The journey home

These final two blogs are a long time in coming but I wanted to properly close off my Radical Journey blog despite the fact that it has been over 15 days or so that since I last touch African soil (or terminal cement).

The journey home was quite a long one and rather epic since everything that could've gone wrong seemed to, in fact, go that way, or so it felt at the time (and even now). Many of you know this story but for the sake of proper blog record keeping (mainly for my own sake since I don't think people are checking this blog anymore) I wanted to tell it one last time.

Our flight was supposed to leave the PMB airport around 8. So we got up early, packed up the rest of the manse and loaded into the LD's and Thandi's cars and headed to the airport. We were the biggest excitement that airport has seen in quite some time I am sure. When we were dealing with our first issue (the "overweight" luggage) there were about 5 guys behind the counter trying to help us. A little unnecessary. It was quite humorous, or would've been if we weren't all emotional and tried and trying to figure out how to get on to the little plane. What happen was that apparently since we didn't have our international tickets yet, and thus we had "no proof" that we were flying internationally and not domestic. Our luggage weight for the international trips were fine, but the domestic weight is lower. So we had to pay. About $150 (over R1000). Crazy.

I knew that when the PMB to Jo'Burg flight attendant put a breakfast box on my fold out tray that read "Beef" that this was going to be a hectic day... or three days… "Beef" is also a bad omen at 8 o'clock in the morning.

The second hiccup came in Jo'Burg. We were leaving the country with everyone. Seriously. Well, that's how it felt and I don't think that I am too far off since it was THE day after the World Cup was over. While we were trying to check into our flight, we met our first challenge. We had no idea where our line ended. Crawling around people with carts full of luggage, we finally decided to join one we thought might be the one. It was wasn't. After not moving for about 15 minutes, I finally jumped out of the line and found that our line was in fact not the one we were standing in. Our line was actually not that hectic and a lot shorter now that our flight left in about an hour. I will say that even though we should've tried to sort this mess out sooner that we weren't the last ones in line. And we were literally next in line when they told us. They overbooked. What? Someone from Kenya airlines sent us (well Kyle) to another 2 hour line to try and figure out what the heck to do now. In the meanwhile, the rest of us sat on the floor and watched as a man (who didn't make the flight) at the ticket counter cursed out the staff. Fun. We eventually got another flight – leaving at 12:45am. So we killed over 12 hours in Jo'Burg. Again. We actually spent a lot of time in the domestic side of the airport since the food is cheaper there and it was less packed. So a few hours later we found ourselves on the floor, not far away from the benches were we slept our first night in South Africa. It was an ironic full circle.

We had learned our lesson the first time. There was no way we were going to miss our flight this time. So we got in line early, which was a good thing to because after everyone's bags were wrapped in plastic the counter woman sorted out all our tickets since the Kenya desk still missed important things that could've complicated things along the way. She was a champ for sure and she made our trip smoother. I hate to think that things could've gotten worse along the way. After an hour of processing our stuff, we were cleared to go. So we uneasily bid farewell to our luggage which looked like it was ready for some type of white trash Christmas and border the plane. (Kyle and I actually said at this point that we weren't sure if we would ever see that luggage again… which is partly true).

On the plane from Jo'burg to Nairobi, I had my real first taste of culture shock. Europeans (who were mostly Netherlands fans returning home from the games) are a lot "colder" than South Africans. For example, I was trying to get my carry-on loaded onto the overhead bin and it was practically falling on my head. The guy behind me, instead of being a gentlemen, was clearly annoyed that I was taking so long to get out of the way. Haibo. Compared to the awesome South African lady who helped us finalize all our tickets, this guy was a real tool.

This is the third problem, although we didn't realize it at the time. We got to Nairobi at some unknown hour and had to immediately get in line for our next flight. Little did we know that the air vouchers that we were given in Jo'Burg to redeem our wasted, overbooked tickets, could only be taken care of in Kenya. We had no idea but we also had no time. So we got on the plane and left

Next came Amsterdam our fourth problem, well I guess maybe 3.5 because this relates to that last one. After we got off, we had to search the airport for a KLM desk that had our prearranged hotel reservations. It took us (mainly Kyle again) a super long time to figure that out. Since we all had this hate relationship with Kenya airlines we were all really nervous that we weren't going to get our rooms in Amsterdam. And after two days of traveling and of being exhausted, that would've been the worst thing ever especially since our plane didn't leave until 11am the next day (Our flight got there at 4pm). But things worked out and we actually got to stay in a nice hotel with meals included. However, before we left we were literally sent in a circle forever as we tried to find a KLM desk that could help us with these vouchers from Kenya air (who didn't pick up their phones). Ugh. So eventually we said "forget it" and went to the hotel. (Thus I now have an Amsterdam stamp in my passport although we only saw the fields by the hotel, which is still sweet. But strangely enough, I was on the only one my team who didn't get an "exit stamp." Seriously. We all went to the same guy at passport control and he stamped all theirs. But when he got to mine all he did was flip through my book, see my Israel stamps and said "Shalom" and gave my book back to me. No stamp. According to my passport, I am still there…. But also here. What?)

And then came the last bump in the this "road" of traveling home. Our flight and everything went wonderfully (we were on a huge KLM flight and it was so nice especially compared to other planes we had been on) and when we got to O'Hare Airport only Gabby's nicely still-wrapped luggage came down the shoot at baggage claim. It would all eventually sprinkle in over the next few days, showing up at JPUSA, and I am so grateful for that, but at the time. It seemed like the worst thing ever.

So by the time we arrived at the guest flat on Wilson Ave, we were all spent, and generally disappointed about everything that had happened. It's been a few weeks since those three traveling days and looking back, all I can say is, I am so glad that is over…