Airports…you gotta love ‘em

There is something both magical and maddening about international air travel. On one hand, it is astonishing to think that we can traverse spaces that took our ancestors weeks and sometimes months to cross. On the other hand, it can be frustrating to deal with airports and security and all of the 21^st century encumbrances. To wit, Johannesburg.

South African Airways had been identified to us as efficient and draconian. Both adjectives apply. The beginning was auspicious as the flight from Blantyre to Johannesburg went smoothly. Bob had dressed his sole checked bag in multiple layers of cello-packing tape to discourage theft of contents, a substantial problem at some of the airports in this region. Several South Africans in line behind us had also discouraged us from checking the suitcase all the way to DTW (and not DET, Detroit Lakes, Minn.!). Their reasoning was that baggage arrival operates in inverse relationship to the number of scheduled flights. With four flights from Blantyre to Detroit, we faced doom.

Johannesburg, and the lovely Oliver Tombo Airport. We arrive, the taped up bag makes it, and we head off to get our seats for the long haul to JFK. But first, like fighters before a prize bout, we are presented with a complicated and thorough set of weigh-ins – personal carry-ons and all. (I have carefully packed everything in a laptop bag and a small suitcase to retain as much control as possible.) Alas, I am five kilograms, around twelve pounds, over. A mad scramble to rearrange and shift some things into the one bag to be checked. The second weigh-in. Oh, no! Still two kilograms over. Psst. Bob, let’s go behind that pillar and think creatively. I remove a pair of shoes, a long-sleeved shirt, and a short-sleeved one and shove them down the pants of my travel warm-ups. Fortunately, the pants are voluminous, and I not too big. Plenty of room without looking as I am wearing an Eddie Murphy fat suit. Weigh-in number three. Still a kilogram over, madam. No way, I argue. I know how much a kilogram weighs, 2.2 pounds, (and I have stuffed at least that much down my warm-ups.) He examines my fierceness, and agrees that a kilogram is not worth arguing about. I get a prized “Cabin Baggage” tag for both bags.

Sue re-packing her carry-on after stuffing shoes and clothes in her pants

One more trip behind the pillar, and the shoes and shirts go back into my small suitcase. I feel somewhat vindicated when, on board the plane, we are across the aisle from a linebacker for the Kansas City Chiefs who weighs more than I do – exactly double.

On the efficient side, the airline is on-time, the staff attentive, and the food delightful. There are many good comments to offer about South African Airways. But beware the dragons with scales!

Eight hours to Dakar, Senegal for an hour-overnight stop to discharge  and accept passengers and to take on more fuel, then it’s wheels up again. New York, you’re only eight hours away!

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