Lost in Transit

My last few days in Toronto were a flurry of Guitar Hero, Karaoke and well, flurries. Needless to say I was not exactly ecstatic to wake up one morning to a bed of the white stuff during my alleged year of sunshine. However it becomes increasingly easier to deal with heavy winter conditions when you have an imminent ticket booked to the Southern Hemisphere. I was off to South Africa. Though certainly off in only the commencing sense of the word as I still had a grueling 30-hour trip ahead of me.

I arrived at the Lester B. Pearson in Toronto at 15:30 on Saturday the 24th and was overjoyed to succeed once again at my newfound favourite traveling pastime: sneaking more than one allotted Ziploc bag of liquids through security. I had also eagerly checked my ‘ultra high tech’ backpack all the way through to Cape Town; as I was to stopover for the day in London and would certainly not want to be encumbered by it.

The first flight was a breeze and I was mildly disappointed to learn that the duration was only to be 6 hours. I only had time for one in-flight movie! Yet as I breezed past customs in Heathrow on only two hours of sleep things were looking good. This was the first time in my life that I’d experienced a shorter lineup for the ‘all other nationals’ in comparison to the ‘UK passport holders’. As well, I was going to meet up with my Australian cousin Lindsay, who is studying this semester in Holland and was currently in London visiting with her boyfriend Dan. Feeling chatty I began talking with a nice looking bloke. It turned out that he was Australian, a backpacker and also taking the tube into town. And being that I had a few hours to kill before meeting up with Lindsay I decided that we would subway into town together.

In one of the best decisions of the day I bought a day pass for ∉6.70 and we were in action. On our way to the underground a tube worker mentioned something to us but not for love nor money could I make out his accent. As it turns out, he was informing us that the Piccadilly line was broken in one area. We found this out for ourselves at the Hampstead station when we sat for ages in a deserted car. We then had the pleasure of taking an authentic London double-decker bus to the next working part of the line. Although I must admit, the busses are identical to those in Victoria.

At this point it was becoming evident that I would not be able to accompany Jack, the Aussie to his Hostel and back to South Kensington all before the 10am meeting time with Lindsay and Dan. Yet knowing Lindsay I knew she wouldn’t be too disappointed when I pushed the time one hour back. So Jack and I went to check him into the massive 800 bed Generator Hostel and then indulged in their complementary breakfast of Coco crispies and tea. At 10:40 I said it was lovely meeting him and that I really must be off, when it became apparent that Jack thought he was joining me in meeting up with Lindsay.

At this point I didn’t know what to say. I had said nothing to lead him to this conclusion and had heavily implied the opposite. I really have no tolerance for people who don’t take social hints and on two hours of sleep I thought what the hell, let’s let this one play out.

Upon meeting up with Linds and Dan I rapidly explained the situation to Lindsay and we both shrugged. Yet after Jack joined us for breakfast and let Dan pay for his cappuccino I was very firm in my decision that he was on the next subway, to anywhere.

So Linds, Dan and myself enjoyed the rest of the afternoon together and then I made a mad dash back to Heathrow. And I mean literally. For the Piccadilly line was still down and so I had to make two connections and then book it through Paddington station to the Heathrow express. Anyways I made it in time to beg a large plastic bag off of a merchant to combine my two pieces of hand luggage into one, in compliance with new restrictions. As well as to pass the Ziploc liquids game once more and still have time leftover to buy some Boots botanicals toiletries (they do a fabulous hand cream). Then I fitfully slept the remaining leg of my trip away and woke up in a new South Africa to a full-blown case of Murphy’s Law.

As it turns out my pay-as-you-go travel philosophy was not enough to get me through the South African entry requirements, for I wasn’t in possession of an outbound ticket. So I was told that I would either have to post a bond of 13 000 rand in cash, or else immediately buy a return ticket. Oops. An agent (Jeremy) was then dispatched to escort me through the luggage claims and to the British Airways ticketing agents on the other side. So Jeremy and I waited, we waited and we waited and we waited until it was confirmed that no more luggage was coming through. Whoops. And all this time I was thinking about how Yair Sckolne, an old family friend was going to be waiting for me and would soon witness my entire flight of people walk by minus me. And I still had to file my baggage claim. Bag type? Umm… #29. Bag colour? Royal blue. Then the lost baggage system crashes. I mean seriously. At this point I tell Jeremy that we must meet Yair and that we can deal with the system later. So then I tell Yair what’s going on and Jeremy, Yair and myself take leave to the British Airways counter where I just about impulse buy a 8000 rand ticket to Sydney and then I think hold on, won’t a one-way ticket to Sydney start this mess all over again down under? So I turn to Jeremy and ask if he won’t just give me a one day reprieve to think it all over considering that my luggage has now been misplaced. He kind of shrugs emphatically and says ok.

So Yair and I leave the airport to pouring rain in the middle of an African summer and I have my purse, daypack, no luggage and no South African stamp in my passport. I have to admit that it was all just a little bit funny.