Can I say I've been to Africa if I don't leave the terminal?

[Skyring]

The cab driving used to pay for an annual DONE4. Canberra had a limited taxi fleet, and some days (or nights rather) were pure gold. The queues at the airport or in the city would often be hundreds long, and we just kept returning to the mother lode, no waiting, all profit.

However, those waiting for a cab in these long long lines complained, and occasionally they would be heard by someone higher up, so about the same time as the ACT City Council realised there was free money to be made from printing more taxi licenses - and the consequent increase in revenue from red light cameras - they disguised it as a public convenience.

More cabs - shorter queues. Well, yes, that's how it played out, but for the established cabbies such as myself it was a disaster. Hundreds more taxi plates were released, immigrant drivers flocked in, and their rules for driving were not ours.

They stole our fares, they jumped the line, they abused the booking system, they went "the long way", they formed illegal ranks outside hotels and nightclubs, and what with one thing and another, cabbie income dropped to the point it was a mug's game to stay on.

Besides, the annual DONE4 had fallen by the wayside and I was slowly falling down into the murky bronze depths of OWZ.

I retired, staid home, did the cooking, and awaited my public service pension.

Remarkably generous scheme, the old CSS. There was enough for a bit of travel, and I looked around to see what bargains were to be had.

Wandering Aramean, on his marvelous site, had a price list of the various alliance fares. The Circles and the Explorers in various flavours. An AONE4 from the Maldives would cost me three thousand or so, and I boggled gently at the thought of longhaul at the pointy end for about $200 a sector.

Unfortunately, that price wasn't quite as valid as it could be, what with the lack of oneworld carriers landing in the Maldives, but still, there were bargains out of Khartoum and other places.

Eventually I settled on South Africa as the ideal compromise between a good J fare ($6050) and a reasonable chance of making it out in one piece ahead of the rebel troops/religious zealots/death virus/criminal cabbies that might be found in the more colourful nations.

April is my usual time for travel. There's an annual meeting of my online community of BookCrossers, and this year it was being held in the Swedish city of Gothenburg. My Scandinavian experience has been limited to a few tarmac metres between airport bus and airline stairs at Helsinki, and I wouldn't mind seeing more of the place. Glorious scenery, historic cities, tall blonde women and other marvels.

I hit AFF hard for research. Threads about booking DONE4’s, trip reports through Johannesburg, mechanics of ringing the American Airlines RTW desk - I looked into thousands of posts here and on FlyerTalk.

It looked doable, even for a timid old-timer like myself.

 

[mella2007]

Looks good! (and my answer would be yes)

 

[Hvr]

The cab driving used to pay for an annual DONE4. Canberra had a limited taxi fleet, and some days (or nights rather) were pure gold. The queues at the airport or in the city would often be hundreds long, and we just kept returning to the mother lode, no waiting, all profit.

However, those waiting for a cab in these long long lines complained, and occasionally they would be heard by someone higher up, so about the same time as the ACT City Council realised there was free money to be made from printing more taxi licenses - and the consequent increase in revenue from red light cameras - they disguised it as a public convenience.

<snip>

I remember those days standing at the airport for 60-90 minutes in the morning and evening waiting for a taxi in the freezing cold. No buses anywhere and utter contempt from the ACT council about those waiting, airport management didn't seem to care either. As you noted it was pure gold for the taxis was unreal and indeed obscene. If the public service was that inefficient and corrupt there would be whole sale change and heads would roll.

The productivity loss caused by protecting a monopoly rort was incredible.

Hire car companies got lots of business from freezing people who simply couldn't wait, and it was often cheaper to get a hire care there and back than pay two taxi fares.

There are still some great taxi rorts for those at the top such as the extra 10% on top of credit card fees etc that go straight to the companies.

As can be seen at Bangkok, an alternative such as a train line can remove some of the greater taxi driver misconduct and allow for better review.


Back on subject, can you say you've been to Africa if you don't leave the airport? I'll say no.

 

[Stoopidsteve]

My Scandinavian experience has been limited to a few tarmac metres between airport bus and airline stairs at Helsinki, and I wouldn't mind seeing more of the place.

To be pedantic, most Finns don't consider themselves to be part of Scandinavia!

But I am looking forward to your TR of glorious places visited, incl Göteborg. I've heard it's beautiful (been to Stockholm and Uppsala, but not ventured south).

 

[Skyring]

Transit 0 Canberra
Tuesday 2 April
Oh dark early

My very understanding wife wakes with me at five in the morning, drinks coffee while I shower, waits while I fuss with the computer, last minute cables and gadgets, and then is my chauffeur for the drive to the airport.

She doesn't get out for a last embrace. "Pete! I'm in my pyjamas!"

I lean over and kiss her, thinking of my first time in the Canberra Qantas Club many years earlier, when I - in my pyjamas - rushed in to deliver her a forgotten phone. I love this woman. She puts up with a lot from me. But thirty years together and she still sees an airliner as a glorified bus rather than a magic carpet ride.

My luggage is going to be a problem, I can tell. I have my big rolling duffle, a heavy tote bag full of books, a small rolling duffle for carry-on, a man bag for my iPad and travel documents and teddybear, and a camera case on a strap. Put everything together and I can't move. Well, not with any sort of grace. I give up, slide two dollars into the trolley dispenser and get one for the fifty metre trek to the check in counters.

But before moving inside, I look at the airport. I used to spend a lot of time here.

It's changed since my last time. The new Virgin wing is open and I pause to get a few photographs of the new glass atrium. A little work to do yet, but after so many years the grand design is almost done. I like it. Pretty much an airport to be proud of now.




TX-18, my old Silver Service cab, pulls up to drop off a passenger. Poor old Betsy, she's had some miles put on her. The owner wrote her off once, bought her back from the insurance and spent a year rebuilding her. Then I pranged her a couple of times, neither of them real bad, neither my fault, but each time was a week off the road.

We had some times together.



There's a guard on the premium queue, nodding and smiling at the men in suits. "Are you business class?" he asks, sizing me up accurately. "Where are you going? Sir."

"Johannesburg," I tell him and he waves me reluctantly on to the International check-in, an addendum to the premium line.

There's a wait. As is usual here, the common herd is sparse, and the premium passengers (and me) move slowly as our individual problems are dealt with. My economy booking to JNB via SYD is easy enough, but when I ask for my American Airlines DONE4 leg to Heathrow to be added in for the sake of my bags, we clog up the system for a while. Story of my life, I guess.

I anxiously watch the scales as I hoist my two bags aboard. No limit on pieces in economy now that Qantas had partnered with Emirates, and we in Y are allowed 30 kilograms total.

14.4 for the BookCrossing bag full of books. I gulp, because usually my extra-large LL Bean rolling duffle has more aboard, being at least twice the size. I wait for the first bag to be moved along, and then struggle the big one on.

14.2 kilos. A relief, because I have zero room in my carry on bag, which is already three kilos over what it should be. I have everything I couldn't afford to lose in my hand baggage. Books and biscuits, clothes and shoes, they could be pillaged in Johannesburg and I wouldn't mind too much, but losing my electronics and documents would make a hole in my trip.

In flights to come, I can rearrange my gear, but for these sectors, I want anyone scanning my big bags to see only the vague shapes of trousers and shirts in one bag and the solid black of books in the other. The books are intended to be given away, anyway.

Eventually we're done, my BPs issued, a luggage card added into the transfer folder with maps and instructions for LHR and LAX, but not JNB. "You'll have to contact the British Airways desk in Johannesburg," I'm told. "They will print you a boarding pass. And get them to check your bags." She circles the QF tag numbers.

Rightio.

Through security and up to the lounge. I show my BP, the smiling dragon indicates the line showing my NB status and Y class. "You're good."

That's a surprise. They let anybody in. For free. I paid $99 for my 30 day America Airlibes Admirals Club membership. I want to test it out, so I show her the receipt with membership from 04-02-2013 to 05-01-2013.

"That's good. You have membership until October."

I decide I need coffee more than conversation at this point, though it strikes me that if I keep going, I might possibly get the keys to a jet. I have lots more pieces of paper with dates and numbers on to show her.

Later on I check the receipt. Sure enough I bought the temporary membership three weeks earlier - on 03-10-2013.

The lounge is quiet. I dump my bags in the kids' section - no kids at this hour - because it has the best view out, at least until they demolish the remnants of the old terminal. The pancake maker gets a test, and I devour the contents with a hand-crafted barista latte.



The coffee's good. If I eat many more of the pancakes, I'll turn out equally soft and doughy.

[Currently in Edinburgh]

 

[Skyring]

Flight 1
CBR-SYD
2 April 2013
QF872 B738 VH-QJH "Alice Springs"
Seat 26A Y
Scheduled: 0730
Boarding: 0713
Pushback: 0730
Takeoff: 0740 to North



A row to myself on a reasonably crowded flight. Not bad for a NB. The rear of the plane is taken up by the Marist basketball team, off to Alice Springs to compete in an Australia-wide Marist Brothers tournament. "Last year the Gold Coast," a teacher informs me, "This year should be good too. Matthew, take off that pink hat!"

"James has got a pink mankini," chimes in another.

"You'll have a blast," I assure her, kind of wishing I could come along too and be young again.



The inflight snack is juice and an oatmeal cookie. Gone are the days of tea and coffee and plastic cutlery on the Cabin Service Olympics in the few minutes between takeoff and landing.

Maybe I'm growing blasé over the run to Sydney. Once I would have hung out the window, photographing everything. Well, I still do, but I'm not quite as excited. There's a lovely view over Sydney Cove before we loop right and come into Kingsford-Smith from the south.



Call me romantic, but I always choose the "From the Heart" on-board radio on Qantas flights. I'm a sucker for love songs, and the occasional dedications from honeymooners or anniversary travellers ring all my bells. "To Mandy from Ted, this is the song we danced to on our wedding night, all my love for another fifty years." Aww.

The business of the world is love, and a long plane trip is full of people traveling to see their loved ones, friends and family, partners of all types. Remember the opening scenes of "Love Actually", filmed at Heathrow arrivals? People rushing into hugs and joyful reunions. That always makes me a bit gooey and doughy inside.

"When I Fall in Love'" the old Nat King Cole standard, this time performed as a posthumous duet with his daughter. Colour me teary.

And, although I can't find it on the playlist in the Qantas inflight mag, just as we land Frank Sinatra totally lights me up, belting out "New York, New York". I've got a date with Manhattan in my future. I love that amazing city, full of life, full of heart and character. Seeing that green Lady Liberty welcoming arrivals to America, the vast expanse of Central Park, the soaring towers of Art Deco, brutalist and glass, the food vans on the streets pumping out amazing smells. It's not quite my town, but I love the energy, the confidence, the pride.

We land, taxi past a whole bunch of big birds, and there's one forlorn Qantas Frequent Flyer ready for the end.



Landing: 0813 from South
Gate: 0823 Gate 6

[Currently in Edinburgh]

 

[Peter D]

What an interesting and enjoyable trip report. I was curious and looked up Bookcrossing on Wikipedia and there on the talk page there was an editor with a familiar sign off name !! .
That sounds great concept too. I was not aware of it before.

 

[elbarto]

Is that kids section new?i don't recall ever seeing it at CBR

 

[Skyring]

Is that kids section new?i don't recall ever seeing it at CBR

I guess it must be. I haven't been in the lounge for a while. Last February for the Vienna trip. Anyway, it was deserted and gave me a view over my gate so I could keep tabs on how ready it was.

 

[Skyring]

Transit 2 Sydney
2 April 2013

Our gate on arrival is beside the Metropolitan Museum of Art shop. I look at it with fondness, for it is full of lovely things, books to savour, knick-knacks and gadgets of elegance and style. But I'll be seeing the real thing in New York, and I bop along towards the transit bus, Frank Sinatra still crooning into my heart.

The bus, for perhaps the first and only time in my experience, is loading as I come down the escalator into the lounge. Usually I have to wait twenty minutes or so on the worn seats, looking at my watch, checking my connection times, worrying and fretting. Not this time. Somewhere fortune is smiling down on me.

The parade of jet bums is always good. Here's old VH-OJJ waiting for disposal, her tail painted a solid red, all the logos and markings whited out. Inside they are probably pulling out the seats worn smooth from a million bums and the crumbs from a million oatmeal cookies.

Through passport control with my empty double-wide. I almost ask for an exit stamp to christen it, but there's a reason I paid extra for the big book. I'm planning a lot of travel over the next decade.

Security has a few of those bloody back scatter nudeoscopes. I'm lucky, being steered towards a standard metal detector, but in years to come I can see these stupid things becoming unavoidable. In America one may opt out in favour of a pat-down. The TSA people try to make these as uncomfortable as possible. "I'm going to run my hands up your inside thighs until I meet resistance," they inform recalcitrants, fixing them with a steely leer.

"Meet resistance." I must remember that line.

Through the bazaar of duty-free and up to the lounge level. I've got an hour or so before my flight. Give the temporary membership another run. I walk wistfully pass the Flounge entrance to the regular one. For premium pax. And me.

This time my boarding pass is greeted with raised eyebrows. I haul out the American Airlines thing.

"Oh, I haven't seen one of these before. Is it good?" She hands it to a colleague.

"it's good!" I assure her. The dragon in Canberra reckoned it was gold.

"it's good!" the male dragon confirms.

I peer at his name tag. "Grant knows all about these things,"

"Grant's the manager. I'm Michael."

Anyway, I'm granted access. All the good spots are taken here and I eventually find room at the far end of the computer region, where I plug in the iPad for some last minute juice. I select orange juice and a selection from the breakfast buffet. No pancakes here, just scrambled eggs, sausage, baked beans and a delicious grilled tomato. Another coffee to wash everything down. And a muffin which I regret as I hunt down the last few crumbs.




I hit the computer to check my flight from Johannesburg. A bit of work with ExpertFlyer, SeatGuru and BA.com, and I have an upper deck window seat assigned. I could have selected it weeks ago, but up until 24 hours before the flight I have to pay a startling amount of money for the privilege.

I've been researching the curious forward/back seats BA uses in J. Not sure I approve. They look like a bit of mean shoehorning to fit as many passengers in as possible and that always means compromises somewhere along the line.

I look at the upper deck seats on the B744. A small cabin, there's three window seats with direct aisle access, and I see with relief that one of them is empty. I grab it.

This is part of the online check in process, so I print off a BP, hoping like mad I've got the right one. My American Airlines AAdvantage account shows my DONE4 flights, but I can't select seats - it directs me to British Airways. However the AA record locator doesn't work on the BA site, ao I use the one on my QFF "My bookings". I've actually got two - one showing my AAdvantage number and another showing my QFF number, each with a different record locator. All very confusing.

Anyway, I now have a boarding pass with a good seat and if there's any problems I can sort them out in Johannesburg, where I have three hours before my flight.

There's a couple of tall tales lined up outside the windows, one where the kangaroo logo has a pair of boxing gloves. Cute.



The one on the left is my bird to Africa - VH-OJJ. Soon enough I'm called away for boarding. Woot! I'm off!

 

[Skyring]

Flight 2
SYD-JNB
2 April 2013
QF63 B744 VH-OJM "Gosford" Seat 72A
Scheduled: 1055
Boarding: 1025 Gate 24
Pushback: 1052
Takeoff: 1105 to South

Boarding here in two lines. I'm in the ruck line. We stand around for a while as the wheelchairs and WPs are loaded, and then we shuffle forward to stand around in the jetway.

I have a window seat in one of the short rows right at the back of the bus. These are good for the increased storage space and the fact that you only have one person between you and the dunny.

My seat mate here in this row of two at the rear of the plane is Guy, returning home to a place near Durban after two weeks in Sydney and Melbourne.

I look up at one point to see a yellow LL Bean rolling duffle in an overhead locker a few rows ahead. I would have thought I was the only one in Australia to have picked this model and colour, but no. I wonder if he has the extra-large size in yellow as well, nestled close to mine down in the hold. I'll bet nobody else has a bright yellow BookCrossing.com tote bag crammed cubical with Tim Tams and books.



We fly right over Canberra, or at least the south-eastern bit, missing my home in Reid by the width of the fuselage.

Lunch is served an hour or so in. The chicken salad must have been popular, for it is all lamb moussaka by the time the cart reaches Row 72. Not that I am complaining. The few chunks of lamb in the foil tray are succulent and tasty. The gravy thick, the potatoes creamy, the broccoli not bad. The small tub of salad, often a miss rather than a hit, takes me by surprise and the "fire roasted capsicum" is a triumph. I want more.

"Are Mr and Mrs T aboard?" I ask, and yes, they are. Spicey Tomato Mix. I wave away the offer of vodka. It spoils a perfect drink.

There is a small roll, mostly dry, but at least not stale or frozen. A tub of "Dark Chocolate Mousse with Salted Caramel Fudge". The mousse is good, but the fudge hides in the bottom of the tub, gloomy and golden and belts my sugar buds around for a bit. I don't quite lick out the tub, but it crosses my mind.



We are crossing the Australian coast as they serve out the tucker and well into the Bight by the time coffee comes around. From there on the clouds cover the ocean. When they give us some quiet time after the meal and ask for the shades to be lowered, I'm not complaining.

I watch a movie. "Cloud Atlas", which is crunchy and dark and meaty, full of violence, a tangled plot linking many years and settings, and summed up in some delightful philosophy at the end with the main characters mostly quietly deceased from sudden death. I love it.



We have a Weiss ice cream bar in the dark, the lights come up for a vegetarian pizza as cheesy and gloppy and doughy as the best, and then it is supervised nap time again.



The late lunch or supper comes by eventually. We're over the ocean, and way down below are little glints of white which don't move or fade the way waves do. They must be icebergs. The sea is full of them. And a succession of cargo ships, all steaming southwest to the Cape of Good Hope. This is one of the world's choke points, and I think back to the Dutch and English sailing ships on their way to empire.



Somewhere north of Durban we cross the coast. I look down on Africa. Green and settled here, suburbs trending into farms. Soon enough we're flying over green mountains below and soaring white thunderheads closer. Huge storms, by the look of them. We avoid them, but the pilot warns us that we might have turbulence later as we approach into Johannesburg.

No need for entry documents, I find, for transit passengers. I'm a little concerned about the process, and have printed out a series of notes and maps from the airport website. I pull them out now and retrace the steps I will need to take. I'm also worried about my luggage. Will I suffer the long queues in a poorly signposted airport reported by some travellers, while my baggage is pillaged below?

I wonder about the African wildlife. As we descend, I fantasise about elephant and herds of grazing animals beset by lions, but closer inspection reveals farmland and well-tended forest groves. Buildings on the horizon - the city centre in the distance, the suburbs stretching out to engulf the airport, which has its own satellites of warehouses and truck yards.

I look out with fascination. This is the real Africa. Not the half hour I spent portside at Port Said five years back, wrestling with postcard and trinket vendors.

Landing: 1515 from South
Gate: 1524

 

[Skyring]

Bonus shots from Africa flight.



Cute but bored kid.



Thunderheads over South Africa.



I bet it rains down in Africa.



Hazey town.

 

[Skyring]

Transit 2 Johannesburg
2 April 2013

The reality of the terminal gels nicely with the maps. Unlike the dire predictions, the airport is well signed, queues are short, and I'm not hassled by anyone. There's a lady at the British Airways desk in the transit area who checks that my Qantas bag numbers are assigned to my next flight. I also get a stamp in my passport for arrival into JNB. I'm not even poking my nose outside into the arrivals hall - the whole thing is undercover. I guess I'm breathing African air...



Considering all my forebodings, I'm extremely pleased. Mind you, I have yet to check out the luggage. Maybe I'll have a sad experience at the Heathrow carousels.

I've got a reasonable amount of time to explore, and there are many airside shops to look at. I'm after some souvenirs, some African coffee, a mug, a postcard to send home, some melatonin.



Nothing is too much trouble. I get some Rand from an ATM, swing around, make my choices, release a book, take a few photographs, and then head for the BA lounge.

A refreshing shower, a photo with the friendly dragons, a few bites and a bit of internet.



I was warned that the departure time had been moved up an hour due to the daylight savings time change in the UK (or as I will laughingly refer to it from now on, British Summer Time - summer, yeah right). This didn't seem to translate to an early departure, however, so I kept an anxious eye on the departures board, quizzed the dragons and left the instant I saw a status change.

Waiting in the line - the premium line this time - I looked at the other pax. International air travel seems to be a largely white occupation, judging by the people here and those on my incoming flight. A few dark faces, but I guess it's foreign tourists who fly in and out of South Africa.

[Currently in Edinburgh]

 

[Sprucegoose]

Good stuff,look forward to the next installment !

 

[LadyC]

Am enjoying also

I will be interested to see
1) where teddy bear pops up along the way
2) what other books are released and where

 

[Shelf]

I'm enjoying this TR so far.

You old smoothy, I'm not sure too many others would admit to listening to that radio station

 

[Skyring]

Flight 3 - Back in Business!
JNB-LHR
2-3 April 2013
BA56 B744
Seat: 62K (Upper deck)
Scheduled: 1920
Boarding: 1855 Gate A3
Pushback: 1924/1955
Takeoff: 2010 to West

This is my first time on the upper deck of any airliner, and I’m keen to see how it goes. It’s also my first experience with the BA forward/backward seating arrangement.

I drag my bag up the stairs, find my seat and am pleased to find that as it’s an exit row, I have direct aisle access instead of having to climb over my seatmate’s legs.

Only a small cabin up top, not full, a couple of cheery FAs to look after us.

“Champagne, orange juice or water?”

Here I’m put on the spot. At this point in time, it’s been about nine months since I had any alcohol. Not because I don’t like it or for health reasons or anything, just that I wanted to set a good example for family members.

But here I am, half a world away from anyone who knows me, travelling by myself, taking a bit of indulgence at the front of the bus for a change.

“Ah, champagne would be nice.”

And it was.



Later on we got an amenities kit. I rarely touch these, as I usually have everything I need in my own carryon kit - a customised old burgundy leather Qantas First pack. However, I’m following advice to collect them for local womens shelters, to cater for women who might arrive at a moment’s notice with nothing but their clothes. Business or First kits usually contain some premium products certain to be appreciated by damsels in distress.

I ask for the ladies kit, but apparently the ladies and gents have the same pack nowadays. That doesn’t seem right. British Airways beancounters at work, I suppose.

Those who are looking carefully at the times above might notice two pushback times. What happened was that we pushed back, turned onto the taxiway, dropped the tug and waited. And waited.

Eventually the captain explained the situation. We had a passenger left at the gate, his bags were aboard, and it would take longer to offload his bags than to return to the gate and collect him.

As it happened, it was another half hour or so of stuffing around. The last passenger didn’t come upstairs to be glared at, but eventually we we pushed back out, lit up and rolled away.

Not to worry. I was getting comfy with the seat. On BA Business class, at least on the bigger jets, the seats are arranged with window seats facing backward and aisle seats forwards. This allows more seats to be crammed in with a lie-flat arrangement. I really don’t think too much of this seating pattern, but what they hey, it’s better than three or five abreast down the back with your knees scraping the seat ahead.

I’ve got a window seat, so I’m facing aft, which feels a bit weird, but the champagne is working its magic on my blank slate, and I’m feeling no pain.

The seat itself is okay. It comes in two parts, with a footrest sticking up like an island a metre or so away. I’ve got a card explaining how the various bits work, and the footrest looks like it could be tricky. As it turns out, this is the case, especially when the locking mechanism isn’t as tight as it could be. I suspect that people have been putting more than feet on this footrest!

There is a series of buttons for seat adjustment, conveniently bluelit for ease of finding in the unfamiliar dark of night travel. I can sit my chair up, lie it down, go halfway for watching TV or reading with my feat up. There’s something called a “Z-position” which is not for sleeping, oddly enough.

Down near the footrest is a little slide-out drawer, just the right size for a laptop or a pair of shoes. Once we are airborne - and my, how big Johannesburg is, glowing gold against the dark of Africa - I tuck my shoes in, slide the drawer shut, and they are safely out of the way until we hit Heathrow. They aren’t sliding around, kicked under another seat, squashed in the chair gears... Nice touch.

The downside to this drawer is that it is out of reach when the seat is a bed, so it’s not good for glasses or reading book or camera.

What I love about these upper deck seats is that they come with two roomy lockers under the windows. I stow my carryon bag in the overhead locker, but I still have my iPad bag and camera to tuck away, and these are ample. I also slide the pillow and blanket inside until I need them.

There’s a nice big media screen, with a remote control at my elbow. Under the screen, which flips in and out to allow access to the seat, is a two piece tray table, which slides a long way back and forth, allowing me to eat in bed or work on my laptop or whatever strikes my fancy.

My seatmate is sitting beside my knees, looking in my general direction. As, I guess, I am to him. It’s a bit odd, but there’s a lot of “fence” between us, and if I raise the privacy screen we’re both sealed off completely. There’s a button to automatically raise and lower the screen, which I don’t discover until morning. The screen can be hauled up manually, but won’t lock in that position, dropping down at random moments. I discover this around midnight when I want to read a book without the light disturbing my seatmate.



The delay in accepting our final passenger meant that night had well and truly fallen. A pity - I’ve seen so little of Africa that I would have enjoyed more daylight, more veldt, more jungle, more jumbos.

I’m just in front of the upper deck emergency exits. The FAs take jumpseats there for takeoff - another two sets of eyes on my little coccoon - and after we’re airborne they struggle a little to cover the flaps over the arming toggles. They don’t quite lock, another indication that this bird has been around a bit, but that’s okay, the flaps are only adrift by a centimetre or so and they are up high. It’s unlikely that they are going to be snagged on hair or clothing.

Once we are up and away, dinner service begins. I’ve got that big open area of emergency exit at my feet, so the FA leans in over the footrest to serve the tucker. Other window passengers must be served from the side over the knees of the forward facing aisle passenger through the hatch of the lowered privacy window. I have to tuck my media screen away for service, but that’s okay - from what I’ve seen of the movie and TV offerings, there’s not a lot I want to watch, and I’d rather give my undivided attention to dinner anyway.

First we have champagne. I’m really cracking on now. This is served with a small packet of nuts. Almonds and cashews, roasted and salted to perfection. Heaven.



Sorry about the lighting for the food shots. It was either too dark with the cabin lighting, too bright with the flash, and too pink if I shaded it with my palm. Looks odd, but it was in fact very appetising in the flesh.

First course is a salad, seafood entree, roll and a couple of chocolates in a box. I’ve been living too high off the hog, so I slide the chockies away for a couple of BookCrossers I’m going to meet later.



The rest gets my careful attention. The butter for the roll is ice cold, but at least the roll isn’t stale. The seafood is delicious and the salad a nice complement. I wash it down with more champagne.

Main course is Karoo Steak, and I choose the South African red to match it. The steak is a little tough, as is the red, but overall not bad.

For afters, I choose the cheese plate. Served with a handful of grapes and a small packet of “Wheatsworth” crackers, I get a serve of cheddar which is divine, and a small soft goats cheese which is more so.



There’s coffee to follow and I skip the port. I’m a mellow fellow by now!

The AV selection isn’t much chop compared to the Qantas feast. First off, the radio doesn’t have the range of channels. There’s no soft romance, no classic hits, no jazz. It’s mostly talk or modern music. Humph.

I attempt the Desert Islands Discs program. It’s Dustin Hoffman, who is interesting enough, but I’m looking for music, not chat.

The CD rack is sparsely populated as well. Qantas gives you more in the jukebox than could easily be listened to in a week, but here, after sampling a second-rate Barbra Streisand, I’m done. The “Essential Albums” offering is a late Elvis. Nice enough, but not quite what I want. Maybe others would be more satisfied, but I’m not.

Fair suck, BA, but the folk in the premium cabins are going to be baby boomers, and we want our Beatles and Beach Boys.

Well, I do.

There’s a similar paucity of movies. Some good recent movies, but not the huge selection Qantas provides. I watched "Parental Guidance" but I was yearning for sleep and I think I missed a chunk near the end.

Right. Crank the seat level, wrap a blanket around, put a seatbelt on over the top and sink back into the pillow.

Sleep comes quickly. It's a comfortable seat and quite private. Not that the upper cabin is a hive of activity. One last look out the window - it's darkest Africa out there.

I wake somewhere around three - about lunchtime back home, I guess - and go for a wander. The facilities are cramped, but name me an aircraft that isn't. Downstairs is quiet, and there's a bit of a snack bar with juice, chips, biscuits and so on. Not a bad selection, and I grab a bit of something to settle down with over my book.

This is where I discover that I don't know how to operate the privacy screen, and after it drops with a clatter twice in a row, I give up.

I update my trip report, read a bit, try to doze. Losing battle, really. My body is awake.

Every now and again I look out the window. There's some cities and towns out there in the Sahara, with streets and lights. I wish this was a daytime flight - I'd be hanging out the window the whole way.

I've got a choice of cameras to record my travels. My iPhone, which is kind of okay, but not much chop for serious photography. And my bulky Canon SXi5, which is one step down from a DSLR, not the thing I can stuff in my pocket.

As the flight comes to an end, still dark outside over France, I'm taking a few photographs of the seat to illustrate the various features, and when I switch to movie, I'm interrupted by the FA, who wants to know why I'm taking so many photographs. "I'm writing a trip report when I get back home," I tell her, and keep the film rolling. I ask her about the privacy screen and she shows me the button that raises and lowers it, locking it into position at the top. Ah.

Breakfast is served. I aim for the omelette, but there's a lot to go with it. All good.

Passes are distributed. One for Fast Track immigration, another for the Arrivals Lounge. I tuck them away and get my kit together, spread out as it is over several pockets and storage compartments. I've done very well for storage in this seat, though of course the two big lockers under the window swallow huge amounts. The aisle seat isn't so well supplied, nor are the downstairs windows.

London slides past in a stream of unrecognisable suburbs, glowing with the earliest risers. We turn into the wind and land from the west.

And finally, we're coming into Heathrow, dark and cold and dismal.

Landing: 0550 from West
Gate: 0600 T5B


[Currently in Canberra - how time flies!]

 

[feezable]

Great reading, I'm looking forward to the next installment.

 

[Skyring]

Johannesburg - Heathrow
Bonus food shots



There was more - the main for dinner, the omelette for brekkie, and I really should have taken a shot of the downstairs "Club Kitchen". I think I grabbed a yogurt or something, but all the offerings, although exquisite, were like a bazillion calories each. I was lucky to come back only three kilos heavier than I left, especially after a week of American food, much of it in the air.

 

[docjames]

Re: Menu/wine list: when I asked for the Brut Rose they didnt have any (3 x long haul flights) recently, including one ex-LHR.

Enjoying your TR (as usual).