Wednesday to Thursday: London to Cape Town

tAt the Concorde Lounge at Heathrow, I was able to find out what Stacy wanted when she called me. An exchange of emails told me that Lee Ray, my designated fellow gentleman host, was leaving the ship in Cape Town - no reason was given and I didn't ask: some breach of etiquette perhaps - and was being replaced by Heinz, another of Stacy's regulars. I wondered if his personality would be manifested in 57 flavors. After a shower and shave, all compliments of British Air, and after finishing "Losing Julia," which I loved - thank you Peggy; the book is a lovely story wrapped around real wisdom - I boarded a 757 for Cape Town. The twelve hour flight was uneventful except for two young couples, each traveling with a baby, who had seats on each side of the plane just in front of me. The babies cried, of course, but after a great dinner and another pill, I went right to sleep and, despite turbulence that woke me occasionally, I managed about five hours on my/in my pod. The steward, who smelled vaguely of sweat covered by deodorant, woke ma an hour and a half before landing with orange juice, Greek yogurt and a complete English breakfast, including the essential tea. Outside, the landscape was bare and barren (are they the same?), reddish brown, with jagged lumps of mountains in the background. It looked ancient and foreboding and I wondered as I often do when in the air how people crossed and/or survived under such circumstances. And what drove them to such a landscape in the first place. As we neared Cape Town, the landscape changed, becoming somewhat more fertile, with crops planted in rows and occasional trees. Getting through immigration and customs was easy although the immigration lady couldn't seem to understand that although I had flown into South Africa, I didn't need a ticket back home. She wanted the details of my itinerary, all the way back to Baltimore. I was uneasy holding up the line behind me, and very relieved when my second bag finally arrived at baggage claim. (I always wonder when returning to Baltimore why the US is the only place where a traveler must pay for a luggage cart.) I found my driver, holding a big sign with my name on it and was surprised to see a submarine-looking trailer behind his SUV into which he stuffed my bags. There were many communities of corrugated tin shanties along the road in from the air;port, punctuated by tall transformer poles with many wires radiating down from their tops. They looked like so many May poles marching across the fields.
Everything went smoothly until my hotel, which despite my voucher that clearly indicated a paid reservation, hadn't expected me and hadn't been paid by the intermediary in New York. I had some tea while the desk tried to sort his out but in the end, I had to sign a Visa charge for 1500 Rand, about $200.00, which they said they would refund one New York came through. I wasn't happy about this but the room is nice and I was desperate to lie down. After a short rest, I tried a walk but got only so far as an ATM machine for some Rand, and a grocery store for a big bottle of water before giving up in the searing heat - about 95 degrees - and returned to the hotel bar for a much needed gin and tonic. I also tried to post this update but after buying internet time, I, and several hotel personnel who tried, failed to make a connection. No connection. Isn't that the story of our times? Johann, the hotel's business manager, a young stocky Boer with straight, Dutch boy hair down to his shoulders, asked me to try again tomorrow. So, until tomorrow, then. (I've written this all down in long hand and discovered that after so many years composing on my word processor, writing is difficult. Oh, and I forgot my outlet adapter for charging up my camera, a could-be disaster. Fortunately the hotel had one, charged to my account. Maybe I'll use up that $200.00 after all. Stay tuned.