Arrival in South Africa

It was a long trip. 27 hours from the time my first flight left the ground until my last one touched down. If we want to add in the trips to and from the airports, assorted waiting, the slow process through South African customs etc., we can up that number to just about 31. I remember thinking somewhere over the Sahara - "my, this takes a long time". Of course my kids do it with two young children so who am I to act put upon. And when one considers the historical difficulties of traveling long distances - days and days of mind numbing boredom, sea sickness, really awful food - somehow sitting in my own little space with a significant list of entertainment options and edible,if not extraordinary, food served by pleasant individuals; it really is inappropriate to whine.

But I can't help thinking how nice it would be if my son and family would move someplace relatively close - say, London.

My first flight was from Sacramento to Minneapolis. The person sitting next to me was a Muslim. My initial reaction was, and I am definitely not proud of this, "oh my gosh, we're in trouble". The fact that his small daughter was sitting next to him and his wife and young son were on the other side of the aisle mitigated my sense of danger. (So did my own good sense which did eventually kick in). At first we didn't talk (is he not allowed to speak to strange women? What do I know?)

He was reading the Quoran in some Arabic language. I was reading a cheap paperback mystery called "Between a Wok and a Hard Place". I had another book in my luggage called "Founding Faith" I dearly wished I was reading that. I felt pretty airy-fairy.

Then the ice breaker. He spilled his orange juice - some on me, mainly on himself. He could not apologize enough. I called the flight attendant who handed us an extra beverage napkin. We looked at each other with the same sense of frustration mixed with amusement. Funny how two people so very different can have the same reaction to the same situation. What does this say?

Finally I prevailed upon them for something more substantial and we were provided with a pile of little napkins and then a blanket so he did not have to sit in a puddle as we travel across the country.

And then we talked. A very nice man. They'd been visiting relatives in Sacramento and were on their way home to Detroit. He was from Pakistan but had lived 14 years in Scotland - perhaps I noticed the Scottish lilt in his accent. (Once mentioned, I did indeed). His 5 year old daughter had diabetes and they were concerned for her. We discussed diabetes, and sick children and hopes for our children and fears for our children. And, except that he was readying the Quoran and I was reading a cheap mystery, we had a lot in common. I would have liked to talk religion with him (why wasn't I reading that other book) but never felt there was an opening. Nonetheless, nothing like a bit of simple conversation to break down irrelevant barriers.

The trip from Minneapolis to Amsterdam was on a brand new Air Bus with unbelievable entertainment options. All kinds of movies on demand. How do they do that? The wiring in that airplane must be staggering.

One hardly feels one is in Holland when one is in the Amsterdam airport. Signs are in English (smaller dutch underneath) and they will take dollars or Euros. The only real clue was that the shops sold bulbs and wooden shoes as well as the usual tourist paraphernalia.

One more 11 hour flight over the African continent and I finally arrived in Johannesburg. Nice flight. Customs a hassle. They are not speedy to begin with. I got myself in the middle of the pack but the last half of the pack was pulled off and sent through the "South African Passport" gates. That left me - you guessed it, just about dead last. Remarkably - and I do find it remarkable - my luggage made the journey and looked just about the same as it had when I turned it in in Sacramento.

Finally, there was my son and my grandson - who had fallen asleep in his stroller waiting for me - and suddenly, it was all worth it.