiverman (all a bit long and hypno-trance-dance but catchy, feet-gotta-move beats).

We get to Fiji, where the temperature at 7:30 p.m. is about 75 degrees and our bags are the first off and Wayne and Myra — same folk as at the Grampians (Wayne and Cynthia were Peace Corps Fiji 9 together … right after Captain Cook probably) — meet us. We all load into a cab with a billion bags and, having received the key to Jane Johnson’s house from Susan and Bruce (he’s 6’6” and imposing and has an aura of absolute calm) …

We get to Jane’s house, which is in a gated community with 24/7 guards, unload our bags and walk two minutes down a scenically lit path to, for lack of better words, a shopping and entertainment center. Carpo’s at the end of a wide and long pier, has a group playing old Bob Marley and George Benson tunes and we sit seaside with beers and mojitos and settle into the evening. Life is good, vinaka vaka levu (thank you very much). And crash.

Another day in paradise.