The ride back to Joburg was fast and unspectacular. I chatted with Henrick's second friend who is from Mexico City, but lives in Munchen. He talked at length about how hot German girls are and who could blame him? We paid a few tolls, stopped for gas and a stretch (got me some meat pies too!) and were in Joburg by about noon. Hendrick and I were the only two who had been to the hostel in Kempton Park, but we were hardly sure exactly how to get there. We made it to Kempton Park okay, but spent another 45 minutes scraping the bowl for any trace of something familiar. Purple Palms Hostel is at the corner of Boompeiper and Maraboe roads, but none of our maps show these; wish we'd had GPS!
Towards the end of the ordeal, we had hailed
down a local. The man got out of his car holding his jaw and mentioned in a muffled voice that he had just gotten out of the surgeon's office (dentist) and would try his best to help us. He had no idea, but was working hard to find other people to ask........some more aimless driving happened, and then we ditched him and tried to get back closer to where we thought we needed to be, where ever that was. Our delayed intuition led us right to Maraboe, and then to the gate of the hostel. The time was 12:30. Proper checkout was at 10:00, my flight was at 4:00.
Walking into the house, I was greeted by staff members Cynthia and (another really nice girl; from Zimbabwe whose name escapes me) who didn't seem too surprised or concerned that I hadn't been there all night. I had made nice with them the morning before, talking about my plans to be in and out of town, and my unusual itenerary. I had also already paid in full for my reserved time there, so all was gravy and chips. The plan: shower, pack up bags (still left on the top bunk disorganized but untouched), get a ride to the airport, eat at airport, fly to Durban! Showered and packed, Hendrick agreed to give me a lift to the airport too as he and his friends had business to tend to there. At the airport we said our goodbyes and exchanged information. Hendrick was a fantastic travel buddy and football supporter and I was glad to make it to the game and back with him and his friends. Good times.
I had an hour or more until I had to check in at the gate, so I had a beer, salad, fish and chips. I walked around a bit and found a place to get on the internet and check email, facebook, news and stuff. Johannesburg Tambo International Airport is actually very high quality: plenty of cheap food options, internet/computer access, banking/exchanging, big screen TVs showing live matches, free luggage carts that go on escalators, transportation options (lacking effective train to and from central train station, however). Good thing that the airport was well equipped, as I went in and out of the airport like it was a 7-11 convenience store. Ticketed and screened, I boarded the SAA jet and sat in an exit row next to two tall gentleman in official FIFA coats: dark blue blazer with FIFA Official embroidered on the left breast pocket. Later I would learn that the man to my immediate right was Swedish referee Martin Hansson. Just
before the seat belt demonstration, the stewardess asked the three of us in our row if we were prepared and able to help the flight crew with the emergency exit; we each answered verbally with 'yes' though the official sitting in the window seat intimated that he was a fireman back home in Smugbastardland and that we were all in good hands. I didn't bother chatting up the referees
during the hour and a half flight, but did observe almost military precision in their posture and movements. They each had a small bottle of wine and read seemingly important documents. I was tired, I slept a bit. Once landed and in the baggage claim of King Shaka International Airport, it was learned that Argentine veteran referee Hector Baldasi was also on the flight! He was gladly taking pictures with fans waiting for their luggage and politely chatting with those interested. I scooped my bags and headed for the door.
Outside, I smoked a cigarette while watching USA play Slovenia through a restaurant window. It looked like a surprisingly competitive match, me not knowing much about either team. At halftime, I hopped into a cab bound for town and looking for Sommersby Bed and Breakfast, a highly recommended little spot located quite close to the Durban stadium. The driver was unsure of exactly where the place was, so asked for the place's number so as he could get directions. Chris, the owner answered and said that unfortunately nobody was at the house right now, but that we could go to the bar he was at and I could use his keys to get into the house......it sounded like it was going to be an ordeal, but the opposite was true. The cabbie brought us to the bar, called Chris, Chris came outside to meet us just as I saw the US be denied a perfectly good goal on the bar TV. Chris is a very nice maybe-forty English guy that spends a few months of the year in Durban. He gave me his keys and advised me as to how to get in, which room was mine, and where to leave the keys. He apologized for the unusual procedure, but I understood that he was thinking about his England match coming up within the hour. Fair play. The helpful cabbie delivered me to the empty B&B where I found my room, showered, and then turned on the game. What a terrible World Cup for England. Thinking forward to the beach and Netherlands v Japan the next day, sleep was eventually had.
No comments:
Post a Comment