How to cope when the family gets jet lag

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This was published 7 years ago

How to cope when the family gets jet lag

Australians, possibly more than any other nationality, know a thing or two about jet lag. And Tracey Spicer has suffered her share.

By Tracey Spicer
The joys of jet lag.

The joys of jet lag. Credit: Getty Images

It is a scene from Shaun of the Dead.

In the horror movie, a zombie apocalypse overwhelms the city but the star doesn't notice because of his hangover.

Despite abstaining from alcohol, we're all feeling worse for wear after a 13-hour flight.

The bags under our eyes are larger than our luggage; our skin has dehydrated to the consistency of crepe paper; all we want is to be horizontal.

And we're not the only ones: tens of thousands of Australian parents go overseas for the school holidays, with Bali (16 per cent), New Zealand (11 per cent), and Thailand (10 per cent) the top spots, according to new research by cheapflights.com.au.

Some courageous souls are taking the little terrors to Germany (predominantly South Australians), Hawaii (Sydneysiders) and Japan (Queenslanders).

Nationally, Los Angeles leads the list. And LAX is full of the living dead.

Now, 13 hours doesn't sound like an awfully long time. Three movies, one book, and a snooze should do it. But it can be exhausting – especially with kids.

Boarding VA1, I realise we're arriving in LA at 6.30am, and can't check in until 4pm.

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This is not a criticism of the hotel: The Hilton Universal is spitting distance to the famed theme park, where we're about to test drive the new Happy Potter rides.

But check-in times are slightly later in US hotels.

Fortunately the flight is delayed, so I google "hotels that charge by the hour".

Oh my. It's quite an education.

"Mum, does that lady stay in the room while we're there?" Taj asks, peering at a picture of a nubile young woman, wearing what appears to be a set of suspenders. And nothing else.

"Oh, darling, that's not the kind of hotel I'm looking for. Let me search something else."

The subsequent suggestion is the Travelodge LAX: at $69 for the day, it's a bargain.

We wait an hour for the complementary hotel shuttle, before arriving at reception.

"Your room will be ready in half an hour," the receptionist beams. "It's being cleaned."

So, we go to Denny's to eat our bodyweight in Nachos. As Taj and Grace gradually fall asleep.

Someone once said jet lag is like your soul trying to catch up after flying.

Add to that your patience and politeness: It is a manifestation of Maslow's hierarchy of needs.

I'm pleased to say we don't try to eat each other's brains.

Once inside, we pass out on the clean and comfortable beds for a solid four hours.

The hotel calls a cab and – as if a miracle – a stretch black limo turns up to take us to the Hilton Universal.

"Ah, we didn't call for a limo," I tell the driver.

"I don't have another job. So, same price!" he shrugs.

Only in LA.

"OK, thanks! Can we stop at a pharmacy on the way?" I ask. "I think we need some melatonin."

The kids are apoplectic: "Mum! You don't take drugs."

"It's fine. It's a hormone to help synchronise the circadian rhythms," I say, dismissively.

In the end the kids fall asleep naturally, and hubby and I take the tabs.

We are no longer zombies. But we're ready to fight them, if we stumble upon the set of The Walking Dead.

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