Wednesday night, Thursday morning
Years ago I would not have considered doing this - flying 12,000 km for 2 nights. When these trips came up I would always find an excuse to tag on a few days at the beginning or the end of the work part and go and visit friends or family. I have stopped doing that for 2 reasons. One is that working on contract I no longer have the leave. The other is that I was just spending too much time away from home. So here I am 34000 feet above the Mediterranean coast on my way to London for a meeting which will probably not take more than 3 hours, 5 at the outside. And yes, I know that I will get into trouble with the carbon emission police. My only defence is that if we don't do something fast about certain infectious diseases then it won't matter how much carbon dioxide is in the atmosphere because we won't be around to experience it - and that is why I am in London. Another, much weaker, defence is that SA220 would have gone anyway, regardless of whether I was on it or not - but that is really no defence at all.
We are in the new SAA airbus 330-200 which I must say is a lovely plane. So nice to be the first or one of the first to use a really good piece of equipment before it gets broken. Feels like Christmas morning! Each seat has a screen which actually works. There is a great navigation program. The movies work. The coach class seats seem to have a little more room between them and when they tip back the sitting part moves forward a bit, like the seats in business class do. This is an overnight flight - we left Cape Town around 8 last night and it is now 6.30 South African time, 430 local. In a few minutes they will likely switch on the lights and serve us a half edible breakfast but right now it is still dark in the cabin and most folk are snoozing. That is the other thing - the flight is half empty. I realize that is not good for the airline and probably not good for prices or the environment, but it meant that the seat beside me is empty. In fact one person in the middle block has four seats to himself and is stretched out with more room than British airways business class. Maybe that is what happens on a Wednesday night.
When I awoke and looked out the window just now we were just approaching the Algerian Mediterranean coastline. The moon is full and just setting in the west, reflected off the sea and the night cloudless. Quite pretty. There is a bright planet just below the moon which my astronomy program on the iPad tells me is Jupiter - who would have thought? Now we are over Barcelona, actually Reus, approaching Andorra and the Pyrenees - I expect that may give us a little turbulence. Then north west, passing between St Giron and Tarbes, between Bordeaux and Perigueux, (don't you just love these names?!), Niort and La Rochelle, Nantes and Angers / Saumur, Rennes and Le Mans, Cherbourg and Bayeux, and then on across the channel to London. We seem to have deviated east from the direct course - maybe we are too early - I know there is a curfew until 6 am local time on landing at Heathrow.
I watched a really strange movie last night while I finished a small bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and before sleep overtook me. It starred Brad Pitt and Sean Penn and was directed by someone called Terence Malick. It was called The Tree of Life and was noted to be "2011, Drama, PG13, 138 minutes. ... An impressionistic story of a Midwestern family in the 1950's. The film follows the life journey of the eldest son, Jack, through the innocence of childhood to his disillusioned adult years." It starts with a quotation from the book of Job - "were you there when I laid the foundations of the earth..." and so on, then goes to the death of his brother in the war, presumably Viet Nam, and how it affects his mother. Then it cycles back to Jack's own "creation" with lots of impressive imagery of galaxies being born and volcanoes erupting ... all very interesting but I wasn't sure that I got it. And then the story itself - his overbearing, manly father who goes to great lengths to raise his boys right, his beautiful mother for whose love and attention he has to compete with both his brothers and his father, his near idyllic youth in this country bumpkin town where his dad works and where his family lives. As the blurb warned, it ends in disillusionment with his father getting retrenched when "they" close down his factory, selling up the house and moving to the city, and Jack the adult searching restlessly in the board rooms and skyscrapers which now define his existence for what he has lost. I probably need to watch it again, perhaps on the big screen and at a time when I am not tired and have a clearer head. As I said, enjoyed it but wasn't sure I "got it".
We are supposed to land shortly after six a.m. At this time of the year I expect it will still be dark. My plan is to get through immigration and customs and go and leave my bags at the hotel, en head into town on the underground, to Euston station, and then take the train to Leighton Buzzard where I am meeting my uncle and aunt, and possibly my cousin, for lunch there or up at Milton Keynes where they work. I have with me a small packet of goodies for my uncle - six copies of my grandfather's poems and a used music edition of the Presbyterian hymnal. What is special about them is that you cannot get them in the UK. In fact you probably can't get them anywhere else. So I feel as though I am actually earning my pub lunch today...
We have just descended a level and are continuing to do so. Just passing over Cherbourg now. Have to switch off.
Years ago I would not have considered doing this - flying 12,000 km for 2 nights. When these trips came up I would always find an excuse to tag on a few days at the beginning or the end of the work part and go and visit friends or family. I have stopped doing that for 2 reasons. One is that working on contract I no longer have the leave. The other is that I was just spending too much time away from home. So here I am 34000 feet above the Mediterranean coast on my way to London for a meeting which will probably not take more than 3 hours, 5 at the outside. And yes, I know that I will get into trouble with the carbon emission police. My only defence is that if we don't do something fast about certain infectious diseases then it won't matter how much carbon dioxide is in the atmosphere because we won't be around to experience it - and that is why I am in London. Another, much weaker, defence is that SA220 would have gone anyway, regardless of whether I was on it or not - but that is really no defence at all.
We are in the new SAA airbus 330-200 which I must say is a lovely plane. So nice to be the first or one of the first to use a really good piece of equipment before it gets broken. Feels like Christmas morning! Each seat has a screen which actually works. There is a great navigation program. The movies work. The coach class seats seem to have a little more room between them and when they tip back the sitting part moves forward a bit, like the seats in business class do. This is an overnight flight - we left Cape Town around 8 last night and it is now 6.30 South African time, 430 local. In a few minutes they will likely switch on the lights and serve us a half edible breakfast but right now it is still dark in the cabin and most folk are snoozing. That is the other thing - the flight is half empty. I realize that is not good for the airline and probably not good for prices or the environment, but it meant that the seat beside me is empty. In fact one person in the middle block has four seats to himself and is stretched out with more room than British airways business class. Maybe that is what happens on a Wednesday night.
When I awoke and looked out the window just now we were just approaching the Algerian Mediterranean coastline. The moon is full and just setting in the west, reflected off the sea and the night cloudless. Quite pretty. There is a bright planet just below the moon which my astronomy program on the iPad tells me is Jupiter - who would have thought? Now we are over Barcelona, actually Reus, approaching Andorra and the Pyrenees - I expect that may give us a little turbulence. Then north west, passing between St Giron and Tarbes, between Bordeaux and Perigueux, (don't you just love these names?!), Niort and La Rochelle, Nantes and Angers / Saumur, Rennes and Le Mans, Cherbourg and Bayeux, and then on across the channel to London. We seem to have deviated east from the direct course - maybe we are too early - I know there is a curfew until 6 am local time on landing at Heathrow.
I watched a really strange movie last night while I finished a small bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and before sleep overtook me. It starred Brad Pitt and Sean Penn and was directed by someone called Terence Malick. It was called The Tree of Life and was noted to be "2011, Drama, PG13, 138 minutes. ... An impressionistic story of a Midwestern family in the 1950's. The film follows the life journey of the eldest son, Jack, through the innocence of childhood to his disillusioned adult years." It starts with a quotation from the book of Job - "were you there when I laid the foundations of the earth..." and so on, then goes to the death of his brother in the war, presumably Viet Nam, and how it affects his mother. Then it cycles back to Jack's own "creation" with lots of impressive imagery of galaxies being born and volcanoes erupting ... all very interesting but I wasn't sure that I got it. And then the story itself - his overbearing, manly father who goes to great lengths to raise his boys right, his beautiful mother for whose love and attention he has to compete with both his brothers and his father, his near idyllic youth in this country bumpkin town where his dad works and where his family lives. As the blurb warned, it ends in disillusionment with his father getting retrenched when "they" close down his factory, selling up the house and moving to the city, and Jack the adult searching restlessly in the board rooms and skyscrapers which now define his existence for what he has lost. I probably need to watch it again, perhaps on the big screen and at a time when I am not tired and have a clearer head. As I said, enjoyed it but wasn't sure I "got it".
We are supposed to land shortly after six a.m. At this time of the year I expect it will still be dark. My plan is to get through immigration and customs and go and leave my bags at the hotel, en head into town on the underground, to Euston station, and then take the train to Leighton Buzzard where I am meeting my uncle and aunt, and possibly my cousin, for lunch there or up at Milton Keynes where they work. I have with me a small packet of goodies for my uncle - six copies of my grandfather's poems and a used music edition of the Presbyterian hymnal. What is special about them is that you cannot get them in the UK. In fact you probably can't get them anywhere else. So I feel as though I am actually earning my pub lunch today...
We have just descended a level and are continuing to do so. Just passing over Cherbourg now. Have to switch off.
Later:
Well we had a smooth landing but had to wait for about 15 minutes on the apron because the "other airline" (never discovered which one) aircraft had not vacated our parking space. Irritating but not the end of the world. Well, not for me anyway - I didn't have a connecting flight to catch. And anyway, we were about half an hour early. Passport control and customs was a breeze. Some American colleagues who arrived later told me they stood in the "non EU" queue for over 2 hours - when I went through neither the EU nor the non EU queues were more than about 10 people. Strange.
I've done this routine a few times now so pretty much know my way around. Terminal 1, central bus station, find the U3 bus (they had changed the station), get off at the Hong Kong restaurant and walk the remaining few hundred metres to the Sheraton - fortunately it wasn't raining. Last time they gave me the gears about arriving early - this time they didn't - they were only too happy to usher me into Room 1409 (I later discovered they charged me an additional 40 pounds for this privilege) which, it turned out, was conveniently close to the front desk - always an advantage in this day and age when one's magnetic door key needs to be reset every time it comes within a mile of your blackberry case! I unpacked, showered and changed, and headed out to see my uncle and aunt in Bedfordshire.
This routine I have pretty much got taped now. I bought my ticket shortly after the end of peak time (9.30 am), which meant it was cheaper, Heathrow to Leighton Buzzard return. I think it was about 20 pounds. Then onto the London Underground, headphones in and turned up to maximum volume (I have learned), and so to Euston. I cannot quite recite the Piccadilly Line (to Cockfosters!) stations off by heart but just about. Heathrow, Hatton Close, Hounslow West, Central and East, Osterly, Boston Manor, Northfields, South Ealing, and Acton Town. I love the names and found myself thinking that each of them must have a story and a history attached to it - must have a look in Peter Ackroyd's book. Hammersmith, Baron's Court, Earl's Court - who were the Earl and Baron, I wondered. Gloucester Road, Knightsbridge, Hyde Park Corner and Green Park. Was there a special bridge over the Thames for Knights of the Realm? Is the park named for its colour or after a Mr or Ms Green? Piccadilly Circus. Circus? WTF! Leicester Square. I got off at Leicester Square and made my way through tunnels to the northern line and thence past Warren Street and finally to Euston Station. Getting from the tube to the over ground midlands trains is quite a challenge. The main thing to remember is not to stop in the middle of the passage or concourse and look at the notice boards - not if you don't want to be roundly cursed by commuters in a hurry or simply bashed into.
I found my train and found a seat. The midlands trains are clean, comfortable, quiet, fast, air-conditioned - somewhat in contradistinction to the tube. Soon we were (it felt like) flying north west, through suburban London, and then into the countryside. I spotted the Grand Union Canal a few times, but the rest was pretty much a blur of hamlets, villages, fields and cows, and an occasional ruined castle. Across the aisle from me two young ladies were discussing their hair, their fingernails, their boyfriends, their girlfriends' boyfriends, their parents, their religion ... and then one of them said something about Bafana Bafana, which made me sit up and take notice, but I couldn't work out the context. Before I knew it, the lady on the PA was telling us that Leighton Buzzard was next. I gathered my stuff together and went and stood at the door. Now these are high tech trains - you don't wrench open the doors like you do in Cape Town (and usually your shoulder at the same time). You push a button and wait for the electronics to open the door for you. When it doesn't, you push it again - and again - and again ... eventually it did open, but not before I had got myself into quite a state. The lady on my left commiserated and said it always freaked her out as well.
I was a little early for my uncle so took a short walk around Leighton Buzzard. There is a fairly attractive but not particularly ancient looking parish church quite near the station, which is being renovated. There was a railway hotel which I think just have been burnt down and is also being resorted. It reminded me of a song by Mike Batt which I have always liked, whose lyrics go something like "I knew the Savoy would have suited you well, but the best I could do was the Railway Hotel". Some pics below.
Ancient Uncle arrived on time with an even more ancient friend, whom we needed to drop off at his home, then we went and fetched my slightly less ancient aunt, and headed to Milton Keynes for lunch. Before we left I handed over the books I had brought and they gave me some goodies to take back to SA for my even more ancient mother. Why Milton Keynes - well, there was a possibility that my cousin might join us - in the end he didn't but that was why we chose MK. We lunched at Camperdown, which is an establishment, as I understand it, for mentally handicapped people, where they live and where they are employed. Our watrons were such people, although the manageress wasn't. The menu is vegetarian, and the veggies are grown on the estate. I had a lentil pasta main and a hot pudding with custard, washed down with a local beer called "Cock and Bull", which was really nice. I found the whole experience delightful and was glad we had come here. We ended it off with a short walk around the estate - very pretty, particularly the trees in the autumn colours. They dropped me back at the station in time for me to catch the 5.43 to Euston. This was much more crowded than the train had been coming north, but I still got a seat and was fairly comfortable. The tube, in contrast, was another matter. Two trains came and went before I could even get on to one. Then it was a case of pull your stomach in, try not to mind the invasion of your personal space and hold on tight. It was like that all the way to Acton Town - that was the first time I was able to sit down. I got back to the hotel around 8 and went across to the MacDonalds (where I am sitting now) to catch up emails.
Friday
Most of Friday was taken up by the meeting, which was ... a meeting. In the afternoon I decided I would try and run around Heathrow - I was feeling rather bloated and needed some exercise. I didn't realise quite how large the airport is - I got about one quarter of the way around and decided that would do, so turned around and returned. The total distance for the run was about 8km. What is unusual about Heathrow (I think) is that it is plonked in the middle of suburbia and even farmland. The northern runway runs fairly close to Bath Road and the northern perimeter road, both of which are accessible to walkers and runners, so you can watch (and hear) the big birds landing and taking off, which I enjoy.
We met at 7 pm for dinner. The plan was to go to our favourite watering hole, called the White Hart, just down the road, and have a meal together. The vehicle which had been hired wasn't quite large enough, so three of us walked. It was cold but pleasant enough. The White Hart is a traditional and I think quite old English Pub. I have had a meal inside before - it is very small and crowded. But they have an outside section, which is more open. Long wooden tables with radiant gas heaters and provided. They had a little trouble getting ours to work but finally it came together and we sat down. I ordered a glass of London Pride Ale, which got refilled twice during the evening. I always try to eat local specialties, so went with what was billed as Traditional English Bangers and Mash. It was GREAT! Who needs fancy cuisine?!
We stumbled back around 10 and I fell into (or more correctly onto) my bed with the TV on, full clothed, only to wake in the small hours with a rather dry throat.
Saturday
My plane only leaves around 8pm so I had the day to do with what I liked. I thought about going into London and shopping but didn't feel like the tube, so finally went for a long (very long) walk through some of the local villages - Harmondsworth and West Drayton. I have investigated the former before, but not the latter. It is lovely - very pretty indeed. I wandered through fields, parks, past old churches and an old building labelled "Drayton Hall" which I presume was the original manor house. I walked next to streams, copses, mounds, lakes - one would never have guessed I was only a few km from one of the largest and busiest airports in the world and within the municipal boundaries of one of the globe's largest mega-cities. In the end I walked about 21km over 4 hours - I know this because I had Endomondo running. I discover that it works even if your data services are not on - presumably it doesn't need them to pick up the satellite signal, which I guess makes sense.
Right now I am killing a little time, but shall shortly have to get my act together and head across to Heathrow 1 and start the usual circus of checking in for my flight. Give me patience!
Sunday
The flight back was fairly ho-hum. I got the timing right for once - I cannot count the hours I have spent wandering aimlessly around the Heathrow 1 shops waiting for the information to go up on which gate to go to, because I have checked in too early. Airport shopping malls irritate me at the best of times. There is something not right about imprisoning large numbers of people for hours on end in these overheated, overcrowded complexes in the hope that they will spend their every last penny on items they neither need nor want out of sheer boredom and desperation. I don't believe for a minute the duty free lie - probably one of the biggest hoaxes in the history of commerce - it seems pretty obvious to me that the shops hike their prices to make up for the fact that one is not paying sales tax or VAT or whatever. And not to be too hard on the shop owners - i expect they have to do that because of the exorbitant rents charged them by the airports authority. Why is there never a Marks and Spencers or a MacDonalds? Presumably because one would spend too little money there, or heaven forbid, actually find something one wanted....
This time my flight left at 8.10 p.m. and so I tried getting to the bus stop at 5 which turned out to be about right. I missed two buses because I wasn't alert enough and didn't signal my desire that they stop, but eventually a number 76 came rolling by and we stopped it. As long as you are 3 stops or less from the terminal the trip is free. I have been told this is because there is no pedestrian access to the airport and so they had to come up with a compromise. I was soon as the central bus station and made my way to check in. Passport control and security was short and sweet. I still had about an hour to wait in the shopping concourse but that was fine. I tried to find some liquorice for herself and couldn't, not even at Harrod's. Nothing else grabbed me. I need some black work shoes but wasn't tempted by those on offer at Clark's, which seemed to start at about £50 a pair, or those at Timberland which started at about double that. I had some heavy coins I wanted to be rid of, so ended up using them at a slot machine in exchange for a bag of wine gums and a bag of chocolates. The board finally informed us to make our way to gate 33, which is about the longest walk one can have from the central concourse.
I was delighted to see that our plane was the same new Airbus 330-200 we had come on. The pilot later informed us that it had come off the plant in Toulouse on July 2nd this year. Very new indeed. The flight was not as empty as the outbound one, but still empty enough and I once again ended up with an vacant seat next to me, which was nice. I had a Windhoek light beer, and then a glass of Pinotage with my meal, which was a reasonably edible beef and potato stew. I have now learnt that the deserts are best avoided and I even resisted the temptation to eat the butter with my roll. When the lights were down I had a look at the entertainment on offer. I went for one of the foreign movies. Something called "El Hombre De Al Lado," ( the man next door) with English subtitles. It was billed as drama, not rated, 110 minutes, directed by Mariano Cohn and Gaston Duprat, 2010. It stars Rafael Spregelburg. The blurb said "Leonardo lives with his family in an architectural wonder. One morning, he wakes to an irksome noise and is appalled to discover that workmen next door are constructing a large window that faces directly into his home." I think it is set in Argentina. I enjoyed it, but shall have to think about it for a while before I figure out what it was actually about....
Now we are cruising down above the coast of Namibia, probably just around Walvis Bay and Swakopmund, which brings back memories from long ago for me - different era, different me, different life. When I open the window the Atlantic looks impossibly bright and blue. I guess a few days of the cloudy skies and muted light of West London has left my eyes overly sensitive. In another sense, though, Africa is stark. There is no mistaking reality here. I was looking at some of the building complexes along Bath Road yesterday - ugly factories or office blocks, but with well-maintained, manicured embankments and fine wrought iron fences between them and the road, which somehow muted their ugliness. Cape Town has lots of ugliness, but it is by and large in your face, in your front yard ugliness - there is little effort made to hide it or mute it. Driving in from the airport to the city centre you see it on both sides of the road - urban slums. Driving around the city you see it at every intersection - beggars. On a still winter's day you see it hanging above the city - brown haze. Open any of our newspapers and it will be on the front page - gang warfare, murders, rapes, hijackings, corrupt politicians - ugly, ugly, ugly. But at least the dirty washing is out on the line for everyone to see. We got a glimpse of England's dirty laundry with the "hoody" riots a few months ago. Countless English people seemed to be asking themselves, their neighbours, their members of parliament, "Where did all this ugliness come from?" and then we had the interminable communal navel gazing rumination about education and alienation and listening to young people and so on. Visiting London now, I saw no sign that they had ever occurred, although admittedly I did not visit Croydon or any of the other worst affected areas.
We have just flown over the South African border. It is good to be home. Much as I am coming to love England and London, and I am, it is good to be home.
This time my flight left at 8.10 p.m. and so I tried getting to the bus stop at 5 which turned out to be about right. I missed two buses because I wasn't alert enough and didn't signal my desire that they stop, but eventually a number 76 came rolling by and we stopped it. As long as you are 3 stops or less from the terminal the trip is free. I have been told this is because there is no pedestrian access to the airport and so they had to come up with a compromise. I was soon as the central bus station and made my way to check in. Passport control and security was short and sweet. I still had about an hour to wait in the shopping concourse but that was fine. I tried to find some liquorice for herself and couldn't, not even at Harrod's. Nothing else grabbed me. I need some black work shoes but wasn't tempted by those on offer at Clark's, which seemed to start at about £50 a pair, or those at Timberland which started at about double that. I had some heavy coins I wanted to be rid of, so ended up using them at a slot machine in exchange for a bag of wine gums and a bag of chocolates. The board finally informed us to make our way to gate 33, which is about the longest walk one can have from the central concourse.
I was delighted to see that our plane was the same new Airbus 330-200 we had come on. The pilot later informed us that it had come off the plant in Toulouse on July 2nd this year. Very new indeed. The flight was not as empty as the outbound one, but still empty enough and I once again ended up with an vacant seat next to me, which was nice. I had a Windhoek light beer, and then a glass of Pinotage with my meal, which was a reasonably edible beef and potato stew. I have now learnt that the deserts are best avoided and I even resisted the temptation to eat the butter with my roll. When the lights were down I had a look at the entertainment on offer. I went for one of the foreign movies. Something called "El Hombre De Al Lado," ( the man next door) with English subtitles. It was billed as drama, not rated, 110 minutes, directed by Mariano Cohn and Gaston Duprat, 2010. It stars Rafael Spregelburg. The blurb said "Leonardo lives with his family in an architectural wonder. One morning, he wakes to an irksome noise and is appalled to discover that workmen next door are constructing a large window that faces directly into his home." I think it is set in Argentina. I enjoyed it, but shall have to think about it for a while before I figure out what it was actually about....
Now we are cruising down above the coast of Namibia, probably just around Walvis Bay and Swakopmund, which brings back memories from long ago for me - different era, different me, different life. When I open the window the Atlantic looks impossibly bright and blue. I guess a few days of the cloudy skies and muted light of West London has left my eyes overly sensitive. In another sense, though, Africa is stark. There is no mistaking reality here. I was looking at some of the building complexes along Bath Road yesterday - ugly factories or office blocks, but with well-maintained, manicured embankments and fine wrought iron fences between them and the road, which somehow muted their ugliness. Cape Town has lots of ugliness, but it is by and large in your face, in your front yard ugliness - there is little effort made to hide it or mute it. Driving in from the airport to the city centre you see it on both sides of the road - urban slums. Driving around the city you see it at every intersection - beggars. On a still winter's day you see it hanging above the city - brown haze. Open any of our newspapers and it will be on the front page - gang warfare, murders, rapes, hijackings, corrupt politicians - ugly, ugly, ugly. But at least the dirty washing is out on the line for everyone to see. We got a glimpse of England's dirty laundry with the "hoody" riots a few months ago. Countless English people seemed to be asking themselves, their neighbours, their members of parliament, "Where did all this ugliness come from?" and then we had the interminable communal navel gazing rumination about education and alienation and listening to young people and so on. Visiting London now, I saw no sign that they had ever occurred, although admittedly I did not visit Croydon or any of the other worst affected areas.
We have just flown over the South African border. It is good to be home. Much as I am coming to love England and London, and I am, it is good to be home.
Later still
There were two layers of cloud as we descended. I heard later that there is snow on the Helderberg – in November! The first glimpse of the ground I got I recognised as Long Beach. Odd. Moments later we got through the lower cloud layer and I looked out my window to see Simonstown harbour. The captain took us south a few more km, affording me an excellent view of Cape Point from False Bay, and then we made a graceful arc to the left. Once we levelled again I could see Hangberg and Kogelberg and the Hottentots Holland mountains. Then it was a slow glide over Khayelitsha and Mitchells Plain, and a surprisingly quiet and smooth northerly landing. Passports, luggage and customs done, I emerged into the Cape wind and felt again that it was good to be back.
The Railway Hotel at Leighton Buzzard
The church and park at Leighton Buzzard
The Green, Drayton West
The Gate House, next to the church at Drayton West
The church at Drayton West
A somewhat anachronistic pub on Bath Road, very close to Heathrow
