Holy Shit.

What a day (or is it a half day?). I’m not quite sure. My computer clock says it’s 9:52am; the clock on the wall in the Jo’Burg airport, where I currently sit, says it’s 16:52. And I know my flight for Cape Town takes off at 6:40pm. Suffice it to say, I’m a tad thrown off.

Shall we rewind, though?

Friday morning was an anxious one with a few last minute errands and the stress of the impending day of travel. You know when you think you’re anxious or stressed? And then you find out the jokes on you, ‘cause the situation takes your overwhelmed-ness to a whole new level? Yep. Alycia drops me to the airport and I meet up with Lee Anne and her boyfriend (who had driven her up from CT). Lee Anne couldn’t find her passport. Minor stress, no big deal, she remembers packing it; it’s got to be somewhere. Mmmm. We tossed her car and luggage upside down – no passport. Lo and behold, Greta’s off to Cape Town by herself (for the time being). Oh fuck. In a few short moments I felt like everything I knew and expected for the upcoming month had become completely and totally obsolete.

If there is a bright side to the stress, it’s this: when you’re so overwhelmed that you can’t keep control of your crying, people are really, really nice. I’m not sure that I’ve ever encountered such kind, genuine people at Logan. Same goes for Dulles International. My layover in DC was so short, I feel like I didn’t even have time to catch my breath. Or eat my salad. There was only a few extra seconds to make some blubbering phone calls to Mom and Alycia.

But John Lester is right; he’s on to something. One Pitch At A Time. And it seemed to have worked. Call me crazy, but the 15 hour flight sort of went by fast. Well, maybe not fast per se, but it definitely was not as horrifically miserable and obnoxiously long as I anticipated. I had a window seat and made fast friends with my neighbor (a very cool woman, originally from Zambia, who has been living in Chicago for seven years. She has taken 6 months off her job at Catholic Charities to go home to visit her family for only the second time since she left). Dinner was served, then I slept a bit.

At one point, I woke up and read on the screen that there were still 8 hours to go. Ugh. My legs were stiff, my back hurt, and my new friend was sort of sleeping on me. I counted a bit. Then pulled out my inflatable neck pillow and my ipod, only to learn that it was impossible to inflate the inflatable neck pillow without killing a large number of brain cells and my ipod was dead! And I hadn’t even used it once! It was then that I thought to myself, “I can’t do this. I really really can’t do this. I’m not going to last.” A mini panic attack happened in my head. Then I remembered my pills! I popped three SimplySleep, gulped down a Sigg’s worth of water, took a walk around the cabin, stretched, washed my face, then turned in for the night (morning? afternoon? who knows) sans neck pillow. Can’t say it was the best sleep I’ve ever had, but when I woke up and saw we only had two and a half hours left, I kind of threw myself a party.

As we were descending I couldn’t stop staring out the window and smiling. I’m in Africa! I’m so close, only one short flight left. I can do this!

Oh! And there was a (pretend) proposal on the flight. About four hours in, the woman in the seat in front of me (row 35) was applying hand lotion and her ring fell off. A bunch of us were all on our hands and knees helping her look. One traveler even took out a flash light. The flight attendants were all helping. But no such luck. At about hour 14 into the flight a guy comes from further back in the plane (row 49!) and says, “I heard someone lost a ring.” Her eyes got big with hope, and then he got down on a knee and handed it back to her. It was so freakin’ cute. People clapped. She was thrilled and relieved; he felt like he made her day. In general, there was definitely a camaraderie and energy on the flight. Everyone was warm and friendly; chatting and stretching together. Interested to know what was bringing people to South Africa. Not something I’ve ever experienced on a domestic flight.

So here I sit at the gate, waiting. Passport is stamped, bags were fetched, made it through customs, and have been rechecked. A slender gentleman with a cough, runny nose and an ID badge indicating to me he was a porter welcomed me to South Africa, then took control of my bags. I was confused and hesitant, but he got me to the right place. Only to remind me, in English that I had trouble understanding, that porters who provide good service should receive good tips. I dug through my carry on and handed him ZAR 10 (roughly $1). He said it should be 20. I obliged. I have to figure out what's appropriate tipping in South Africa. And, if necessary, I have to get my negotiating game up.

I’m running low on battery and I don’t yet have electrical outlet adapters. So that’s all for now.