Way down south — The Plane Truth – Adventures in air travel 2

In a previous blog I described my frustrations moving through a busy Canadian Airport. Following that blog I discovered a great air travel story written by an adventurous colleague, the Rev. (Mother) Marian Lucas-Jefferies which I thought deserved a wider audience. Marian’s saga reminded me of my own 2002 adventure in the air which I describe below.

“You may want to take a later flight” the Penticton ticket agent said. “If you take this one you will have five hours to wait in Vancouver.” With little flying experience at the time, I had not thought about the impact of layovers or the possibility of flight interruptions—I would soon learn more about both. In the end, I proceeded to take the earlier flight, curious to explore Vancouver International Airport on this the initial leg of my first trip to South Africa from the BC South Okanagan.

Once landed in Vancouver I found a lovely restaurant for a relaxing meal. While surprised by the Airport Improvement Tax, I eventually found my gate—no small achievement for a legally blind traveler. Next I waited for what felt a very long time until I boarded a giant KLM Boeing 747 (these are mostly off-service now but this was 2002 after all). Comfortably settled in for a nine-hour flight to Amsterdam I wondered what I would do given another layover for eight hours in Amsterdam. Get a shower; watch CNN; find snacks and cruise the bookstores; use the toilet; watch CNN; repeat seven more times.

Eventually I boarded another KLM airliner ready for an eleven-hour trip down to Johannesburg. It was all very exciting, but wow, it’s a long way down to the lower tip of the global south, half way across the world.

Up, up and away, and all was going well, until somewhere over North Africa a passenger on the 300+ passenger aircraft had a cardiac incident. At the time airlines were proactive in telling passengers to get up and move every two hours; they also broadcast leg exercises fearing strokes, no longer possible given restricted seating in economy cabins. I always wondered what might happen if someone becomes critically ill. Would they divert the plane for the sake of one sick passenger? Well, yes, they did.

Once his condition was verified as serious we descended from 33,000 feet to 10,000 feet hoping to land in Nigeria. For some reason, we were refused access so we crawled over the Mediterranean (lower altitude means slower flight speed) towards Malta where we landed at 0130 where the patient was medevacked. The problem was that the crew had been in the air too long by that time so we needed to return to Amsterdam. An already long day got longer.

Arriving back in Amsterdam—our luggage remaining on the plane—we were given new tickets, breakfast, and a hotel room, with instructions to return to the departure area twenty-fours after our first attempt. Once re-installed on the same aircraft we repeated the trip, with the same crew and passengers,  this time without incident. We were advised that the ill passenger had survived and was resting comfortably. Welcome to Malta!

At one point I passed a crew station where a person in authority was speaking with other crew. I offered my congratulations to them for dealing so well with a very awkward situation. (I think they took note of my seat, 12D at that point—see below.)

Long story short, when I arrived in Joburg early the next morning, almost a day late for my conference and not knowing who to contact, there were two of us passengers standing alone in the arrivals area. Taking a chance I asked him if he was heading to a conference of Anglican environmentalists. Well, this is how I met George, an Anglican from the Church of Ireland. We found coffee and a bit to eat and  made some calls, by the time I arrived at my conference (in the middle of a presentation on AIDS and Africa) I had been en route for fifty-three consecutive hours. I was semi-conscious, but safe.

The conference itself is another story, so fast-forward to the return trip. I arrived at the Joburg airport amidst a flurry of people wanting to be helpful—meaning they will carry my bags and get me to where I should be, for a fee. I immediately hired one of these “independent contractors” and moved through that massive airport quickly.

A side event emerged when I found a wonderful CD audio sales shop in the three-story airport shopping mall. Because their huge selection of music required extensive and intensive enquiry, they TOOK YOUR TICKETS to ensure you would not miss your flight. In the jazz section (one entire wall of recorded music) I found music by Hugh Masekela, a very popular South African Jazz Musician who I had just met during my conference.

Another surprise came as I arrived at the gate and checked in. My ticket seemed unusual to the agent. Further investigation revealed that I had been upgraded to First Class (man, that’s how we all should travel) and life improved considerably on the return leg.

This trip was the first of three trips to South Africa over a decade. All were memorable, though this was certainly the most comfortable. I travel much less by air now, but when I do, I eye first class seats with envy and a good memory.