Pinhole Perspektiv

Wow! What a complete nightmare of air travel. Probably the worst experience of my life regarding transport - and thats saying something considering the boat ride in Thailand last year was a revelation of what Hell would be!

The plan was simple. Fly to Hong Kong, change planes and fly to Joburg. The difficulty came when I tried to bring my life’s belongings. About 50kg of it in total. I can’t believe what a complete dog show – or to be frank, cock up – the whole thing was. It got worse as it went on. Firstly I went to check in and politely explained my situation to the sweet vietnamese lady. I’m a student. I’m going to South Africa for a year. I’ve got a lot of stuff. Please be gracious and let me take it on the plane. The lady said I could have 25KG.  I put the big green bag onto the scale, which weighed in at 27KG alone. Then I added the smaller bag and the total came to 36kg! Stuff! Here we go. About that graciousness I mentioned?! Then the lady saw my hand luggage and said thats got to go on to check the weight too. That pushed the total to 45kg!!! I’m not mathematician, but I know 45 is a hang of a lot more than 25 and I also have travelled enough to know that thats going to be a very costly experience. It gets worse.

She then said the Guitar wouldn’t be allowed in the cabin. WHAT? How is this a safety risk? Sure, my singing isn’t great - but bringing down a plane? I simply refused and said it will be broken in the hold and I’ve flown all over the place, post 9-11 and its always gone on the plane. Sorry chick, this is how its going to be. She went to check with the superior who said we could check at the gate with the cabin crew. But it might still have to go to the hold. I knew there was a good chance of arriving with a cracked neck or secondary hole in the side. “Did Dad Insure it?” was one of the thoughts flying around my head at this time! I didn’t trust the ‘chief’ on the ground at Ama-O.R.Tambo to handle her with care. My Cort Country Jumbo (otherwise affectionately known as Dolly Parton) might not make it all the way back to the sands of Africa.

Back to the luggage and the monster weight issue. She says I’m 11kg over, so she will charge me for 10. That’s US$19…Per Kilo. Oh unholy-mother-of-ghandi! The stuff in the bag is not even WORTH that much!!!

So off I go to the counter and this is where the ‘poop hits the fan’. Pull out my credit card. “Please enter your pin”. Kak! What was it. 0-*-0-*-*. Negative. Oh dear. Then I remembered I had saved it on my phone. Open that, check under Standard Bank. 9-6-0-9-8. Negative. “You can try one more time, then its blocked” - yes, thank you very much lady, I’m quite well aware of the severity of the situation!!! If I get this wrong, then I’m really in the poo. I can’t take a risk, no combinations are coming to me! I realise the pin is on my Cell C sim card. So in that goes to the phone. “Pease Enter Pin” Ah bloody! Whats the pin for the phone!?!?! 2 months of not using pins and now I cant for the life of me remember them. M-U-R-P-H-Y. Negative. By this time I was desperate, entering any 5 digit combination that had any degree of significance in my life. Fail. Please enter PUK number. Great. Who ever knows their PUK number? Its just an insult to ask for it. The phone is blocked. Remember what I said about being in the poo. Yeah. Im in it.

“Can I please use a phone to phone home, is there a pay phone anywhere?”, “No, sorry”. What!? Nothing in the entire airport?! Fortunately a lady standing next to me also flying to Joburg said I could use hers. I recently read about Abraham entertaining Angels in his tent and thought this might not be Gabriel, but I’ll take her! I phone my dad and apologise under my breath for the monumental phone bill this lady is about to receive. I convey the situation in limited words to my father who embraces the role of bailing out his son. Now the race is on. Its 5:40. I’ve got until 6:20 for him to get on his bike. Drive through traffic, across town, and pay 184$ before they say I can’t fly. My Bags are already through, its just they need confirmation I’ve paid. 6:10 comes and goes. 6:14. By this stage I realise my chances are slim and none and slim is fading fast. I race back to the lady and beg and rationalise that my bags are already through, my dad is good for his word, its been 60 minutes already, so he can’t be far. The lady says maximum 10 more minutes otherwise they got to bring back the bags. I think, if my earthly dad is putting his neck on the line (similarly to that chicken back on the bike trip) then my heavenly Dad can pull some strings, surely! All of a sudden theres that Brrrright orange shirt of dad. “DAD!” Who knew dads alternative fashion choice would save the day. He hops the fence, forget the security guard and race back to the counter. You would think the lady would understand that my plane departs in 25 minutes, I still need to go through security, and time is of the essence. But no. She won’t accept the credit card. The names on the card don’t match the passport! BLOODDY!!!!!! He’s my father for petes sake! Fine, cash! Take it. 184$! “thanks dad, see you later”

I then race to the customs point and get stuck behind 4 germans who make South African Postal Service look efficient. They are taking their sweet time and cant seem to operate the idiot-proof conveyor belt. I jam my guitar and bag through, pick it up and RUN to the counter. Queues. Lovely. I choose the shortest. I’m panicking. Does Stof know that I will make it now? I told him I might miss the flight. Now he might not be there to pick me up! We have to register for uni on Monday else we pay massive fines for late registration. We have to be there. Which means, i HAVE to make this flight. I get to the counter and hand her my passport and believe it or not, the departure card. She is not there! Bloody! My heart drops. I suddenly think of trying to explain to dad how he got there in time to save me and then I misplace the card and can’t leave the country. Drew - you are a Class A, Ocean going, IDIOT! Theres no time to check through my bag or pockets or whatever else I’m carrying. I start spinning a story about how the lady at the check in must have taken it out and I don’t have time to go back. “Please Miss, Please, my plane leaves in 15 minutes”. She’s not happy. This is Vietnam, Communist Vietnam. They love paperwork. Communism thrives on paperwork. But she seems to let it slide. Even these Commy’s are susceptible to old school charm.  Hallelujah!

Last hurdle. The security check. I stuff the guitar in and think, theres no chance I’m unpacking my laptop and everything else in this 10kg hand luggage. I throw the bag on and walk through detectors. I look at the screen and my bag is just one huge blob of blue! A security check nightmare. The lady at the screen is alarmed, she wants to have a closer look. Sorry sister, you’re not going to check this one. I grab it and just run without looking back, hoping not to receive the full might of the Vietnamese Liberation Army stopping me with their trusty AK-47’s for thinking I’m a terrorist. I race to the gate and take a seat. Everyone’s stil there. Phew.

Now I realise Stof might not pick me up cause I told him I might not make it. Ah freak! Come on WiFi. Work with me. Give me a connection. If this was SA, I’d need to pay Telkom R500 to let me use 10 minutes of slow internet! Thankfully I get a connection for a second and log onto facebook, I type to him but it wont send! AHHHH. I get onto Twitter and post a message to all 70 people following me for someone, anyone to email chris and tell him im coming. This means he’ll probably receive about 50 emails from complete randoms telling him I’m coming.

I get to the plane, but just before I step in, a lady from the airport says I probably cant take the guitar on. Blow you chick, you don’t know what I’ve just lived through. This guitar is getting on the plane. I walk on, and tell the gentleman that this guitar needs a place to live. Note how I didnt ask. I politely informed him. He couldn’t have been more obliging. Praise the Lord. Now I’m on the plane. Hoping I just make it to Joburg. All this hassle because I forgot one simple PIN combination!!!!

First order of the flight: Gin and Tonic!

Who knew getting out of Nam could be so darn difficult.