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Breakfast, then a swim in the pool, then a float in the ocean. It’s still not quite low tide so the wave action was pretty fun bobbing up and down. We saw three boats go by where the method of propulsion was one guy with an oar in the middle and two guys on either end with long poles pushing. Seemed like it would be slow going in fairly bouncy surf but they were making pretty good progress. Bobbing in the ocean is fun. Every once in awhile a good sized wave comes along and gives you quite a lift (or dunks your head if you’re not ready)
We had lunch in the bar again. Marion stuck with the assortment from yesterday but I ventured out into a club sandwich which was actually pretty good. Our kitty friend didn’t come to find us to say goodbye. Too bad.
About 2:30 I noticed Anwari’s father walk into the lobby. So it was going to be them after all. He was smiling and laughing just like before. Pretty much everything is funny to this guy. It turned out it was just him. We said “no son today”? And he said “yes, the sun is out today, not like before”. Still having communication problems. Although he figured it out later and told us his son was in school. We asked what he was studying but it didn’t register and we gave up. The extent of our communication was his naming the towns and repeating it until we repeated it back correctly – more laughing. One town’s name translated to Jack Fruit which he told us repeatedly. This was apparently VERY important but we’re not sure why.
It’s a beautiful sunny day so we actually got to see the scenery this time. I tried to capture the feel of it in photos from the van and Marion took some video. These drives and our walks through Stone Town have been our only real experience with the locals. Lots of people out and about. The men tend to be sitting in front of buildings together talking. The women are taking care of babies, carrying things to and fro on their heads, out in the garden etc. I didn’t notice that but Marion did. The mid range children were also helping. My favorite was the cow carts. Small wooden carts attached to a scraggly cow carrying an 8-15 year old child and some kind of item. They look like fun. I’m sure they’re not. Especially for the cow.
The desk staff had kept telling us at the hotel that it was an hour to the airport. We knew it had taken an hour and a half to get there from the hotel 3 days ago and the airport was farther south. Sure enough it was an hour and a half. But we were still there in plenty of time. About 2.5 hours early. Porters came out to the van and put our bags on luggage carts which they then wheeled about 15 feet to the ticket counter and asked for a tip, fairly aggressively. We didn’t have any small bills left and were trying to abandon our Tanzanian money so we gave him a 10,000 shilling bill, which is about 7 bucks. He didn’t even blink at it and pointed to his compadre who had ‘helped’ and asked for a tip for him as well. Marion whipped another 10,000 on him without really thinking about it just to get rid of him. We didn’t really realize what we had done until afterwards. Anyway, we proceeded to try to figure out what was going on at the ticket counter (which if it had been a plank on concrete blocks it wouldn’t have looked much different).
Basically you can go two places from Stone Town — Dar Es Salaam in Tanzania or Nairobi in Kenya. We got in the Nairobi line. They checked us in, which was a good sign, but only sent our bags to Nairobi. I figured we had to claim them there (and asked and they said yes). From there you head around behind the counter (about 10 feet) to identify your bags. I just handed these to you but ok. This guy wants a tip, too. Unbelievable. He literally took the bag we had placed on the scale at the counter, turned around, walked 5 feet maybe after we had walked around the counter and said ‘are these your bags’. We had our wits about us at that point and ignored him. Then noticed the sign that said soliciting for tips was illegal and you should ignore them if they ask you. Information that would have been useful out front but oh well. One thing the guy did say was don’t bother with the exit tax. O—kay. So we went up to the immigration desk and showed our documents and we were stamped and sent through. So ok guess we don’t need to pay the exit tax. We saved $60 while spending about $14. So we’re ahead
So now it’s x-ray. The Italian guy ahead of us is being told he can’t bring his lighter through. He is incredulous. What? What do you mean? Why not? The woman only repeats “not allowed” to whatever he says. He finally acquiesces. When was the last time you flew buddy? Have they EVER let you through with a lighter since 1968? Sheesh.
So now we are at the gate along with a wide selection of teeming masses of various nationalities. At odd intervals there is an announcement that sounds a lot like the teachers in the Peanuts TV specials, first in Swahili, then English, not that it matters from a comprehension standpoint. We catch the word Nairobi. It’s still 2 hours before our scheduled flight but who knows. So I try to ask. I think she’s telling me it’s a different flight. We find a few other English speakers in the same boat and we all agree, not this time. But a bit stress inducing.
In the process of trying to figure that out we got talking to an English couple. He was a photographer. They told us a few of their safari stories including how they were sitting in the truck when a lion started chasing a herd of cape buffalo, forcing them to run right towards them. The buffalo went on either side of them, followed by the lions in pursuit. Sounded pretty exciting.
The woman described her experience in the women’s restroom. There was no seat on the toilet, and no door on the stall. But there were at least 3 attendants in there and they still wanted a tip.
There are more random announcements for flights to Dar es Salaam along the way but finally various people we know are going to Nairobi respond to the latest announcement so we join the queue. The time is about right and the plane is from the right airline so let’s try get on and see what happens. They take our ticket so we figure we’re ok. And lo and behold, we end up in Nairobi as hoped.
So now we’ve got about two and half hours in Nairobi. And we need to 1) figure out where the hell our luggage went and 2) figure out where the hell the plane to London is. There is no information. We’re at Gate 3 which we know from last time is down at one end. So we head down the corridor following the sign for transfers and baggage claim not sure which one we should be going to. But at Gate 6 a dilemma. It’s left to baggage claim and straight to transfers. Baggage claim appears to be through immigration. I know that’s wrong. We don’t want to get involved with passports.
We see a desk marked Transfers but it’s Kenya Airways, which we aren’t flying, so we figure it’s the wrong thing. We find a help desk and try to explain the situation (English is not her native tongue) and she sends us down to Gate 11 at the other end (there are 14 gates total). Gate 11 has a transfer station with a bunch of airlines listed, none of which is British Airways but we wait in line and ask. It turns out to be the right place. They get us our boarding passes for London, Dallas and Portland but the next question is “have you transferred your bags”? No, we don’t know how. Gate 6 (the place we skipped before) then come back with your claim tickets.
So back to Gate 6 where we wait in line some more. We finally get to the counter and explain we’re trying to get our bags transferred and she says sweetly, “didn’t you check them all the way through from Zanzibar”? Why no, no we didn’t. It did not appear to be an option. In fact I told her they wouldn’t let us which I suppose technically isn’t true, we didn’t ask. But anyway, she sighed and filled out some forms and told us to come back in an hour and they’d try to find the bags and give us new claim tickets.
So back down to Gate 14 for some food (the only place we’d seen). We had an hour so we figured we’d sit down. And that’s about how long it took. All sit down meals in Africa take at least an hour. Whatever we do in the states to make food quickly, that technology has not reached Africa. But it killed about the right amount of time so back to Gate 6 where there’s a bit of a panic going on. The flight to Dar es Salaam is ‘closing’ (which means they won’t let you on) and there’s a big group trying to get their transfers done. And a few more panicked people waiting in line. The line is edging closer and closer to the counters and filling in the spaces in front rather than waiting in line. People are doing their best to edge around each other. I had to deploy a little ‘backpack’ a few times to try to hold back the tide. (My backpack is fairly big and I sometimes turn around as if I’m looking for something and whack people who need a lesson in personal space and queue protocol. It’s very effective.) One woman got by me but since we still had time we didn’t get too panicked. Two people out of a larger tour didn’t get on the Dar flight, nor did a few of the others. We were very glad this did not happen to us and while we felt for the poor souls who were now going to spend their evening in Nairobi airport, we couldn’t help them so we moved on. Our trip karma continues to hold.
They had found our bags, and seemed quite pleased (and perhaps a bit surprised) about it, as were we. We weren’t sure we were going to see them again (we’re still not sure they’ll make it all the way home). So now back to Gate 11 to confirm with British Air that *they* have the bags. If nothing else we’re getting good exercise (and working up a sweat, it’s hot). We’re leaving from Gate 10 so a short walk to the gate. But wait, I was going to buy a T-shirt since I have no other trinkets from the trip. That’s at Gate 7 so another walk down the terminal. We’re passing people we remember from previous walks now and in fact we ran into both the Dutch couple and the two guys who went off to see the gorillas from Elephant Pepper Camp as we wandered the terminal.
We get the shirt and after cleverly using the restroom before heading into the gate area (lesson learned from last time), we head in. There’s a bag screening. Not surprising. Then you take your bag off that conveyer go around a corner and do it again through another machine. No idea what that was about. They didn’t trust the first people? Training? Who knows? But after the second screening they want to look in my bag so I get pulled aside. Marion didn’t realize it and headed on and they sent her around the corner so she didn’t know where I was. A fairly cursory look through my various electronics and I was through and found her.
They’ve shunted us off to one side, well away from the actual boarding gate. I guess the first class and business class people get the close seats. And the seats are facing away from the gate so we’re constantly looking over our shoulder to try to figure out what’s going on. There’s a Bollywood soap opera on the TV and it’s BLARING. We can’t see it but we can hear it. (They can hear it in Zanzibar is my guess). Horrible acting. This woman keeps repeating “but I didn’t do anything wrong” for ten minutes. After awhile I was thinking, whether you did or didn’t, I’m prepared to have you executed. It’s too loud to read and the biggest problem is you can’t hear any announcements, not that they seem to be making any, only for other airlines and flights.
Suddenly at one point we hear ‘last call’ and people seem to get up en masse. Guess it’s time to go so we head down with the herd. We discover our tickets are the window and middle seat and someone has the aisle. This is never good. The first rule of long-haul flight is you must own the aisle. Especially on an 11pm flight where everyone is going to fall asleep. But no and our London/Dallas flight is the same.
So despite knowing I need to stay hydrated I’m holding off drinking water to avoid having to wake this woman up and climb over her to go to the bathroom. But it’s an 9 hour flight. It’s gonna happen. First time she doesn’t move at all. She doesn’t get up. Just pulls her feet back a little. Ok, if that’s the way you want it. The people in front have put their seats back so there’s no room. I give her a good butt swipe and escape into the aisle. Marion does too as long as we’re bothering her. About 2 minutes after we get back and do the same maneuver in reverse, she gets up and goes herself. What the hell?!
I manage to get 3 or 4 hours of sleep but after breakfast we have to go again. She’s at least awake this time. And manages to slide her legs into the aisle so it’s not quite as bad as last time. Is it so hard to stand up? And again, about 5 minutes later, she gets up and goes. She was not our favorite person.
But the flight actually went reasonably fast because we slept through part of it. I watched Cars 2 (meh) and Hangover 2 (meh) to kill the rest of the time. It’s early morning. 4-5 am as we fly over Europe and the lights are pretty amazing. When you fly over the US, there’s the occasional town you can see lit up. But with the density of the population in Europe there were lights everywhere. And they really highlighted the streets. It was cool to see. You could see all the little towns and their layout. It was like looking at a map.
We get off the plane in London and now the next problem. We’re so early for our Dallas flight it isn’t on the board yet. So we don’t know what terminal we should be going to. We finally figure out there’s an ‘all connections’ terminal (the main one) where we can basically hang out until they decide what gate. It certainly was nice to fairly easily find a person who spoke good English and could actually tell us what was going on. We had breakfast at a cafe called Giraffe which seemed appropriate and wandered the shops a bit.
We went into a London 2012 Olympics store and discovered the new Olympic mascots. Whose idea were these freaks? They are seriously ugly and very odd looking, with one big eye. There is no way to tell what they are supposed to be. They’re likely to scare small children. They are especially freakish dressed as Bobbies or Beefeaters. And no doubt millions were spent on the design.
Marion bought an English newspaper (I talked her out of buying The Sun, a Murdoch rag). She’s brought along the pounds she had from our last trip to London a long time ago and managed to spend them all. Even after all that though we still had 3 hours to kill and 2 hours before they’d even say what gate so we couldn’t even mosey over (since there’s likely a tram involved). There’s supposed to be Wi-Fi but I can’t seem to get onto it and I’m sure it costs money anyway so we’ll connect in Dallas assuming we have time. The flight time on the Portland flight was moved up 2 hours (no complaints) so it might be a little tight.
It’s finally time to go. We’re well into the twenties of hours we’ve been traveling and are getting pretty punchy. But we manage to hang on. And the French guy on the aisle at least has the manners to get up when we need to use the bathroom.
We were a little late leaving but they were able to make up the delay en route, which was the good news. The bad news was that as we were in row 49, we were near the back to get through passport control. So as time is ticking away, we’re slowing moving through the line like we’re waiting for the Matterhorn at Disneyland. Up one way, then back, then up again. But we get through with about an hour to go. Next step, we’ve got to get our bags
The bags are already coming out by the time we get there. But ours aren’t showing up. After the trauma in Nairobi we’re beginning to wonder. And now the question is, what if they don’t show? It’s not the normal baggage claim. Do we have to wait here for the bags so they can clear customs? If we do we’ll miss our plane. But if we don’t, will we ever see them again? As we were pondering this, we see one. Huzzah! Then the next two. We’re past that hurdle.
So now customs. We took a couple of beef sticks with us for safari emergency food. We’ve got one left which Marion dutifully declared on her customs form. Bad idea. We’re now trundled off to the ‘must be inspected’ line, behind the people with the two dog kennels and the whining dogs. So another 15 minutes to work through that and now on to bag recheck. That goes quickly and we’ve got about 40 minutes to make the plane. But where is it? Terminal C. Where are we? Terminal D. C is on the other side of the airport and we have to take the train. (Apparently Texans are alphabetically challenged since the E terminal is between D and C.)
But no worries, the trains come every few minutes. We get to terminal E, then the second E, then the first C (we’re the 2nd C) and the train stops. After a few minutes they announce a mechanical problem. Luckily, we’re in the right terminal so we can walk it. It’s just a bit of a hike. They are boarding the plane as we walk up but we’ve made it. Hopefully the bags did too.
We are pretty much zombies at this point but we arrive in Portland, and after heading the wrong way in the terminal (a clear indication of our mental state, this is, after all, our home airport), we finally make our way to baggage claim where we discover that our bags have in fact made it and my friend Les is waiting to pick us up. The trip karma comes through for the whole trip. It must be clean living. So okay, Les had to bring his pickup truck because the car is in the shop. It was a bit of a tight squeeze since it was raining and we couldn’t put the bags in back. But at that point we weren’t complaining. Heck we were barely conscious.
The kitties are happy to see us. Walter was even waiting.
So what did we learn from this adventure? Well, the first thing we learned was we’re old enough now that 30+ hour plane trips are not what the doctor ordered. Next time, maybe a day or two stop in London or Amsterdam. The second thing we learned was we don’t need to be afraid to go to more exotic locations. We can handle it (as long as it’s well planned like this was). So maybe we have a few more trips like this in us before we’re done. The third thing we learned is we haven’t gotten so old we aren’t willing to try new things and push ourselves a bit. And good things happen when we do.
People talk about Africa getting under your skin. That once you go you will want to go again and again. As they were telling me that and I was sitting in Africa listening to it, I was thinking, yeah, maybe, but I don’t think so. But now after being home for a bit, writing this log, looking at the pictures, I think maybe it has taken hold. It’s a pretty amazing place. The variety of animals. The wide open sky. The people. I do want to go back. The ridiculous amount of time it takes to get there and how unpleasant that was is still pretty fresh in my mind. But that will fade. And when it does, I suspect the urge to return will grow stronger. But even if we never do, we’ll always have the memory of this trip. And it’s an awfully good one.
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