Kenny Smith | A remarkable thing happens …

adventures / family / photo / Tuesday — Comments Off
16
Jun 26

Reunited with the kitties

We arrived last night, having been American again for about 55 hours. I find that the older I get the more time I need to reset. At this rate, my whole reset thing may take months. Sometimes circumstances don’t allow, though, which is probably for the best.

Anyway, we’re at my in-laws, picking up the kitties. They’ve had a great time here. Poseidon adjusted to our return pretty easily and, by today, he’s been eager for pets and to tell us about the fun he’s had.

He’s easy to win over. Give him a little attention, a good pet or two, and all is forgiven, or you’ll become famous friends.

Phoebe, on the other hand, takes a little more time. She has a lot of closets and hiding places here and she’s not ready to forgive us just yet.

She’ll come around. I’ve learned that you just have to let her do it in her own time.

And, in the meantime, I helped out a little bit. My mother-in-law has this huge holly and it needed some trimming. So I brought the shears and the pruners and a few other things and went to it this morning. There’s a bird nest in the back, but no one was home. Happily, I was able to leave it undisturbed. I cut back limbs from the house, cleared a path to the water spigot and cleaned up around the dryer vent. It was a productive morning. Here it is before the final trim.

Only after that did she come out and tell me the story of the bush. It was a special gift, and I’m glad I didn’t hear all of the details beforehand, I might not have cut a single leaf off of the thing.

My lovely bride went fishing with her father today. So after I did my part helping out around here, I petted Poe and read awhile. My mother-in-law and I went out for dinner. I drove us to one of their regular haunts and she told everyone she knew there that she’d traded in for a newer model. Had a delicious burger, lovely conversation, and now back here, waiting to hear tall tales of the big one that got away.

adventures / Monday / photo / South Africa — Comments Off
15
Jun 26

Third time was, in fact, the charm

We have made it back home. And, in true us fashion, we are leaving home again. But we are in the United States. It took three tries to leave lovely Cape Town, South Africa. We were due to fly out Tuesday night of last week, but fog and a sick co-pilot nixed us. We were due to fly out Wednesday night, but the still sick co-pilot and a passenger’s medical emergency nixed that effort. Delta has a contractual obligation to not work on Thursdays, apparently, so we tried (and succeeded on Friday.

How it went, we took a cooking class at lunch with a friend and colleague. (It was pretty incredible.) Later, we assembled all of our things once again. My roller, backpack and a small camera bag. My lovely bride’s two rollers and a backpack. Our friend’s 19 pieces of luggage. She was starting to rally and feel much better, but still allowed me to carry most of her things.

Somehow our friend got pushed onto the new, earlier flight. We were on standby for that plane. We were also scheduled for our original flight, the flight of the Delta Damned. Got to the airport, checkin, security, passport control, and through the terminal, all of which stopped feeling novel a few days back and began to feel like a chore.We said our goodbyes, and our friend got in line for her plane. We went to the lounge to kill a bit of time. We made it to our gate, went through the two different boarding queues and the second round of performative personal security. (Guy looked in one pocket of my huge backpack and waved me on.) We got on the plane. By now everyone here pretends like they know one another. We’ve trauma bonded. A guy on the jetway said he had been on this plane twice and immediately took his shoes off, so he wasn’t doing that. I said I hadn’t taken my shoes off, and I was going to do that. We had to shake things up, you see. This was my neighbor, an older woman and, honestly, props.

I talked with the flight attendant who’s daughter went into labor Tuesday. Apparently that woman was still in labor Friday night. Her mom, our Delta companion, was trying to get home and help out.

“So, straight to the hospital, then?”

No, she had to go home in Atlanta, pack a back, and then fly to Portland. I hope she made it in time. But also, for the new mother’s sake, I hope grandma was late.

We were settled in and people around us were getting updates on the other plane. And so were we. They were having a host of mechanical issues. Drains and pumps and lights and things. and then the paperwork. And they were running out of time. There were some empty seats around us so I said, “She should demand they let her off that plane and run over to this one.” They did not. And so, for a third time, she had her flight home canceled.

Our flight, meanwhile, was delayed. The word from the cockpit was “Waiting on paperwork.” And, look, I’m not an efficiency expert, per se, but a great deal of my work and the things I do and try to teach others about are creating efficiencies. And I couldn’t let this slide. Pointing out that we’d been trying to leave since Tuesday and Delta, this airport, the many governments involved, or Charles down in baggage had 72 hours to get their act together just seemed a moral imperative.

Finally the paperwork came. Finally we took off. Finally we were headed to Atlanta. Hours late. I stayed awake with a good strategy for how to sleep. I slept a bit, because my strategy, foolishly, did not take into account that absolutely nothing can happen on that plane in a quiet manner. So I was awake by 5 something.

You know how those in-seat monitors now let you track your flight and gives you an ETA? Never look at that. Because we were bumping right up on the departure time for our Atlanta flight.

All we had to do was this: land, grab our belongings, exit this plane, grab our checked bags, give them to some other security people (because the US doesn’t think the South African security process is sufficient), then pass through security, change terminals, run to the opposite end of the terminal, and make the plane. Since we were late we now had 41 minutes.

We needed 38 of those minutes, and I ran the whole way to get there just in time.

My airplane drink of choice is apple juice (though I am thinking of changing to V-8). I like to pretend it is something more stiffer, like orange, or grapefruit juice. Or four fingers of an off-color scotch. And after all of this, I felt, on that plane out of Atlanta, I had earned my Tennessee apple.

We arrived at Dulles, which was great, since that’s where we were headed. And two of our three bags arrived there, too. I fetched the two bags, wondering how two of these bags made it, but the third didn’t, while my lovely bride went to talk to Delta, wondering how two of these bags made it, but the third didn’t. In Atlanta you collected your bags, walked some more, and then gave them to a guy who turned, put them on a conveyor belt, and they magically appeared on the plane. How did two manage to do that, and one didn’t?

The Delta person offered to let us know when the bag arrived at our nearest airport so that we could go collect it. I believe she laughed at that poor person and gave them the address to which they could deliver the suitcase. We’ll see if it arrives.

Then there was just the shuttle from the airport to the car. The first shuttle drove off without us. We got boxed out by an extended family for the second shuttle. (They come in 30 minute increments.) I feared we might come to blows trying to get on the third shuttle, but we boarded the thing without incident. At that point we just had to hope the car was where we left it (it was) and that it would crank (it did).

And so here is my proof of being back in the country.

We were supposed to arrive on Wednesday at 11:39 a.m. We landed at 11:35 a.m. on Saturday.

And after one full day to adjust to the time zones, we’re going to pick up the kitties.

adventures / food / Friday / photo / South Africa — Comments Off
12
Jun 26

Flying fuel, or staying fuel

Today’s adventure, before tonight’s attempt to escape Cape Town, was to take a cooking class, Cooking With Love. We went back to Bo-Kaap, which we visited a few days ago. This wonderful woman named Faldela brings you into one of those colorful buildings, her family home. The three of us met a family of three and we got a lovely mid-day experience full of jokes and recipes, the medical remedies of turmeric and we made some amazing dishes. The best, lightest naan you’ve ever experienced is the stuff you made at the direction of a master chef.

We also had a curry, some samosas and a few other things. Ginger, fennel, tamarind and the sights and smells that come with them made for a wonderful lunch. All of it coming from the local fusion of Cape Malay cuisine. In this place African traditions have blended for centuries with the foods that Malaysian, Indonesian, and Indian slaves.

I have, for years, tried to figure out the exact words to flesh out my idea, but I would love to take part in classes or restaurant concepts which give you both food and the menu’s foodways, which is to say how the food and its cultural and traditional and historical origins come to us. This wasn’t that, but it was close enough to make me want to look harder for more experiences like that. Also, it was outrageously delicious.

Faldela cracked jokes on all of us — I became Kenny Rogers for the afternoon, and resisted the urge to sing any of his songs — and told us about her family and got everyone to talk about ours. The other people were a mother visiting with her two young adult children. One was in college and the other in graduate school, if I understood them right. Faldela brought out a stack of books, and these, she said, were her gifts to her children, her legacy. These were the names and messages of all of the people she has brought into her home to share the secrets of these delicious meals, and would you like to sign them.

Would I like to sign them. Would I like to fill up a page or two on my own?

She emailed us the recipes. I hope we make some of these things soon. Even if we get something wrong, we’ll just have to keep trying.

And that’s what we’re doing with a plane tonight. For the third time, we’ll catch a ride over to the airport, take part in the pre-flight process, maybe get on a plane, and maybe fly back to the United States. Is the third time the charm?

adventures / photo / South Africa / Thursday / World Cup — Comments Off
11
Jun 26

Our second flight out of Cape Town was also canceled

I have set up citizenship here. It is a lovely place and you can fall in love with most places if you stay long enough. Or, if you stay long enough, roots just fill in around you, somehow. So this has become a necessity at this point. And also an issue of practicality. I’ll send for my things next week. Please forward my mail to …

Keep the bills. Or let them lapse. Who cares? I don’t care. No one cares. Maybe it doesn’t matter. We’re not ever getting home, anyway.

Last night, Wednesday night, we tried again. My lovely bride, our former professor and I loaded into an Uber and trekked across Cape Town to the airport. I carried our friend’s luggage — she has so many bags — and that’s also how I know she isn’t feeling well, she didn’t even argue with me about it. We stood in an overly long check-in line. We were also there early. Before the check-in counter opened. Because we are ambitious. Also the line moved slowly. Delta has four people working in this airport. We got to know the people around us in the line because we were there for a while.

There were regular couples. Professional acquaintances who were here for the conference we’ve just left. One family hauling around a U-Haul worth of luggage and boxes. They looked exhausted, the chore of it all exhausting. There was also a woman who was too eager. Too loud. Too demonstrative. Too much overzealous oversharing. Too much.

Would you like to know who the stuffed animal she was carrying was for? I know who the stuffed animal is for. Ask my why I know who the stuffed animal was for. I know who the stuffed animal was for because she was telling every stranger she met.

Her niece.

Anyway, luggage checked. Boarding passes distributed. We stood and snaked our way through an incredibly long and slow-moving security line. Then the border control, which was somehow moving a bit more efficiently last night than the previous night. We did the long walk from all of that to where the actual terminal is. To the lounge, and then through a store or two. We did the boarding section queue, and then the secondary human security checkpoint. A young man looked through my bag last night, a bit more thoroughly than his colleague the time before. When he was done, I asked him why this layer of security exists. We did metal detectors and scanners, after all. It has something to do with whether you purchased anything in the terminal’s stores. If you do, the store has to escort it to your plane. I basically learned enough to learn I wasn’t particularly interested in it, but I was glad he told me.

We were called to the plane. We took a long walk down a byzantine jetway to get to the plane, the loud demonstrative woman with the stuffed animal was just in front of us. She was so excited she was high-fiving strangers and hugging airline employees. I looked at my friend and said, “We’ll get down here, and they’ll have to take her off the plane because of her imminent medical emergency.” That woman was due to crash at any moment.

We got on the plane. Got settled. Finished the movie I’d been watching the night before. Started and finished another movie. I have sat on the tarmac and watched two-plus movies while not leaving Cape Town.

Over several hours of delays and messages the themes this evening were, “Ladies and gentlemen, from the flight deck. Welcome back. The fog is still here. Our co-pilot is still sick. We’re going to taxi out to the runway and if this fog clears we’ll be ready to be the first one out. Because our co-pilot is still sick we can’t make it all the way to Atlanta, so we’re trying to land in Puerto Rico.”

Why we aimed for San Juan, which is to say what the rest of the plan might be, was never explained. It didn’t matter because San Juan was not interested in receiving a plane in the early hours of the morning. Something about ground crews and customs. Ahh, the American government.

So we had some hope, but it was a fatalist sort of thing. We pushed back from the airport. We taxied. We got periodic updates about the fog. Still not clearing.

And then, “We have to turn back to the airport because we have a medical emergency on the plane.” And then one of the other members of the crew called for a medical doctor to come forward.

At which point the pilot told us, he had 17 minutes before he timed out. He timed out. So we went back. The ill passenger was escorted off by the local EMTs. We were asked to leave the plane. So, get your things. Again. Then get your luggage. Once more. Then officially enter South Africa through their customs and passport control stations. For a third time.

I have nothing to declare.

Walk the full length of the airport, again with everyone’s luggage. See this sign, for the third time.

That’s the problem. This place has been wonderful, and now it has become a little too welcoming. The Hotel California is actually a Hilton property in Cape Town.

But, hey, the good news is the cats are in good hands and we haven’t had to postpone any plans. If you must be inconvenienced by weather and a passenger feeling unwell and a pilot making the rookie mistake of eating bad oysters, this is the right amount of inconvenience.

I had a lot of time for that sort of perspective while we waited for our Uber having, once again, declined to wait for a Delta bus, the arrival of which no one could predict after 1 a.m. I felt confident that I could have driven the route across town back to the hotel this time. I knew all the signs and buildings as we sailed by.

Which brought us to the first part of the next problem. It was technically June 11th by then, after midnight, local time. You can’t reserve a hotel room for the 10th when it is the 11th. My lifetime of living with time as a construct suggests that makes sense. We called the hotel and explained our issue. They said to rent the room for the 11th, and they can change it at the hotel. We did. We arrived at the hotel. The bell hops and doormen were surprised and disappointed to see us, but happy, too. We went to the desk which is when we arrived at the second part of the next problem. While the website recognizes we’re on June 11th, the front desk in the lobby of the giant, modern, upscale Westin Hotel, still thinks it is June 10th.

This took … a long time to resolve. While that was taking place our plane’s flight crew came in and sat down in the lobby to wait their turn. I talked to them. Learned a lot. This is an Atlanta crew and they make this run regularly and most of them have been on the route for years and they all swore up and down and emphatically, that this was an unreal and new experience for them. I learned that the co-pilot will be ready for our next flight. I learned that one of the flight attendants is trying to get home to be present for the birth of her grandchild. I learned that the person that had a medical event was not the woman that we saw, but it was a gentleman with some sort of serious heart concern. (But they had no further updates.) I learned that, for reasons that were never explained, Delta doesn’t fly out of here on Thursdays. So we’ll try again on Friday night. I learned there are two flights Friday night. I learned that Delta is almost as bad at communicating with their employees as they are their passengers when it’s not going right.

Here I’d like to make a brief aside. At one point, today, The Yankee was talking to Delta and they offered the following solution: You can fly out of Cape Town, to Johannesburg, and then fly to Cape Town, and then fly to Amsterdam, and then to the U.S. Listen, chatbot, getting out of Cape Town is the problem. Why would I try that twice?

So now we’re listed on our flight for Friday, and we’re on standby for the other flight on Friday. Our standby flight is before our flight. Also, why are these flights already listed as delayed? We’re not even on the day of the flight yet.

Also, Delta, being a global logistics leader, is not very good at dealing with things going wrong. You’d assume they’d have experience and contingencies and a correct amount of staff for everything by now. They do not.

But enough about that, for now. It’s funny, and mildly frustrating, but also hilarious. Or it would be if the hours hadn’t become weird. Not only are we getting canceled flights we’re getting canceled flights after midnight.

Let us look at the positives, which do exist. How often do you get extra days in a lovely place, anyway? And because we seldom get to see our colleague — we are always ships passing in the night at conferences — it’s been a treat to spend time catching up with her. She is one of the best people in the business, after all. And now a mentor and friend. And because I am now in league with not one, but two busybodies — neither my wife nor our former professor can sit still very long long — someone will find something to do.

So today we took a tour. As evidence of our friend’s need to always do stuff … she’s now a dean. \When she isn’t deaning, she’s studying to be a sommelier. Why wouldn’t you do that? We visited a famous winery. And we also made two new friends, brothers from Australia who we spent the afternoon with. Nice guys. One is in finance. The other is a pilot. He is bemused by our troubles. We ended up having dinner and watching the opening game of the World Cup with them.

We could be home right now, but instead we watched South Africa play on the global stage with a huge room full of South Africans, and a few Mexicans, who were their opponents. That was a lot of fun. South Africa sadly lost, which was to be expected, but the game is meant to be watched in a group, and there’s nothing like watching with a group cheering on their countrymen. This isn’t even South Africa’s most popular, successful sport (rugby and cricket usually stand out here) but most everyone I’ve talked to is excited for the World Cup. It was fun to see a little bit of that in person.

And while there’s no point in writing about today’s weather, since we aren’t flying tonight anyway, this was the daytime visibility.

We will try once more, tomorrow, Friday evening, to return to the U.S. If we don’t, my forwarding address is above. (Seriously, keep the bills.)

adventures / photo / South Africa / Wednesday — Comments Off
10
Jun 26

Our flight out of Cape Town was canceled

We should be in the United States. We are not. Here is what happened. Remember how, on Monday, I said it was an indoor, rainy kind of day? And remember how there was a haze and a fog and a low cloud cover yesterday? That’s going to come up.

One of our former professors and colleagues was at the next hotel over, also for the conference. We picked her up in our Uber and went across town to the airport. I carried most of her things because she is in a knee brace and on a cane. I also carried my things, which I’ve gotten down to an overstuffed backpack. We checked our checked bags at the check-in counter. Check. We passed through security. This moved quickly. We passed through the border control point. This took more time. But that’s OK, we were at the airport hilariously early, it turns out, for our overnight flight. We went to the lounge, but airport lounges, no matter where you go in the world it seems, are one of the few places that concern themselves with the number of people inside. We were turned away. We found another lounge. We waited until it was time to go to the gate.

We went to the gate. Or toward it. We waited for the sectional boarding process, which was, in truth, a sectional-just-come-this-way process. In between, though, was another security checkpoint. This was a manual process. And it could take a long time. Or it could take no time. This was not thorough or consistent. Also, my backpack has 10 pockets (that I’m aware of) and I had stuff everywhere. I mentally steeled myself for a woman to pull everything out, one-by-one, and explaining what this charger does, or why I have so many Band-Aids and the like. She glanced into two pockets and decided I was harmless.

Remember those views from Table Mountain yesterday? This was one of them. We’re looking down on the clouds and the city below.

Last night I was watching something like that roll into the airport. Never mind, though, because eventually our section of the plane was called to board. I could not convince our friend to go on early, despite her many pieces of carry-on luggage, her cane, and her limp. But the number was called and we took the long walk to Namibia, or our plane, whichever one came to first. Boarded, got settled. Waited. Waited.

Waited.

Over the course of a few hours we heard from various members of the flight crew and the messages could be distilled to this.

“You need 500 meters of visibility to take off. We don’t have that right now. Hopefully it’ll clear up.”

“One of our co-pilots has fallen ill. So we’re down a man. We’re still ready to fly. Waiting on this fog to clear.”

“We’re trying to find alternate routes. Maybe Puerto Rico. Doesn’t look good. And we’re almost out of time.”

Pilots, by law, can only work for so many hours a day. This is a long flight. When one pilot can’t work, the math changes and their flight window narrows. And this is a long flight.

By long flight, I mean retreat from the airport. Our flight was scheduled to depart Cape Town last night at 8:05 p.m. I think we arrived there at about 5 p.m. After waiting on the plane, leaving the plane, collecting our luggage, officially entering South Africa again, walking through the whole of the airport, finding an Uber — which is never not frustrating — and then driving back across town, we arrived here at 2:38 a.m.

My travel companions are take charge people and we most assuredly got out of the airport faster than the other passengers, some of whom waited for airline busses bound for who knows.

So we’re at the Westin. And this was our view from the lounge this morning. This is the Foreshore Freeway Bridge. This is downtown, in the central business district. Designed in the 1960s, built in the 70s, and ground to a halt in 1977 because of budget problems. There is talk of getting back to finishing the thing. But I’d bet a lot of people have grown used to the look of it. These days it is a tourist attraction.

We didn’t do anything today. Slept in because of the late night. Sat around a bit stunned at the events and trying to make sense of being rescheduled. Our friend, who we are now traveling with, is probably having the slowest day of her life. To be fair, she’s recovering from knee surgery and fighting off pneumonia.

The good news is we’re flying tonight. Our original plane has a similar itinerary and this is the atmosphere just before we head back to the airport, and home.

We must now grab our things, get downstairs, pile into another Uber and do it all again, for the first time.