Need an Injection of Chill?

Airports, hotels, rental car facilities, hustle and bustle; it’s what one experiences when traveling in the States on a regular basis as I do; sometime week after week.  The frustrations come frequently and the true comforts are rare.  Some weeks it seems everything is a hassle. 

Nelspruit, South Africa Airport

Recently, while rushing around in my rental car in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida I had a memory that made me smile.  It was four years ago.  I had flown from Atlanta, Georgia to Johannesburg, South Africa where I got a well needed night’s sleep at a lovely bed and breakfast.  The next day - relaxed and feeling the laid back African way slowly injecting itself into my veins - I arrived back at the Johannesburg airport where I boarded a flight to Nelspruit, South Africa.  From there I was to rent a car and drive into the Kruger National Park.  After landing among the lush hills of Nelspruit, I walked from the plane to the quaint airport smelling the recent rains and smiling knowing I was another step closer to Kruger. 

Once inside the airport I gathering my backpack from the carousel then walked past security to the open area of the Nelspruit airport which reminded me of a train station; a wide and long passageway with tall rounded ceilings housing a couple of shops, restaurants and the rental car windows.  I walked up to my rental car counter and formally greeted the gentleman behind the counter.  (In Africa it is proper to acknowledge and appropriately greet people before proceeding with business.)  I then handed the man my voucher which my South African booking agent had sent me via email showing I had prepaid for each activity, accommodation and transportation.   The guy at the rental car counter proceeded to punch some information into his computer then made mention that he didn’t show this reservation prepaid.  My shoulders slumped as my high from being in Nelspruit, so close to Kruger, receded thinking I was about to face a “situation”.   After commenting on that he took my driver’s license and punched a few more things into his computer then walked away from the counter.  He came back to the counter with keys which he handed me and said, “Your car is in slot C7.  I hope you will enjoy your stay in South Africa.”  I was kind of stunned.  I said, “What about the fact you don’t show my reservation prepaid?”  The man replied, “Miss Atkinson.  You have given me your voucher.  That concludes your responsibility.   I shall take that matter up with your booking agent.  Your only responsibility now is to relax and enjoy your holiday.”  And with that I was dismissed. 



Kruger National Park Entrance @ Malelane Gate

I stood there for several minutes in complete astonishment; almost let down as I had prepared for a battle that didn’t take place.  I had trained for the marathon I didn’t run.  I had… oh you get the point.  In the States that would have been a “situation” for sure.  In South Africa, it was dealt with in South African fashion.  It’s part of my great love for Africa.  Things are just handled; sorted, as they say.  Mountains aren’t made of mole hills.  In Africa I am reminded to chill and leave all of my high strung ways of travel far behind and simply take on my only responsibility of enjoying the day; enjoying my holiday. 

It’s been a long busy year.  Normally I spend Thanksgiving in Africa which didn’t happen this year.   I am in desperate need of my annual injection of African chill.  I am ready to be reminded of how to relax and enjoy my holiday! 

I think a spring trip is in my future….

Mad Air

Standing at baggage claim recently at the hectic Atlanta airport I was reminded of a day when I landed in Fort Dauphin, Madagascar on a flight that originated in the capital city of Antananarivo.  I had been in country for a week already up in the northern sections of the country tracking various species of lemurs and was then headed down to the southern part of the country to Berenty; one of the few places one can find ring-tailed lemurs living wild.

 

I boarded a Madagascar Air - formally known as Madair - regional airplane filled to max capacity of about fifty people.  We flew over the mountains and coast of this island nation before descending to our destination.  As we got closer to the runway I saw a small building I assumed was the airport.  From my window seat I saw people running towards the airport from all points of the compass.  The airport seemed to only consist of a lone runway and a single building.

 

After the plane came to a stop, a staircase was wheeled to the plane.  Once down the stairs and across the hot tarmac the passengers were directed to an open room inside the beige cinder block structure to await our luggage.  There was a raggedly dressed man doing construction work on the inside of that dirt floored room.  He stopped what he was working on when we entered the room and walked to our plane.  There was a second man in the room who was sound asleep lying on scaffolding on the far side of the room.  The other man returned from the plane with one piece of luggage.  He dragged it lazily into the room we were all standing in and call out the tag number.  Once that piece of luggage was claimed he went back out to the plane to get another.  The process of shuffling back out to the plane to get one piece of luggage at a time, bring it into that room and call out the tag number was repeated numerous times almost in slow motion.  All the while his co-worker slept on the scaffolding occasionally snoring causing the room full of amazed tourist to break out in laughter as we awaited our luggage. 

 

Finally, I claimed my backpack and proceeded on my journey.  Ten days later I was once again transported to this airport; a term I use for this place only because airplanes do take off and land there.  I was a bit early for my flight back to Antananarivo and literally it was me and two other people - also tourist – there; no one else, not a worker in site; no ticket agent, no gate agent, no air traffic controller, not even the man napping on the scaffolding was to be found.  After about thirty minutes of conversing with the other tourists, a loud whistle sounded.  At first the other tourists and I weren't sure what the sound was for; incoming scud missile perhaps – ducking was considered, even running for cover.  But within minutes of the whistle sounding people ran to the building from various places surrounding us, and then low and behold we saw a plane come into view and land.  The local people had come from the surrounding village to work the flight, so to speak, and were advised of the plane’s pending arrival via the whistle.  After the people on that flight were off loaded, their luggage gathered one at a time and handed over to the next batch of tourist, we were checked in and loaded then off to our next destination.  The villagers then returned to their daily life until the next alarm sounded advising of the arrival of the next plane filled with passengers. 

 

The experience makes even Hartsfield Jackson International Airport – the world’s busiest – seem docile and orderly.