Films I watched on the plane (to kill time, because sleeping upright on a twenty-hour flight was near-impossible even for me -- and those who know me, know very well how unshakably deeply I sleep under all sorts of bizarre circumstances): Definitely, Maybe; Made of Honor; Smart People (partially).
With my mind suitably numbed by the above pop-cult entertainment, and my tummy hesitantly accepting of the fact that an entire day's worth of meals (yes, dinner, lunch AND breakfast) would be served - thousands of feet above the ground - in dinky little portions on plastic trays, I snuggled under my nylon Delta blankie and tried to contemplate my fate.
Didn't actually get to contemplate much before we touched down in Dakar, Senegal, for a brief refuelling session and to drop off a few passengers. The rest of us didn't leave the plane, and after an hour we took off again to head straight across the Atlantic.
It would be another 8 hours or so before the next touchdown, in Atlanta. As we crossed a further four time-zones, my night was punctuated with weird dreamless "sleep", the sounds of babies crying and the occasional sharp elbow-nudge from my equally restless co-passenger.
We landed at 08h07 (US Eastern time, six hours behind South African time) at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. I had a connecting flight to Portland, Maine, 1 1/2 hours after landing, so I was pretty anxious when I stepped off the plane to face a 45-minute queue at customs/immigration. I was photographed, fingerprinted and questioned along with everybody else; all my papers scrupulously examined.
I was set free, only to face another half-hour wait, along with everyone else, at 'Agriculture Inspection'... Still not sure what the point of that was. Perhaps they suspected I was an alien plant? Everybody who had checked in a weapon as part of their luggage -- and there were plenty people like that -- skipped the queue and got 'processed' first. Meanwhile, there were families with several small children (one couple had a three-year-old son and 9-month-old twin girls) who had to wait it out for ages in this paint-fumey lounge with exposed construction beams all around. That's not right, people!
I got out at 09h30, precisely when my connecting flight was due to take off. [Don't panic, I kept saying to myself. But I feared I was in for a lot of money.]
The über-friendly Delta employee at the re-booking counter was the saviour of the day. She said, I wasn't the first person ever to miss my flight (well, it was the first time it'd ever happened to me...), and that "Delta takes care of these things". Well, she provisionally booked me on the next flight, at 14h40. The flight was full, but she said there'd probably be a last-minute cancellation or a no-show. Failing that, the last flight I could board was at 8pm, which would bring me in to Portland around midnight - meaning a 1am arrival in Bridgton at the earliest. Too terrible to contemplate, so I put my faith in the universe that the 2pm flight would 'grow' an extra seat for me meanwhile.
I changed money at a ridiculously unfavourable rate (no time to do it at OR Tambo Airport in Johannesburg), but at least I finally had some greenbacks in hand. Feeling secure in at least a few, small areas helped a great deal, since I was starting to feel vulnerable and a little afraid. I called the school to say not to come and get me, since Ritchie would be waiting for a non-passenger, but she'd already left for Portland to run some errands and she didn't have a mobile phone. Aaargh! So guilt was added to my arm's-length list of emotions to process. I then put some money into a stand-up internet station and tried to chat to P over Gmail, but I couldn't get the simplistic keyboard to work properly. Bloody hell! He suggested a few things to fix the problem, none of which succeeded, so we settled on a few brief e-mail exchanges. I was SO relieved to let him know what was going on, but somehow the interaction with him gave me a shock, made me realise suddenly how much distance I'd stretched out between us in the previous 24 hours. I envisioned the globe in my mind, like those screen-shots you get on the plane of where the tiny little aircraft icon is along the yellow line between departure point and destination. I felt very small.
I locked myself in the loo, upset and screaming inwardly that I must have made some terrible mistake! But the pagan gods (who probably heeded Y's blessing to me at my farewell dinner) conspired to smooth the way for me. And pave it with gold and line it with flowers, even.
Stay tuned, dear friends...
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