Our final day was to be a nice casual relaxed affair. We had an early 07:30 farewell breakfast.
Utter glee radiated through the group when we discovered pancakes were on the
menu!! I’m talking about tasty crepes here. I happily gorged myself on the
stodgy goodness, alternating between my usual fresh OJ & sugar filling, and
Nutella. Nom nom nom. I proudly was the epitome of restraint, only went back
for third helpings and unselfishly left the last pancake for Kirsten
(you’re welcome hun!). With breakfast
done and dusted it was time to bid farewell to everyone, bearhugs all round and
invitations to come visit plus promises to do this all again were made. At this
stage I should warn folks that I’ll be chasing up each and every one of these,
mwhahahaha!!
The sun was shining and the final pool beckoned. My Durban
to Jo’burg flight was not until 16:30, so a morning of chillaxing and final sun
soakage was decided upon. First little shot Karma threw at me was an
unregistered blip on my radar. Received an email saying that my first flight
had been delayed until 17:30 – all good, no reason to panic, being the anal
paranoid traveler that I am, I had left 3hrs layover in Jo’burg before my next
connection, so even with that reduced to 2hrs that was more than enough time.
Despite being just 100m from the beach the idea of getting
covered in sand before boarding three flights home was not very appealing. Plus
honestly I just simply wanted to veg – had three glorious weeks of rest and relaxation and one final day of the same was necessary before returning home.
So spent the morning lazing by the pool in glorious sunshine with Francois and LaLuxe’s cute
little Jack Russell, Trompie. Cab was ordered for us by the guesthouse for
14:30 as we figured we’d grab a late lunch at the airport.
At 14:00 we bid goodbye to the sun and donned our traveling garb. One last sneaky peek at WiFi revealed two more delayed departure
emails from our airline Kulula; the latest of which did not have us arriving into
Jo’burg until 22:00 – which was 80mins after our London flight was due to
depart. Shiiiiiiiiiiiit!! Right, off to the airport we go and let’s see if this
mess can’t be sorted. Really don’t think my boss would appreciate me ringing him
Thursday morning going “Ahm, I’m still in Africa, sorry!”. Thank fook I took
out travel insurance, surely there’s other flights that we can get to Jo’burg
that will allow us to connect with our second flight. That’s the last
time I’m going to fly with an airline that sounds like a liqueur!!
Taxi arrives bang on time, driver is a very friendly chap with a huge
boombox system in his boot. He offers us his business card but we let him know
that we’re heading back to Ireland and England respectively and unfortunately won’t
be in need of it. While stuck in an extremely long traffic tailback he informs us that he has
all the mobile connectors in case we have phones that need charging. Francois
popped his iPhone in to give it some more juice just because the opportunity
was there rather than out of necessity. (You can see where this is going right?
Karma knocking again, very gently and unsuspectingly). Do we mind if he puts on
some tunes? No not at all, go wild – might as well make use of that beast in
the boot, and he does. Finally the tailback abates and we make unimpeded
progress to the airport. The driver helps us unload our bags and while I pay
him, Francois spies luggage trolleys and runs off to acquire one so we don’t
have to hoist up the rucksacks unnecessarily. Say goodbye to the driver and he
wishes me a most blessed flight. That’s a first, why thank you sir, and you have
a good day too.
As we enter the terminal building and start making our way to
the Kulula desks Francois suddenly stops dead and looks at me in horror “My
phone!”. Shiiiiiit! Yup, it’s still attached to the charger in the taxi. He dashes outside and frantically tries to
spot our driver. Sadly the taxi has left and after waiting about 10mins to see if
perhaps he’d spotted the mobile and circle back, it became apparent that that
ray of hope was unfounded. What to do next! Francois made his way to a guy at
the Customs desk and explained the situation asking if he could use the
guy’s phone to call the guesthouse and see if they could contact the taxi.
Ringing the number for LaLuxe as listed on the internet just gave us a recorded
message saying the number was not in use. Shiiiiiit! Why oh why didn't we politely accept the business card the driver had offered us earlier! Suddenly we had a lightbulb
‘ding!’ moment. We could ring Francois’ mobile using mine and perhaps the taxi
driver would answer it. Multiple calls later and no, that also turned out to be
an unfounded hope. I guess the pounding music being piped from the radio may
have been too loud. At this time I think I should point out that the iPhone
cover also contained all Francois’ bank and credit cards (not to bizarrely
mention a Kasabian concert ticket for December!) – hence the extreme urgency in
trying to locate the taxi.
Meanwhile I figured that while losing all his stuff
was a rotten disaster we still had the impending issue of not being able to get home.
I made my way to the Kulula ticket office where three harassed looking ladies
were dealing with some very irate South Africans. When it came to my turn, I gently explained that we had connections in Jo’burg that evening that we really
had to make if at all possible. A customer to my left started getting very loud
and aggressive when the Kulula staff suggested a train as a possibility; I
meanwhile just smiled at my attendant and waited patiently while she looked at
my BA booking to Heathrow and made some calls. Mercifully she put me and
Francois on the standby list of three different flights, one for BA and two with Kulula,
and told us to pop over to the check-in desks and see if they could accommodate
us. I thanked her profusely – that seemed to go a lot easier than I expected. I
had been having nightmare visions of having to pay excessive amounts of money to book an
alternative flight and deal with travel insurance companies. Politeness
definitely gets you a long way! At this point Francois mentioned that he always
has problems when flying – friggin’ hell now you tell me! Note to self do not
travel on the same day/flight as Francois in future, hahaha!
Managed to get two standby places on the BA flight and
while waiting to board, I contacted Kirsten to explain our plight and asked if
she could get in touch with the guesthouse directly on our behalf. In the meantime
Francois managed to bang off an email to LaLuxe as well. At this rate the poor
place was going to be inundated with frantic requests. Boarded the BA flight
absolutely famished as in all the excitement we hadn’t had any time for lunch.
Luckily there was an in-flight service and I opted for the free chicken sandwich on
offer (oh yes living dangerously, you see I didn’t realize I was in Karma’s bad
books at this stage).
Arrived into Jo’burg and gathered our bags. Found the nearest
WiFi spot and logged on. Kirsten had contacted me saying that she finally reached the receptionist at LaLuxe and the taxi had been tracked down; they would return the
phone to the guesthouse the next day. That worked out great as Jim and Sue were leaving
to return to the UK and would be able to bring the phone with them. Job!! Francois
also had an email from the guesthouse pretty much saying the exact same thing. Huge
sigh of relief. All seemed cushty. Francois was one jammy sod! Started making
my way to Terminal A with our bags when Francois was like “Woah! Where are you
going?”. “Ahm, Terminal A, duh!”. Turned out that while both of our flights
were arriving into London at the same time, we were leaving from different terminals. Great! Bid each other farewell, best of luck
and headed off on our separate ways to Heathrow.
Got to the check-in desks and saw that I had to hang around for about 40mins before I could check in my bag (story of my life on this
trip!). Started to feel a cold, clammy sensation come over me and felt a wee bit light-headed.
Chalked that feeling down to having not really eaten much all day, apart from the
chicken sandwich, and breakfast. Spied a drinks machine and grabbed a bottle of
lemonade. Sat down on my luggage trolley (coz I didn’t have the energy to stand)
and waited for check-in to open. Deposited
my bag, passed through security and made a beeline for the nearest toilet.
There I proceeded to puke my guts up, completely regretting my decision for
taking that damn chicken sandwich. (Oh hello there Karma, so nice of you to
finally pop by).
Feeling rough as, but at least in no danger of imminent spewing I made
my way to the departure lounge, found my boarding gate and waited for the
flight to board. Mercifully the plane boarded quickly and being at the rear of
the plane I was among the first group to board. Unfortunately they kept us on
the gangway for quite some time as the attendants were sorting stuff. Again I
began to feel a wee bit iffy. I was definitely going to need to use the
washroom facilities and pronto! Are they open before the plane takes off? I can’t remember!! Once I got to the plane I
asked the male attendant who was checking my boarding card if the restrooms
were available as I was feeling unwell. He gave me a worried look, took me to
one side and inquired what exactly the problem was – turned out he was not an
attendant but the friggin’ pilot and was not too keen on letting a sick person
on the flight (especially with all the health scares that are currently going
on in Africa). I looked at him incredulously and in my most reassuring of tones
I tried to convince him it was merely food poisoning, dodgy chicken, and while
I appreciated the third degree and how he had to do it for the sake of the other
passengers, I really, REALLY needed the washroom, like now. I darted away
from him and locked myself into the loo. Yet more chicken remnants – who knew a
little sandwich could go so far. I looked at myself in the mirror, a frightening reflection greeted me. Gone was the holiday colour I had slowly acquired, and instead I came face-to-face with a ghastly mug displaying a pale
pallor with a sheen of perspiration and the beginnings of dark circles under their
eyes (no wonder the pilot nearly didn’t let me on). When I finally emerged
there was a flight attendant waiting for me who said she’d keep an eye on
me for the flight, at the captain’s request. Great!
For the next 11 hours I
must have frequented the bathroom at least every half hour. I became close
hugging friends with the toilet bowl. Seriously, I wasn’t shy about it at all.
We were very intimate by the end of the flight. I didn’t bother to turn on my
on-board entertainment system as all I could focus on was my stomach and trying
to figure out if I had enough time to get up and crawl over the sleeping passenger who
had the aisle seat and reach a vacant restroom before puking. The airsick bag
came with me everywhere on the flight, and I dreaded the fact that I might
actually need to use it. Worst flight of my life!!!! If I could have slept it
might have helped, but because I was awake the entire time, I was always conscious
of the urge to get sick. Disaster!
Landed in Heathrow, having had no on-board breakfast as I
could not stomach it - was as weak as a kitten with not an ounce of energy.
Somehow I managed to gather my bag and push the trolley through T5 and started
making my way to T2. Came over a wee bit faint, reckoned it was from the light exertion
of expelling more energy than I actually had, so I sat on a seat and rested,
waiting for the feeling to subside. Forty minutes passed as I people-watched and
recharged. Only five-and-a-half more hours to go until my next flight – yay.
Feeling a bit better I continued towards T2. Arrived at the Aer Lingus Bag and
Drop knowing I was far too early but really needing to dump the bag I
checked with the attendant the earliest time I could check in, explaining my
crappy situation. He very kindly offered to take my bag as soon as the flight
prior to mine took off. So basically instead of only taking the bag 3hrs before
my flight, he’d take it four and a half hours beforehand. Honestly I coulda kissed
him there and then – friggin’ sweetheart.
Made my way though security, and headed to my
final boarding gate. I felt like Death warmed up and pretty much looked like it
as well. I contemplated curling up on the floor by the glass windows and going
to sleep, but honestly did not think I’d have the energy to get back up on my feet, so instead I
settled for securing two seats and trying my best to snooze until my flight was
boarding. I even set an alarm to wake myself just in case I did actually manage
to fall asleep. Despite every fiber of my being wanting to sleep, I didn’t.
My
flight boarded nice and promptly, and I foolishly looked forward to an on-time if
not early departure. But no, we just sat there on the plane, no engines starting,
just waiting. After a while the pilot came on the intercom saying that there
was a problem with the windsock and that had to be adjusted, plus Heathrow had
closed a runway so we would be on the tarmac for at least another 40mins and then we
would have to see where we lined up in the taxi queue. (Karma you are taking
things a step too far now. I know the holiday was excellent, but seriously you’ve
had your fun – back the hell off!!!) I simply groaned, closed my eyes and prayed
for sleep that didn’t come.
Finally got back to Cork, and sailed
through like a breeze. The immigration officer waved me on with the usual bare
glance at the passport, my bag was again one of the first to come through, was
back home in 15mins, shower and bed. It was such a comedy of errors and mini
disasters that I have never before experienced, nor do I ever want to experience
again. Still, despite this disastrous last day – I had a FANTASTIC holiday and
would do it all again in a heartbeat.
* I have since learned that I was probably quick to blame
the poor chicken sandwich, in fact it was more likely a stomach bug I picked up
on my travels as some others of the group were also affected with these
symptoms. However only I had the good fortune of experiencing them at 32,000 ft!
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