Finland in the Dark Continent

A Journey Through Southern Africa

Copyright 1989-1993 by Richard Bollar - All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without the written permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

Getting There

"Why in the hell would anyone want to go to South West Africa?" asked my roommate, Scott Bomson. Not surprisingly, I didn't have an answer. Everyone knows that South West Africa, or Namibia as it is more properly known, is a place to stay away from. Sharing a large border with Angola, there had been more than sporadic fighting in both countries in the past fifteen years, causing our State Department to post a stringent warning notice advising Americans to defer travel to the area. Obviously it wasn't a place for a tourist to go.

But I had the itch. Though I lived in Europe for eight years, my only recent travels out of the country had been to visit Rebecca Racosky, my girlfriend at the time, in London while she was pursuing her Master's degree at the London School of Economics. She was back in the States, we were on the outs, I had vacation time (though no money), and I needed to get away.

In any event, I needed something fun to do. Enter John Talbot, a co-worker of mine, who invited me to go with him and his wife to South Africa and South West Africa. I couldn't believe he was serious, but he insisted that I would be welcome on the trip. Convinced that I should go, the remaining obstacle was money. A coach class ticket on South African Airways was fourteen hundred dollars, an amount that I hadn't saved, and God knows how much more living expenses would be; could be hundreds of dollars.

I couldn't stop thinking about the trip though, and I realized that I must go. Sitting at my desk that afternoon, I couldn't work so I pulled out my frequent flyer statements and I realized that I had a free trip saved up on Pan Am that would get me as far as Nairobi. Getting that far, perhaps a flight from Nairobi to Johannesburg would be cheaper. I snagged John, and we spent the afternoon on American Airlines' Sabre reservations system trying to find an itinerary that would work.

Originally, we thought that a trip to Victoria Falls, on the Zimbabwe - Zambia border was a necessity, but we quickly learned that the connections were significantly too difficult to master. Instead, I got to learn more about African geography than I thought I ever would. Gaborone, Bulawayo, Livingston, Harare, Lusaka had all been just names in Associated Press wire reports to this point, but I was reaching an understanding of the area's geography that would rival most any traveler's. I also started to appreciate the true politics that separated South Africa from the rest of Africa. {Border & visa restrictions}

Finally, we resolved that I would fly straight to Johannesburg and then backtrack to Victoria Falls should time allow. That settled, I ordered the frequent flyer ticket and the onward tickets on one of the only four flights per week between Nairobi and Johannesburg.

Only three weeks before departure, I had a whirlwind of work to complete before I could go. I hadn't even told my boss or attempted to get a visa! Over the next couple of weeks, John and I took several long lunches so that we could visit the South African embassy and the travel agents who would sell us our tickets. The time just flew by, and we knew that we couldn't possibly get everything done in time....

I meant to have Thursday, April 27 as my last day of work. It would have been perfect. After all, it was a payday and it gave me a full day to pack before I left on Friday evening. Ah, but the best laid plans shall go astray. I wound up going to work for a half day on Friday which wasn't so bad. It was rather interesting to go to the office wearing khakis and an open shirt while everyone else was wearing starched white collars (even the women). Scotty drove me to Dulles straight from work. I got there early enough to have a leisurely check-in at the business class window and toss down a couple of beers with my traveling companions, John & Pam Talbot.

Traveling Companions might not be the right choice of words as technically, we weren't going down there together. The Talbots were traveling on Pan Am to London, spending a day shopping there and then taking a South African Airways flight to Johannesburg. I, on the other hand was taking Pan Am to Frankfurt; quaffing a few beers with some friends of mine from when I lived there; taking Pan Am's afternoon flight to Nairobi and spending the night there; finally taking British Airways to Johannesburg. Despite our differing itineraries, we would be arriving in Jo'burg within an hour of each other.

Straight off, Pam & John were delayed out of Dulles and wound up leaving an hour and a half late (which happened to be the same time that my flight was scheduled to leave). My flight, PA 060, was on the Clipper Belle of the Sky, a Boeing 747-200, one of Pan Am's newer planes. Business Class on PA is on the upper deck and I was met at the top of the stairs by our personal flight attendant. She was rather cute (even in Pan Am's tacky, late 70's uniform) and held a glass of Moët & Chandon for me. As she took my jacket, I allowed my ego and expectations run away with me. I was going to enjoy this flight.

Since we had half an hour before departure, I stuck my head into the flight deck and asked for a tour. There's nothing that pilots enjoy doing more than talking about their birds, and I blew a good fifteen minutes learning about the navigational systems on this eighteen year-old aircraft. The flight attendant came forward a couple of times to make sure that my glass was full. At this point, I was certain that tonight's flight would hold good conversation, if nothing else. There was Frankfurt, after all....

On time departures on international flights are unheard of in my experience, but we must have been blessed. We rolled out right at 1855 and started the eight hour flight in earnest. I don't often get to fly front cabin on international flights, so you will forgive me if I share excessive detail. The man in the seat next to me was an Air Force captain. He used to fly in Aggressor Squadron, but he now flies a desk at Rhine-Main Air Force Base. We exchanged favorite flying stories during our rather long takeoff roll. I assure you that his were significantly more interesting than mine.

Shortly after takeoff, my journey through alcohol began in earnest. A round of Chivas for my friend and me. After drinks were served to the sixteen of us on the upper deck, a three hour meal service began. The first course was a selection of pates that clashed with my scotch. I switched to a nice Joseph Drouhin Chablis. Next came smoked salmon. It's one of my favorites and this particular fish must have lived a happy life because he tasted wonderful!

A switch to a Charms Chambertin and we were ready for the main course, peppercorn lamb. Pretty good. It was served with cauliflower and green beans. Dessert was an apple tart with coffee and Courvoisier. I was feeling very comfortable at that point. As we were settling down from the meal, it was time for the film to start. I got up to chat up the flight attendant. Amazingly enough, I found out that she is married within the first five minutes. Is that subtle or what? We spoke for a while longer, but nothing significant came of that.

The film was Madame Souzatshka and though I'd not seen it, I decided that I should save my strength for the 0900 drinking binge that was to follow. Sleep was peaceful enough and I was awakened at 0730 for a croissant, blueberry crumb cake and orange juice. We arrived in Frankfurt a half hour late due to some traffic but not to worry, my chums were there waiting, beer in hand.

My flight to Nairobi was to leave at 1330, not really allowing enough time to leave the airport, but there was plenty of time to enjoy the airport bar. Frankfurt has the most incredible airport in the world. Aside from the standard duty-free shop (though Frankfurt has an exceptional one of those) there is a six screen theater, several restaurants, a sex shop and a flight museum. The museum has some pieces of the Hindenburg, as well as Eddie Rickenbacker's pilot's license.

My idyllic trip was about to come to an end....

About 1030 my flight showed up on the tote-board. PA 1050, departing at 1330, so everything's okay. But what's that word under comments? Canceled? Oh, shit! So much for the beer. Off to Pan Am's ticket counter to make alternative arrangements. I hate ticket counters anyway; they always seem to move so slowly; but I just knew that today would be worse. There was quite a line waiting, almost all certainly on their way to Nairobi. The line didn't move at all. Why? Because some idiots were harassing the agent for upgrades and other favors. They wanted free hotel nights, first class tickets and Pan Am's undying gratitude. They were total asses. Finally, I made it to the front. "No problem Mr. Bollar," she said. "We've made arrangements for you to travel on British Airways to Johannesburg via London and Nairobi."

Gee, what I've always wanted to do - spend the rest of my life flying around the world. I made a half hearted attempt to get on South African Airways' non-stop flight to Johannesburg, but no deal. I took my altered ticket and was about to leave the counter when I realized that the ticket was Economy class! The agent said that since I had a special fare ticket (read: free), I wasn't entitled to travel Business class on another carrier. Humph. I try not to fight with people who aren't able to make a decision, so I asked to speak to the manager.

This guy rattled off the Company line, but I wasn't satisfied. In fact, I was rather irritated. I suggested that if I had wanted to travel Economy, I would have booked my passage that way. I pulled out my trusty American Express card and asked to purchase a Business class ticket ($3,500). I asked him to reconsider but hoped that he could treat me appropriately. I suggested that they should really do better. The manager told me not to be hasty and changed the booking class for me. I thanked him and went off to British Airways.

There was a brief ruckus at BA. They didn't want to honor PA's upgrade. Fortunately I fly on them often as well, so that set back was easily dispensed with. I found out that my baggage had been taken care of. On the same flights that I was? Hardly. The damned bag got onto the SAA non-stop. Well, it was 1500 and time to catch the flight to London. No time to worry about the bag (which, by the way, had fifty rolls of Kodachrome Professional film in it). I ran through security, had to unload completely my bags for inspection, and made it to the plane with only a little time to spare. British Airways had changed planes to accommodate the Nairobi passengers and I settled into my Club Europe seat in the brand new Boeing 757 (Glamis Castle)....

The flight from Frankfurt was under two hours, but that was enough time for them to serve smoked salmon (yeah!), tea sandwiches and a nice Harp Lager. I must have looked too much like an American because the flight attendant apologized for only having British lager. Aw, what a shame.

It was good to land at Heathrow in London as it had been about a year since I was last there. I expected that we would arrive at British Airways' Terminal Four, so I was surprised that we rolled to Terminal Two. Two is used by, uh, rogue airlines. We rolled past an Iran Air 747, two South African Airlines 747's, and an Ethiopian Air 707 before pulling in to our gate. Trundling into the terminal, I realized that SAA's gate was right down the hall. I walked down to see what was going on, and, as you might have guessed, there were John and Pam, going through security. I slapped them on the back, startling them and the security people. I gave a quick explanation and wished them a pleasant trip. I had just enough time to take the tube downtown, get a Molson at the Maple Leaf Pub and return to Heathrow. So I did. I returned in time to have a quick ale in the Club World lounge before getting on the plane.

The British Airways Boeing 747-200 (City of Cardiff) left on time. Club World was much more comfy than Pan Am's Clipper Class. Seats reclined more and had foot rests as well. The service was more, uh, European. Very refined and attentive. Also, BA has hot flight attendants. In a very British way, of course. Champagne was poured. It was a Lanson Black Label. Okay, but not quite Moët. After takeoff, a round of cocktails. I had Campari and Soda (one of my favorites - difficult to get on a plane). Dinner was ornate, but not as tasty as Pan Am's (perhaps because the service was by Trusthouse Forte and not Marriott). We had a terrine of duck and foie gras with mango. The entree was 'grilled noisettes of lamb, dressed with green peppercorn sauce' (sound familiar?). It was served with French beans, carrots and parsley potatoes. The dessert was an apple and orange charlotte followed by British cheeses and crackers. Of course, we wound everything up with coffee and Courvoisier.

BA showed video programs for the entire flight, with the feature film, Roger Rabbit. I liked that film a lot, but again, sleep got the better of me and I slept until breakfast at 0400 (!). Probably the best thing that you get in business class is the little hot towel at the end of each meal. Very refreshing after sleeping in clothes. Since BA's Club World is on the lower deck, it was difficult to corner the flight attendants, but I did gamely try. No luck (of course), but you never know unless you try. Next stop, Africa....

The breakfast would have been innocuous had I not come to a realization. I only held a boarding pass to Nairobi. I vaguely remembered the British Airways agent in London telling me that because I held two tickets (remember, I was already booked on BA from Nairobi to Johannesburg) I couldn't get a boarding pass all the way through. I would have to get off in Nairobi, get a new boarding pass and re-board. Yeah, right. After consultation with my favorite flight attendant, we decided that I should just refuse to get off the plane. I didn't hold a Kenya visa (you can't get one if you hold a South African visa) so I couldn't get off.

We decided that I should simply stay on the plane and BA would send someone on board to take care of things. We arrived in Nairobi at 0530, my first trip south of the Equator. On the edge of the runway was the burned out shell of a Kenya Air 707. Reassuring. Jomo Kenyatta International Airport doesn't have taxiways. Instead, you take the 747 to the end and make a U-turn to return to the terminal. I also noted with interest the grass growing through cracks in the runway. Welcome to Africa!

Almost everyone got off the plane. They weren't coming back; there wasn't enough time as the turn around was quick. I sat tight, waiting for the moment of truth. I didn't have to wait long. The unmistakable British voice announced: "Would all passengers please take his seat. This will assist our security personnel in taking a head count." A group of gentlemen who happened to be black and who happened to stink boarded the plane. Their jumpsuits were labeled 'security,' and they scoured the plane (possibly for leftover newspapers?).

Ten minutes later, that voice came on again. The head count was bad. Would the problem passenger please identify himself? Sighing, I pushed the call button. Moments later, a matronly flight attendant, probably the purser, approached my seat and asked, "Are you the problem passenger?" I admitted that I was and she left. She returned with one of the stinky men. I told my story to him. With few words, he took my ticket and left. On his departure, he told me to stay in my seat as he would return shortly with my boarding pass. I suppose that I was marginally soothed by this. It was, after all, the last day of April and everyone was preparing for May Day.

I stared out the window of the City of Cardiff watching the ground crews servicing the Third World aircraft. Ethiopian, Kenyan, Somalian, Zimbabwean and Zambian 707's were sitting on the tarmac. I wondered which American behemoths had once owned these planes. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a few passengers boarding. There were no more than twelve, and they boarded quietly. I still didn't have a boarding pass. Was it important? I hoped not....

The doors to the jet closed and I felt the engines spool. I supposed that I had made it, the fact that I still didn't hold a boarding pass notwithstanding. I squashed back into the seat and waited to see what breakfast would be.

Before take-off there was an announcement. It was the first evidence of the creepiness that I would associate with South Africa. "The Republic of South Africa requires that aircraft entering from certain countries be sprayed. Please close your eyes as the flight attendants pass through the cabin." Two women walked down the aisle. They were wearing gloves and protective goggles and were spraying something. It could have been Zyklon-B for all I knew. I closed my eyes.

Apparently I made the proper choice, closing my eyes rather than eyeing the new flight crew because I heard the screams of pain from the seat directly behind me. The guy left his eyes open and had contacts, too. Yuck. The flight attendants gave him some drops to ease his pain but I don't think they worked as he sobbed for most of the four hour flight.

That bit of weirdness out of the way and it was time for breakfast. It started out with champagne and fresh fruit, followed by a scrambled egg with smoked salmon. Served with that were beef chipolatas, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms and sautéed potatoes. We round things up with fresh croissants with butter and preserves. That all the labeling on this stuff was in Arabic didn't trouble me too much. I was fairly concerned about the fresh fruit, though. Did that come from Kenya? Should I take my Kaopectate now? Should I wait for the 'runs, drips and errors?' I decided to wait. After all, I'd traveled to places that were more iffy than Kenya (Southern Texas comes to mind).

There was no movie on this segment, so I sat back and listened to the pop channel. Madonna lulled me with Like a Prayer. As I relaxed, I thought about the British Airways Club Lounge in London. I spent my time there with the producers and one of the hosts of the Fox television show, Beyond Tomorrow. I tried to remember her name. No use. Three days of travel and seven time zones had made me an idiot (no comments, please). Sleep....

They say you can't get too much of a good thing. To this point in my life, I had only attributed that to one thing, sex. Probably because I've been in the position of having too much sex. Today, after traveling three days and 9,000 miles, I added sleep to my list. It was 1000 on Sunday, April 30 as the wheels hit the ground on the second longest runway in the world (the space shuttle runway in Florida is longer). I was not in a good mood. We seemed to taxi forever, as we must have landed too soon. It seemed like we should have landed about half way down it. {clarify}

The City of Cardiff stopped in front of the terminal and I saw several SAA 747-Special Performance Super B's. Among them was Lobombo, the plane that John & Pam flew on their fourteen hour nonstop. The reason that their flight was so long was because SAA must fly around Africa. One of the disadvantages of being political assholes, I guess.

It took a short time for the stairs to be rolled up to the plane and I stood in the aisle waiting in anticipation. The door opened, allowing a dry, warm breeze to blow into the cabin, and we were out! It was strange not to get off the plane through a jetway, but it was very interesting to be walking around the 747's. You get quite an impression of their size up close and personal like that. Well, no time to tarry out here. I've got to get through immigration.

The immigration line was fairly short, and since I had completed the two page landing card while on the plane, I could go through an express line. The immigration officer took my passport and started grilling me. "What is the purpose of your journey? With whom will you be staying? Please show me your return ticket. Where will you be traveling?" A stumbling block. My final destination was Namibia, a fact that has caused me more than a little bit of heartburn at the consular office in Washington, so I did what any American would do: I lied. I listed almost every game park in South Africa. I listed most of the large cities on the southeast side of South Africa. I suppose it worked, because after welcoming me to her country, I was allowed to pass into the baggage hall.

The baggage hall must have been built in the early seventies, because it had high ceilings and a mosaic outlining the history of South African flight along the walls. That style of architecture was very popular in Europe in the sixties and I figured it would be only natural that it lags a bit in getting here. I looked at the two conveyor belts and tried to decide which one was for me (if any). I was in luck! South African Airways' flight from Frankfurt had arrived just as I had. Since I was told my bag would be on that flight I walked over to that carousel and waited....

The bags came out quickly; the other passengers collecting their belongings and going through customs. Finally, the bags stopped coming and the few of us remaining trudged to the British Airways lost property representative. Her name was Angela and her most striking feature was her eyes. They were a neon blue, probably courtesy of Bausch & Lomb, but striking none-the-less. It took a good fifteen minutes to explain what had happened to me and she wrote everything down in abbreviated style. It all boiled down to this: The original itinerary was: Washington Dulles - Frankfurt - Nairobi - Johannesburg. Instead, I traveled: Washington Dulles - Frankfurt - London Heathrow - Nairobi - Johannesburg. And my luggage supposedly had the pleasure of going: Washington Dulles - Frankfurt - Johannesburg.

It was impossible for the luggage to arrive before tomorrow, she said, so BA would advance me 150 Rand (sixty dollars) for essentials. I thanked her and headed through customs with my carry-on bags. All I had with me was three cameras, one video camera, a couple of toilet kits given to me on the plane, a book or two, Pan Am's annual report, five rolls of film and a Penthouse Forum.

A Penthouse Forum? Oh, shit! I had meant to leave that on the plane. South Africa has strict pornography laws and I wasn't sure what would happen if the border guards found that on me. I started to walk through the 'nothing to declare' lane, thought better of it and walked into 'something to declare.' I told the guard that I was confused about customs and just thought it easier to go this route. He asked me what I had in my bags and I shared all, conveniently omitting the Penthouse Forum. He said that I was okay and allowed me to pass through.