9/14/15,
“Out of Africa”
Victoria
Falls Airport, Zimbabwe (VFA)
It has been
less than 48 hours since I landed at this airport, and now it is time to fly
home. These short 48 hours have been the
trip of a lifetime, and the “Wildest Dreams” moniker was well deserved. In terms of travel destinations, the Seven
Natural Wonders of the World very well may be the top of the list. The Grand Canyon, the Paricutin Volcano, the
Northern Lights, Victoria Falls, the Harbour of Rio, the Great Barrier Reef,
and Everest. All remarkable sites. All worth a trip in and of themselves. However, how much time can you spend looking
at a canyon, a volcano, lights, a waterfall, a harbor, a reef, or a mountain,
no matter how wondrous it might be?
An
hour is plenty. Two days is pushing it,
though, other than the Paricutin Volcano, spending less than two days at any
one of those wonders feels like selling it short. I am flying out of Africa today, but I will
return, in November when I go to Egypt, again whenever I go to Casablanca, and
I’m sure there will be other trips to Africa in my future. I’d love to go on a real safari in Kenya at
some point. I still owe Ghana a trip,
maybe charter a boat from Ghana that will take me to the place where my GPS
will read (0.000, 0.000). There is so
much I could do in Africa, but, after Egypt, I will probably not return until
my 30s.
After I closed last night, I published
my entry and uploaded my photos, but I could not fall asleep out there, in no
small part due to the bugs. I slept in a
bit, until 9 AM, and I had no idea how to spend the two and a half hours I had
before I needed to leave for my flight.
Correction, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. The order was less clear. I needed to have breakfast, pack, shower,
change into my suit, and go to the falls one last time. Would I wear casual clothes to the falls,
then come back and shower and change?
Would I have breakfast first, then shower and change, then go to the
falls? When would I pack? Time was a factor, too, and I wanted to have
one last birthday cigar.
In the end, I
headed down to breakfast, where I got much the same thing as I had yesterday, having
time to enjoy it, first, headed back to the room to pack, then I showered and
changed into my suit. I lit up my
Montecristo and headed to the falls, but my friend was not there for me. I politely turned down the vendors. I had my ticket from Saturday. Would that work? Or would I need to pay again? I don’t think I was allowed to reuse the
ticket, but they let me in. I took some
more ceremonial pictures at the falls, did some video, and took a new profile
picture, before heading back.
The porter,
whose name is Duly, not Duty, had taken care of my luggage. I then got in the taxi to the airport. I mentioned the price the driver had quoted
yesterday, and he said it was twice that.
The price named was per person, and there is a two-person minimum. I argued.
He called the hotel. The hotel
said to charge me the lower price. I had
gotten a bunch of small banknotes for tips, which I had handed out. I just had one left, and a larger one to pay
for the cab, which included a tip. I was
greeted at the airport by a porter. The
line for check-in was atrociously long, but there was no line at premium. I hoped my Star Alliance silver status would
get me in that line. It did.
I had lit up a Nicaraguan Avo in the car, but
the driver told me I couldn’t smoke it.
A first for this trip. The cigar
was still lit when I got to the airport, and I could smell it when I brought it
into check-in desk with me. I asked the
porter if he could take it back outside.
He gladly did. After I checked
in, I went back and handed him the last of my small banknotes. I found a nice curb to sit on, where I
proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can proceed
with security. Technically, the return
journey hasn’t started yet, as I intend to go into town in Jo-berg, so the
return journey would not begin until I am done with Jo-berg, as that counts as
an activity.
Pretoria,
South Africa
Well, that’s
56 countries down, 141 to go. I should
be at 60 by the end of the year (or by January 8 at the latest). I really don’t have much to write, since not
much has happened in the past 5 hours (is it really only 5 hours since I
closed?). I have really forgotten how
beautiful South African women are. They
could definitely give any other country in the world a run for their money. Cue the line from Mean Girls (“If you’re from
Africa, then why are you white?”). I
went through emigration and security and found an overcrowded seating area, filled
predominantly with South African and British tourists on their way home. I slept a little on the plane, read the
in-flight magazine, and otherwise wasted time.
We soon landed, and I had calculated that I would have enough time to
head into Jo-berg, but, then, I figured, what was the point. Just dinner, a cigar, an entry, and a
picture? That was hardly Official. I found out some information. Then, I learned that Pretoria was not much
further. Ah, that would be
Official. Dinner, flag pin, parliament,
entry, cigar. I would have just enough
time. My driver was awful, not knowing
where anything was, and his use of the GPS was not the best. He got to the place, but he couldn’t figure
out how to get into the entrance. I had
arranged a price for transportation to and from Pretoria and two hours of
waiting. He tried to give me some crap
about it being two hours with the driving time included. Bullshit, and I shot him down right
away.
He dropped me off at a restaurant
called Kream, where I got ostrich and a South African red. It was staffed by gorgeous waitresses. Literally, like all of them, gorgeous. I remembered my Seventh Grade crush and her
twin brother. They were both
exceptionally good-looking. Oh, right,
they were from South Africa. (Then why
are they white?) Reader, watch Mean
Girls if you haven’t seen it before.
It’s hilarious. I paid the check
and had my driver take me across the street to the mall. He had trouble finding the parking area. I was soon approached by a security officer,
who was determined to help me find my flag pin.
Fortunately, I had the Zimbabwean and Zambian flag pins to show as an
example. No luck. I gave him a small banknote for his help, and
he was so appreciative. He walked me
around the entire mall helping me find that flag pin. No dice.
In the end, we were short on time, so I had to call off the search, and
I went back to the car.
The driver took
me to the parliament, called the Union Buildings. I told him I’d be half an hour, and he said
that was too long, that it had already been two hours since we left the airport. I was pissed at this point. I was very clear with the desk my
plan. I told him he dropped me off at
the restaurant at 4:15 PM, and I would be ready to leave the Union Buildings at
6:15 PM, two hours, and went out of the car without another word. I took my ceremonial pictures in front of the
building, lit up a Montecristo (it was actually a Punch this morning, not a
Montecristo), and announced, “56,” signifying my visit to South Africa was
Official, and I had now been to 56 countries.
Pretoria is the same latitude south of the equator as Miami is north of
the equator, and it shows. It looks and
feels much like Miami. The women are
just a hell of a lot more beautiful here.
I sat down on the steps of a statue across from the parliament, where I
proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can head back
to the airport. South Africa is the kind
of place that deserves a week to see properly, not a few hours, but, for now, I
am able to consider this my 56th country.
OR Tambo
International Airport, South Africa (JNB)
Well, my
trip is now at an end, and the return journey may begin. What a brutal return journey it will be. The flight is 15 hours. Even if I sleep for 8 hours, that still
leaves 7 hours. I am not looking forward
to it, and I hope like hell I have a good seat.
It would be great if the two middle seats were empty again. I am tired as hell, and I’m ready to go home,
except I’m not. I want to stay. I don’t want to come back. I want to stay. I want to stay until March. I want to visit every country, capital, and
WHS, not just in southern Africa, but all of Africa. I literally want to see it all, from here to
Timbuktu. That is not an option. I have used up all of my PTO for the year,
and I have to get back to work.
Ernest
Hemingway wrote that there was never a morning in Africa when he didn’t wake
up happy. It’s something that’s very
easy for a tourist to say, and I agree with him, but I doubt the locals would
agree. The hardship of living here, in
the village, not a tourist hotel, has to be unmatched. When food is unaffordable, and you have to
have rice airlifted to your country because your country is too poor to afford
such a basic staple, you are not waking up happy. When you have to spend every day trying to
fleece tourists under the hot sun, you are not waking up happy. When you are Ernest Hemingway writing your
next novel or me working on my Travelogue, then, yes, you can wake up happy,
every morning. I have been more purely
happy this trip than I have been in quite some time.
It might not just be the greatest short trip
I’ve ever taken, but it might even be a top ten trip of all time. It’s certainly top three for the year
(Antarctica and TLGSRTA have it beat). However,
Cuba, Sweden, Belize, Mexico, New Mexico, and even the Lesser Antilles pale in
comparison to this trip. As I have
mentioned, this has been my first time to Africa, and I want to go back, as
often as possible. I don’t think I could
make it annual voyage, as there are only like three destinations in Africa that
have direct flights from NYC, other than Jo-berg and Cairo. I know Accra and Casablanca do, and I think
Nairobi or one of the neighboring capitals might. Casablanca and Ghana are doable as a two-day
weekend, but others are harder. Further,
a lot of the places I’d want to visit (e.g., Timbuktu) are unsafe.
Well, this is a discussion for another
time. Egypt is happening in two months,
and, I would love to throw in a weekend to Casablanca, but my travel
itineraries are pretty much fully booked for the next two years. In about half an hour, I will be heading to
the gate, where I will be trapped in that aluminum prison for fifteen
hours. For many, the idea of a flight
this long would completely preclude and adventure such as this. For me, it’s just a minor nuisance.
My next international trip will be to Costa
Rica, and I will be able to say “Central America Complete,” which is something
I have been toiling at for quite some time, and it was not easy. I will remind my reader of our voyage to the
biosphere in Honduras or sneaking into the ruins in Nicaragua. I will also remind my reader of my adventures
in Panama. It has all worked out, and,
once I’m done with Costa Rica, I’ll be free to focus more on finishing up
Mexico.
The West Indies are almost
complete. I still need Hispaniola and
the Bahamas, along with a revisit to Jamaica to get their new WHS. Bahamas is easy, just an overnight trip from
Florida or a weekend from NYC, same with Jamaica. I could even probably combine them for a
three-day weekend. Same for Hispaniola,
separate trips to the DR and Haiti or a three-day trip to cover the pair. That will just leave US and CAN to complete
my North American goals. Other trips to
Egypt, China, Korea, Australia, Rome, London, Antwerp, Rio, and Peru are
necessary to complete my goals.
Actually, I think those are the only trips necessary to finish
everything out, the destinations I have just listed. Oh, right, Everest and Babylon (Iraq). Those will be a challenge to say the
least. Alright, enough of this.
After I closed, we made our way back to the
airport. I gave him a little bit more
than the price quoted, though I had not planned to give him a tip. There was a souvenir shop called SA
Flags. Perfect. One would think they would have flag pins
there if any place would, right?
Wrong. They were sold out. They told me they would have it past
security. Okay, fine.
I went to security and emigration. When I got to emigration, the officer kept
looking at me funny. He asked if I was
ever on TV. I said that I had been once
or twice (when I got filmed collecting autographs), and I told him about
that. He swore he remembered me. Seriously?
He remembered seeing my face for about three seconds 3 years ago? I didn’t believe it, but I played along. I found some other souvenir shops, and there
was a variety of flag pins, but none of them were right. There was a very elegant rectangular one with
a thick border. Another store had the right
one, but it was way, way too big, like four times too big. I got the elegant one, along with a mug and
t-shirt.
I then headed to duty-free,
where I got a bottle of their local liqueur, along with two bottles of wine
(one for me and my friends to drink, one to give to my mother) and three
cigars. I headed up to the smoking lounge,
where I ordered a coffee, lit up one of the cigars (a Romeo y Julieta), charged
my electronics, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so
that I can begin the long and arduous return journey. I am very happy with how my life is right
now, and it has been a great way to start my 29th year and the New
Year, which coincidentally began on the same day.
9/15/15,
“The Return Journey”
En route,
NYC Taxi 6M92
Well, in
summary, the return journey was long and boring. I left Pretoria almost 20 hours ago, and it’s
been 18 hours since I closed at JNB.
After I closed, I headed the boarding gate, stopping to buy a bottle of
water on the way. I left it sealed. There was a secondary security checkpoint
before the gate, and they made me throw out my bottle of water. I pointed out that it was still sealed and
that I bought it in the airport. They
didn’t care. I drank half of it and
threw out the rest. I knew I could get
more water on the plane, and I did, as much water as I could possibly drink.
I wanted to watch a movie, but, well this was
where it got complicated. They did the
beverage service first, before the meal service, and I didn’t want to get up
once I started the movie, and I needed to go to the bathroom before I started
the movie, so I figured I’d go between the beverage and the meal service. I opted for Gran Torino, which I vote as the
greatest movie of the past 20 years and a top five movie of all time.
The flight attendant, well, there was
something special about her. She wasn’t
beautiful in the traditional sense. In
fact, if I saw her face in a magazine, I probably wouldn’t have given it a
second glance, but the way she moved, the way she conducted herself, was with
such a grace that is impossible to put into words. It was like every motion she made served a
purpose and there were no unnecessary motions, each one tying into the last. When she got to our row, as we were debating
our drinks orders, she magically produced three bottles of water, as if from
nowhere. I asked for a bottle of South
African wine. She asked which type I
wanted, merlot or a different variety, “or both?” she offered causally.
In addition to the bottle of the water and
the wine, I got a gin and a Diet Coke, lots of liquid, right. The dinner was a chicken dish, which was
delicious, and I ate every bite. The
movie did not disappoint either. It had
been a few years since I’d seen it, and I had forgotten just how perfect of a
movie it was. I can’t believe it wasn’t nominated
for a single Oscar. It should have swept
the field. The ending, as always,
brought tears to my eyes. I finished the
rest of my liquids and was soon asleep.
I slept sporadically throughout the flight, certainly getting at least 8
hours of sleep, snacking and drinking (water, not alcohol), when I was
awake. As predicted, the 15-hour flight
was only a minor nuisance, not a game-changer.
When they woke us up for breakfast, my seatmate (as before, it was two
of us in a four-seater), joked that I kept moving about the seats as I
slept. I probably encroached into the
third seat more than I should have. He
said that he watched Dirty Harry. I
laughed, saying I went with a Clint Eastwood film, too, and he agreed that Gran
Torino was a great one. Breakfast was
good, too, the coffee not so much. We
soon landed, and my phone lit up with notifications. I sorted through all of them and made my way
to baggage claim. My bag came out, and I
cleared Customs without a single question being asked.
I headed outside and grabbed a taxi back to
Grand Central, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close,
along with closing out this trip. Next
stop: a weekend trip to Connecticut and Rhode Island to compliment last month’s
trip to New Jersey and Delaware, same travelling companions.
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