Charleston Trip - Day 1...

I had thought of another name for this posting, but after 18 hours flying, 2 hours sitting in the plane in Léopold Sédar Senghor International Airport in Dakar, short beds in Business class (are all business travellers short that they can fit in these beds, or is it just me that's tall?), a flight change at Washington Dulles International Airport, an hour in the transfer terminal, a taxi ride ($35 one way - ZAR250) from Charleston International Airport to the hotel/lodge where we are staying, about 40degC and 85% humidity in Charleston, a walkabout taking some pictures of the USS Yorktown (WW2 aircraft carrier within spitting distance of the hotel) and the hotel buildings and marina, then two pints of the local Palmetto Ale (tastes surprisingly like Bosun's Bitter we get back home)...what was I going to fuckin' say here?

Oh yes, after all of the above, I forgot what I was going to call this posting, but it sure as hell wasn't "Charleston Trip - Day 1". How unoriginal and boring.

Let me start at the beginning...

I arrived at Shit Towne International Airport (what otherwise might be known as Orifice Rectum Tamborine International to all Monty Python fans) at just before 4pm. I had intentionally driven to the drop-off part of the terminal so that Steph didn't hang around too long, not that I wanted her to leave but that neither of us particularly like farewells, and we're going to be having a few of those in the coming months with my GT job. Straight through to the check-in, I got my luggage checked all the way through. Gone was the bright orange suitcase with the "Up Yer Kilt" sticker on the front, perhaps forever, from my sight.

Past the disinterested passport checker-inner, I dawdled around the shops for a while, bought myself a pouch to carry my US dollars in and then settled down at the News Cafe for a beer. Had I known it earlier and not found it out later while somewhere above the skies of the Democratic Republic of Congo, I would have popped in at the Business Class lounge where the beer was free...........fuck!! Anyway, MP3 playing rock music in my ear, beer at hand, fly fishing magazine open in front of me, I was surprised to see the hour or so fly past rather quickly.

About 10mins before the flight call was announced, I wandered over to the check-in gate to see that there were already a hundred or so people through the gate, so I joined the line. Then it was "hurry up and wait" as we stood for another half hour waiting to board the plane. All the while, I was waving my Business Class e-ticket like Mr Bean in a crowded sweety shop, wondering if someone would take notice and get all greenishly envious knowing that they were on their way to Cattle Class at the back.

It was a pleasant change to turn left, instead of right, at the door to the plane, in the direction of the upper crust. I was in seat 7A, window seat, in front of the engines for a change. It's scary watching those big Rolls Royce engines, I tell you. The thrust they have would put Ron Jeremy to shame and to think of the amount of air they suck in at any one point in time would make Jenna Jameson look like a virgin. Where are all these sexual connotations coming from (oops, there's another) all of a sudden? Back to the main subject...

I couldn't understand why we had to fly via Dakar (see above airport name, I'm not typing it in again) but looking at the route we were following made it clear. The distance from Dakar to Washington is probably the same as from Heathrow and in the general direction anyway, so it made sense to stop off there, drop off a few locals, refuel (take on more beer and wine) and head out over the freezing cold Atlantic. Speaking of wine, the fare in Posh Class is fantastic. We had a menu we could choose a starter and main dinner course from, and all the wine we could drink came from 750ml bottles unlike the plonk you get in Misery Class. And quaff it down we did too. I only found out standing in line in Dulles airport that the guy who was seated next to me the entire 18hr flight, was from Coca-Cola SA and knew a whole lot of the guys there that I did. He was on his way to Atlanta for a one-week strategy meeting and is out on the same flight as me on Friday.

I ended up watching Shrek 3 and Spiderman 3 in between catching some uncomfortable sleep and staring out the porthole at the cold, dark, Atlantic 33,000 feet below us, catching myself thinking that we'd last all of about a minute in that water before we froze to death (ok, maybe a little longer, but not much). Even though I was in Business Class and the motorised seat folded flat, it was still about six inches too short for my long legs and I spent an uncomfortable few hours dozing before we got to Dakar.

Dakar runway is about as long as a Sandton City parking space. As soon as we hit the concrete, the engines were thrust into reverse and we were all thrown forward in our seats...thank fuck for seatbelts. Once the doors were opened and the locals started de-planing (as it is called) the aircons were turned on and due to the difference between internal and external humidities, the cabin started fogging up. It was weird watching clouds of steam coming from the vents, like someone had turned on the Zyklon-B showers. The good thing about it though, was that drinks were available, even though it was after 2am. The bad thing was that there was no entertainment, no videos, music, fuckall.

So after just short of two hours on the ground, we roll back onto the parking space and jump the Rolls back into the air again. Dakar is right on the coast (followers of the Paris-Dakar race would know this) and within thirty seconds the city lights had disappeared behind us as we headed due west over the Atlantic. As the seat belt lights go off, the crew brings out a snack. It's a strange combination, a small quiche and a chocolate brownie on the same plate. I felt nauseous afterward due to the combination, but I managed to not use my barf bag.

The rest of the flight goes off uneventful, in between trying to snatch some sleep and the odd bit of turbulence and we land in Dulles airport on schedule. The pilot says we are lucky as there is usually a pile-up of planes trying to land, causing delays. I'm a little bit anxious as I can't remember what time my connecting flight takes off. De-planing is kewl too...business class goes first, even before the women and children. Again, I flash a smug grin at the envious looks coming from Cattle Class and make my way down the aisle twoward Border Control.

What is it with countries that they let their visitors wait in line for seemingly ages by only opening one immigration window? There must be a hundred tired, grumpy, people behind me waiting to get through, all to be processed by one sad looking redneck policeman who looks like he'd rather be out making out with his sister, but just not wanting to be there. Eventually it's my turn and I get processed, hurrying through to get my case and get it checked in to my connecting flight. That done, I make my own way through internal customs, having to take my shoes off and chuck them in, with all my other bodily-held possessions, to a plastic tray to go through the x-ray machine. No beeps, that is a good thing and the big black dude tells me to carry on, so I do, happily.

I find a coffee shop (not Starbucks) and order a medium black coffee. With hindsight, it should have been a teeny-weeny black coffee, as the "medium" is about a litre in size. No fuckin' way am I going to finish this in the hour that I have before my flight. On top of it all, it's fuckin' hot coffee and just about scalds my tongue and throat.

When the flight is called, I toss the cup and 750ml of coffee left in it into the trash can and head off to stand in another line to wait for another plane to take me somewhere else. This time, it's a small fifty seater, hot, smelly and dirty.

United Airlines, if I can help it, will not be seeing me onboard again, except for my return flight to Washington on Friday. A skinny, hen-pecked black dude sits in the aisle seat next to me, brown paper bag in hand. At first, I think he's brought along a Soweto Take-away (750ml bottle of Tassies), but it turns out to be a burger and chips he bought at the Wendy's Burger Ranch in the departure hall. Even the hostess, when she came to check our seatbelts, remarked "that smells good" and probably everyone on the plane thought the same thing too. We didn't get a snack on this flight and even the Coke that she poured for me was from a can into a small plastic glass. Ah well, it was a short flight, so I had an opportunity to catch another hour's sleep.

Landing in charleston and getting off the plane, the first thing that strikes you is the heat. And it doesn't just say "Hey dude, it's gonna be warm today" but rather shouts at you "Hey fucker, remember Kosi Bay in February? Big fuckin' deal. I'm gonna pound your sweaty ass into the ground, so be ready for it". It is a suppressive heat, very high humidity and temperature to go along with it. You move, you sweat. Buckets at a time. Solution: stay indoors in the aircon. I was looking forward to that, only my room turned out to not be ready when I got to the hotel. The trip from the airport was quite short, maybe 15 minutes, but the Barbadian taxi driver made it feel a little shorter. It was only just after 10am and I knew check-in wasn't going to be allowed, but I took a chance anyway. No luck. I had to find something to do for five hours. Check-in would only be at 3pm. So I checked my luggage in with the concierge, grabbed my cap and camera and headed out into the heat to take some photos of my new home for the week.

Not far from the hotel is the WW2 aircraft carrier, the USS Yorktown. Not quite as big as today's carriers, this is still an impressive sight. It has a variety of old fighters and helicopters strewn across its deck in various poses and, but for the $15 entry fee, I would have gone for a walk around it. As it is, I take a couple of photos of the outside, some of the yachts in the marina and head back to the hotel. There's a bar in there called "The Reel Bar" that I saw on the website and I'm dying to see it and have a cold beer. Again, disappointment. The pub only opens at 11h30 and it is maybe just before 11am when I find some shade next to the pool to sit and relax. I still have my jeans on and the sweat is running down my legs. At just after 11h30, a staff member comes along and asks if she can get me anything from the bar and I reply "No thanks, I'm on my way there right now". I pull up a barstool and the bartender introduces himself as Donny and I ask him what the best of the local beers might be. Something along the lines of a Kilkenny, but not as sweet, is the Palmetto Ale. Quite refreshing, I must say, and promptly order a pint. Sitting around, I have a bite to eat and a second pint. Then I decide to try the local rum and find myself staring into a glass of Goslings and diet coke. Not bad, but the taste reminds me a little of Stroh rum.

By this time, it's about 10 seconds after 3pm and I decide to see if my room's ready. Turns out, it is, and I grab ny case and head upstairs for a cold shower. It's so hot, that there's no such thing as hot and cold water, only fuckin' hot and lukewarm. Still, it's good to get into a shower to feel clean again. I stretch myself out on one of the beds and promptly drift off into a restless snooze, woken up by the phone just after 5pm. By the time I wake up, find the phone and pick up the receiver, it stops ringing though. Without calling Reception to find out if there's a message, I already know that Arjan has arrived from the Netherlands. I call him from the lobby and he comes downstairs and together we head into the bar for another couple of pints and a small supper.

We are both very tired after our flights and decide about 9pm to call it a day. It's not quite dark yet and it's strange to be going to bed at this time, but about 9h30pm it's completely dark and, with the baseball game on TV, I end up dropping off to sleep, only to wake up after 15mins and turn the light and TV off. It's been a long trip to his point, but I'm sure it'll get better.

I'll post some of the best photos I take on the trip when I get back to Shit Towne, sometime early next week...