On Our Last Leg

We departed from the bus station the next morning, the hordes of festering humanity generally displaying the worst behavior that our species has to offer (crowding, pushing, arguing, etc.). An unfortunate couple of young French girls boarded the wrong bus, and were left tearfully behind. Despite the surging panic in my gut at the prospect of having nothing booked once we got to Paris, the trip across the Chunnel was interesting, as I’ve never travelled by train underwater before (imagine that).

Six hours later, we left our bus in Paris and immediately jumped in line to book another to Madrid. Fortunately, someone was in the mood to make some money out of this crisis, and Eurolines had allocated extra buses for Madrid. Elated, we bought our tickets for an overnight bus and checked into a hotel a few blocks away. We dined in our room on deliciously stinky camembert and crusty baguette, with a red wine chaser.

The next day we didn’t check out until noon, overtly aware that we wouldn’t be able to shower or sleep in a proper bed for the next two days. We loaded up on delicious snacks, and returned to our new favorite hobby: standing in line. We did manage to meet a Spanish girl whose father is American, which came in handy later, as the drivers on our bus spoke zero English.

Of all the uncomfortable modes of transport during the course of our trip, this was undoubtedly the most unpleasant. Upon boarding, our driver refused to allow us to bring our food onboard, wouldn’t let us get it from the baggage at the next rest stop (as he had promised), and finally let us retrieve it four hours later. Sitting in front of Marnie was an irritable Frenchie who reclined his seat all the way back, leaving his large shaven head a foot away from her face. Our drivers insisted on blaring loud, obnoxious salsa music from the speakers and playing Spanish dubbed action movies on the small TV, making sleep nearly impossible.

Arriving in Madrid, we took a taxi to the airport and sat waiting on the floor until the EgyptAir counter finally opened for check-in. It turns out we needn’t have been so early- our flight to Cairo was an hour and a half late taking off. The fact that the plane was old enough to still have ashtrays in the armrests was not inspiring. We arrived in Egypt nervous about encountering trouble from customs, but breezed right on through. Cairo actually has a much nicer airport than Madrid, although we shouldn’t have been surprised that purchasing drinks in a desert is quite expensive.

And so it was that we finally embarked on our final leg “home” to Johannesburg, five days later than scheduled.

Scramble Mode

In reality, all of this volcanic ash nonsense was my fault. It all boils down to an innocuous statement I made at the beginning of our trip: "It's too bad we can't spend some time in London". Such is the power of my will.

Initially, I was really looking forward to a few jolly days in London, after which the airspace would surely re-open. This happy delusion was quickly shattered when, after 45 minutes on hold with Virgin Airlines, I was told that another flight to Joburg was not available until May 2. Gulp.

A fevered, panic-stricken brainstorming session ensued. The one airspace still open in Europe was Spain, so we, like several hundred thousand other stranded travelers, were attempting to get to the shining Mecca of Madrid-Barajas Aeropuerto. An EgyptAir flight from Madrid to Cairo to Jozi was booked, with the unfortunate task of actually getting to Madrid still remaining. Eurostar trains from London to Paris were the first to book up, followed by ferries from southern England to France and Spain. Since the most important thing was to, as Matt said, "get off the island", we booked a bus to Paris for Tuesday.

Matt's roommate was returning home that evening to study for exams, so we booked into a hotel in Bloomsbury, central London. The following day, Matt graciously accompanied us to the office where we hoped to book a train from Paris to Madrid. We were met by a line that wrapped half way around the block. It seems a few people had the same idea.

Marnie and I alternated standing in line, the other accompanying Matt and his laptop in the nearby Starbucks to research alternatives. Four hours later, the murmurs from the front of the line suggested that no trains to Madrid were available until Sunday.

With "Mike from Boston" we left the line, planning to book a rental car from Paris ($700/day!), his 90 year old grandparents to accompany us. They were unable to book passage to Paris for the next day, so we attempted to rent a car by ourselves, which the website would not allow. We stumbled to a pub, having wasted the previous six hours, no closer to getting to Madrid than when we started the day.

Plan B

Finally, on Saturday morning, the day of our flight, Marnie and I found out that it had been cancelled. We had expected as much, but at least now we knew for certain, and could proceed with Plan B. The previous night, we had used the hotel's internet access to contact a friend in the US (Gab rules!) to contact another friend in London, Matt (who also rules, like, totally). His email to us was quite cheekily titled "A Port in a Volcanic Storm". We had a place to crash for the night.

We returned the rental car at Heathrow, which had in the previous few days become something of a ghost town. Please consult any recent apocalyptic film for appropriate visual reference (28 Days Later, The Road, I Am Legend, etc.). The sheer absurdity of the situation was summed up nicely by a group of stranded Italians, singing a broken English version of "Hey Jude".

We took the shuttle from Hertz car rental to the Heathrow terminal, hoping to speak to Virgin about how to proceed, but the doors to the airport were blocked. The airlines had instructed passengers not to travel to the airport, but a handful of people stood outside the terminal anyway, luggage in hand, looking confused and desperate. We took the tube into Victoria Station in central London, then got the train to Matt's place in Pinge, southeast of the city center.

I have rarely been so happy to see someone in all my life (though I'm not much of a people person to begin with). While we had already entered scheming mode as to what to do next, not having the burden of finding a hotel was a huge relief. We crashed out the couch, inhaling obscene amounts of pizza, and decided to put aside any further travel plans for the evening. In retrospect, this was perhaps not the wisest decision

Darkening Skies

We should have known that things were taking a turn for the worse when Marnie started to get sick. We crashed out in our flat after the long drive from the highlands to Edinburgh, desperate for the old heater to kick in and chase away the increasingly chilly weather. That evening we managed dinner at Bella Pasta and a pint at Ensign Ewart before calling it a very early night. The next morning we heard about an Icelandic volcano disrupting air traffic in the north of the UK. Isn't that hilarious? Good thing we're flying out of London!

In the insuing days, we still managed to visit most of our old haunts (Bow Bar, Oxford Bar, Royal Mile Whiskies, etc.), but the task was accomplished through a hazy stupor. An excess of drink, accompanied by a shortage of sleep and warm clothing had caught up with us, and I became ill as well on our last day in our beloved adopted hometown.

The next day we made the long journey through the Scottish Borders, through northeast England down to Bedford, just north of London. We were rewarded for our endeavor by an encounter with a psychotic French Canadian parking attendant, who proceeded to tell us the entire circumstances of how he came to live in England, including his recent divorce. Thanks for the update, dude.

Bedford is a bit like a seaside resort town during the off season. Everything is very nice and lovely along the waterway, but the abandoned store fronts and gangs of shiftless teens hanging about make it all seem a bit dodgy. On weekends a number of quaint street markets draw in the the crowds, but by this point Marnie and I were in no mood for further vacationing. It seemed that volcano was still churning out ash, and as the airspace ban spread in breadth across continental Europe, so too the time approached ever closer to our flight time. We went to bed that night with the ban extended until 7 pm, just an hour and a half before our flight home.

Warrington Wedding/ Highland Fling

We set forth from Warwick Castle towards Warrington, the general region the wedding was taking place. We stayed at the Ram's Head Inn, a venerable old place with a pub/restaurant on the first floor and rooms upstairs. Having a pub downstairs has obvious advantages, except having been on the road half a day, it'd be nice if everyone just shut up. Luckily, they don't stay open that late.

The next day was James and Louise's wedding, which was lovely apart from the fact that the wedding was twenty minutes away from where we were staying, and the reception was a further twenty minutes away from that. This would prove problematic later, when the navigator might have fallen asleep (some would say passed out) with the road map in hand, our intrepid designated driver Marnie left to her own defenses.

I awoke to the sound of a slamming car door, as Marnie entered the gas station to ask for directions. We stopped several times, but the insistance that our road was clearly signposted was clearly crap. Crossing a bridge, I recalled our stroll down the river near our hotel the day previous, and slurred at Marnie to "follow the water". Yahtzee! We were home, albeit an hour later than anticipated.

The next morning we left early to meet our friends Manisha and Farquar in Lockailort. They have a small house out in the middle of nowhere in the western Highlands of Scotland, and the snaking journey through the hills left me feeling a bit green. Unfortunately, if you're not inclined to clamber about the hills, there's not much to do in the highlands apart from eat, drink and talk. We did all three, to excess, will insufficient spells of sleep in between. It was at least warm enough to sit outside, where the fighter jets that train in the area simultaneously entertain and frazzle the nerves, screaming low between mountain ranges.

Oxford and Warwick Castle

Before we recount the doom and gloom portion of our travels, I thought a review of our “planned” vacation is in order.

After flying out on Wednesday the 7th, we arrived the next day at Heathrow. Unfortunately, all of the night flights arrive around the same time, so getting through customs and waiting for a rental car was a bit of a process. Adding me as a driver would set us back another £90, so Marnie bore the unpleasant burden of being the sole driver. We headed straight for our night’s accommodation at the Tilbury Inn in Oxford. Upon arrival, we discovered the place was owned by ex-pat South Africans. I know- small world and all that.

We set off for town on a rather longer walk than had been promised. Oxford is like any other small college town, with the caveat that everything is several hundred years older. It has that young student vibe, intertwined with a sense of history from the gorgeous old buildings. We found Marnie shoes for the wedding at Clarks, raided the bookstore, then tucked in to some fish and chips at the Lamb and Flag pub before a few pints at the Turf Tavern. I really enjoyed my time in Oxford, and wish I had a day or two more to check out the scene.

The next day we set off for Warrington, just southwest of Manchester and the general region of the wedding we came to attend. We stopped at Warwick Castle on the way, just northwest of Oxford. The staff done period costumes and do demonstrations (archery, swordplay, etc.), and though the threats of being thrown in the dungeon get a bit tedious, the grounds are beautifully kept and I’m happy we stopped. The walk along the castle ramparts provides a stunning view, but the peacocks in the garden were my personal fav.

We're Back

I'm not exactly sure what language I should be speaking, which currency to use or which side of the road to drive on, but through some weird series of events we find ourselves back in Jozi. Under normal circumstances, an extended trip through London, Paris, Madrid and Cairo sounds lovely. However, when you've already been gone ten days and are bleeding time and money, it's a bit hard to appreciate the experience. In retrospect, we were significantly more fortuitous than some of our fellow travelers, but at the time the discomfort of continuous travel and the panic of not knowing what to do next is draining. I'll recount our experience in more detail later- for now I need to rest the exhausted, mushy bit between my ears.

Disruption in Service

So we're off to Britian for a wedding in Manchester, then up to Scotland to see friends. It's been cold and drizzly here in Jozi, so we should be well prepared for it. It'll be nice to stretch the legs a bit, and there's a whisky or ten with my name on it. See you in ten days.

Terreblanche

You may have heard some news coming out of RSA this last week (it showed up on CNN, anyway), so I figured an explainer was in order.

Eugene Terreblanche founded white supremacist group the AWB in the seventies, whose stated goal was an all white republic within South Africa. In 1993, the AWB attempted to disrupt the reconciliation talks that ended apartheid, both through demonstrations and militarily. After a failed invasion of a black militia’s territory, as well as a prison stint for attacking two black workers, Terreblanche and the AWB faded into the background.

Terreblanche was brutally murdered this weekend on his farm by two black workers. This occurs in the context of a court ruling banning the protest song “Shoot the Boer”. Boer is a derogatory term for Afrikaner (white) farmers. The song is being used by controversial ANC Youth League (ANCYL) president Julius Malema to drum up support for his nationalization plan, which involves seizure of (largely) white owned farms and mines by the government, similar to what happened in Zimbabwe.

While it appears Terreblanche’s murder was over a pay dispute, many argue that the singing of the song has been taken literally. Since 1994, many farmers have been attacked or killed. The ANCYL argues that the song is an important part of their apartheid era protest history, and is not meant to be taken at face value.

While I am generally never in favor of banning speech, Malema’s singing of the song now, in the context of current events, certainly constitutes hate speech. At the very least it is shockingly irresponsible. Though the AWB has vowed revenge for Terreblanche’s killing, I’m not too worried about some race war breaking out. The AWB is a marginalized fringe group, and before he got himself offed I had never heard of Terreblanche.

This all barely scratches the surface of the issue. I haven’t even started with Malema’s other alleged indiscretions, the whites who vow to leave the country if he ever becomes president, or land redistribution. When it comes to race in South Africa, nothing is simple.

Grub: Dining Out

The absolute best thing about going out to eat here is undoubtedly the cost. Back home, Marnie and I would go out to a proper sit down dinner once or twice a month. Here we go out two or three times a week.

At a chain type sit down place Marnie and I would usually spend $20, for a slightly more upscale bistro around $30. At the nicer steakhouses/ restaurants we might splurge on a bottle of wine and spend $50, but that would include starters and dessert as well. A standard tip is 10%.

In the US we have American Bistro fare (Applebees, Chili’s, Max & Ermas, etc) where you can guess what is on the menu without looking (wings, quesadillas, burgers, etc.). The same goes for RSA bistros. The menus can be lengthy and overwhelming, until you realize that the same ingredients are recombined in varying ways.

For example, on most menus you will find; chicken livers, calamari, feta, olives, haloumi, sun dried tomatoes, chorizo, bacon, pepadew peppers, Peri-Peri sauce, and most importantly, avocado. South Africans put avo, as they call it, on everything. These base ingredients are paired with others on salads, pastas, sandwiches and pizzas. Tack on steaks and you have a complete menu.

Many of the restaurants are absolutely enormous, particularly in malls. Due to the relatively cheap cost of labor, at off-peak times there are large numbers of staff standing around doing absolutely nothing. The ethic of “always look busy” seems to have escaped them and the volume of help on hand is no guarantee of speedy service.

South African "Humor"

As he arrived at work this morning, Marnie's friend Nedson is told that he needs to respond to an urgent message. He dials the telephone number, and asks for a G. Raff. The response?

"This is the Johannesburg Zoo, and you're about the twentieth person to fall for that today."

Enjoy your April Fool's Day!