Africa: Part 1- The Journey

Hello again!  I'm pulling this blog out the darkness so I can share my adventures in Zimbabwe and South Africa!

Looking down from Africa from the height of the plane is surprisingly not the same as looking down at America or Europe, where the distance renders most distinguishing features meaningless.  The land falls away into highways and a patchwork quilt of farmland.  Here, it’s just a brown expanse, with the occasional pool of white sand and some darer brown spots that Madison thinks are trees- at least it does right now over what the little digital airplane on my entertainment screen says is Zimbabwe.  We’re not stopping though; we will fly on to Johannesburg, with about an hour left now out of an 11 hour flight. 

In the transit part of traveling, it’s hard not to count the whole experience as one long drawn out day.  However, this has definitely been my longest travel time yet- I’ve slept two nights on a plane.  Still, it’s hard to think that its Tuesday for most of the world, when my brain still tries to insist it must be Monday.

Three adventurers left my house for Dulles International airport at 7pm on Sunday night.  At the airport, after kissing my parents goodbye (“Have an amazing time! TAKE YOUR MEDICINE!!!!), we pushed through security, practically skipping for joy and murmuring, “Is this really happening? How is this real?”  This trip, in several different iterations, has been in the works for anywhere between three to seven years in the making, depending on your distinction between “wild improbable dreaming”, and actual “where-are-we-gonna-sleep/how-many-shots-do-I-need?” planning.  I had the great privilege of going to hear Ambassador Wharton’s Senate confirmation hearing the summer after our sophomore years of college, and since then my Adventure Fund has had a concrete direction.  Last Thanksgiving, Sam and I went up to Philly to stay with Madison to sketch out an itinerary, lovingly penned on to a Starbucks wrapper that’s still floating around my room somewhere.  The plan that we enacted Sunday night is almost the same as that original- to spend three weeks in Zimbabwe, visiting national parks and chilling at the Wharton’s in Harare, and then finishing off with a week in Cape Town, South Africa.

The planning began in earnest after our respective spring breaks, and continued right up until the day before the departure.  I, as a notorious Type B traveler (I dislike details), can take very little credit for any of these adventures, other then providing, I don’t know, moral support via endless enthusiasm.  Sam, with his prior knowledge, did most of the heavy lifting, especially through the invaluable help of a travel agent friend of his, who helped us navigate through the inconsistencies of Zimbabwe travel.  Madison also did a ton of research and presented a wide range of options for activities at each location during our Skype dates.  I, as per usual, played a lot of Candy Crush and agreed to everything (except worms.  I put my foot down about the worms, but more on that later).  So after a few months of making plans and listening to the Lion King soundtrack, we were finally sitting in the airport, sending our last emails and texts before losing the comfort of American cell service, and giggling in that nervous/excited way before a major trip into exotic wilds unknown.  Madison and I had booked most of our seats together, so with Sam in front of us we set off for the first flight.  Flight 1 was six hour ride to Paris, where we had purposefully scheduled the 13 hour layover so we could go explore the city.  I, of course, had spent one of the best semesters of my life in Paris two years ago, and so was excited to return and show two of my best friends around.  Through a stroke of luck and possibly good karma, the one day we had coincided with not one but two more of my best friends being in Paris as well.  My college roommate Kortney was halfway through a backpacking trip with her sister and a friend, and then Aubrey who I studied abroad with and have kept in close contact with had arrived the same morning to start her own tour of Europe.  Through the magic of the Viber app, we had all made tentative plans to meet up at the St. Michel fountain in the Latin Quarter, a familiar meeting place. 

I had done the DC-Paris flight a coupe of times by now, and we’d been happy with out 9:30pm flight time, hoping to sleep most of the way.  As anyone who has taken long flights knows, once you put on that sleeping mask , your world narrows down; the rest of the plane falls away (unless you’re unlucky enough to be near a screaming baby- that one stays with you) and all that exists is just you, the thin airplane blanket that only seems capable of covering one and a half limbs,  and your unyielding seat.  In the daze of half-asleep, you’re just conscious enough to feel the pull of various muscles who are all unhappy regardless of position.  Still, between meals and movies I got about three hours of sleep, and we touched down at Charles de Gaulle airport at 11am local time.

We had checked the majority of our luggage, so we disembarked, bought our tickets for the RER into Paris, and settled in for the 45 minute ride into the city center.  We all agreed that we would be fine unless we sat for too long, so we were determined to push through the mental fog.  The meeting at St. Michel was easy- within minutes of finding Kortney and co., we spotted Aubrey making her way through the crowd.  Yay for joyful reunions.  We made our way for gyros and crepes for lunch, trying to simultaneously hear two travel stories while also relating our own.  Unfortunately, we all had different agendas, so after too brief a time we parted ways.  We toured Notre Dame, rode the Metro to the Louvre and waited out a brief rainstorm under the mini Arc d’Triomphe.  We walked down the Tuileries Gardens and past the Place de la Concorde and the Pantheon, and ten rode the Metro (really, one of the most nostalgic things for me) back to my old neighborhood, just a short walk to the Eiffel Tower in all her glory.  We walked down the lawns to Rue Cler and sat at a café, resting our feet and using the Wifi.  Afterwards, we moved back to St. Michel and ate crepes (cinnamon sugar for Madison, Nutella for Sam and I) on the banks of the Seine, waving to the tourist barges float by and waving to the people.  Then, we went down and boarded our train back to the airport.

Seeing something I love so well through new eyes is always a treat, I’m pretty much the world’s worst tour guide.  My friends had many intelligent and interesting questions, very few of which I could answer.  A lot of my commentary ran “look at that thing it’s a church, or maybe it’s not I don’t know”, or “that bridge is important for reasons,” or

Sam: *Walking past the Louvre * So, who lived there?

Me: Um. A King. Of France, probably.

Sam: No duh.  Who?

Me: Uh, Louis.

Sam: That’s Versailles.

Me: There were like 85 Louis I’m sure one of them lived there at some point.  (Turns out, Louis XIV.)

Eventually, it became a game to see how quickly and convincingly I could make stuff up- “what’s that monument for?” “Ah yes, the little know tribute to Archibald De Vivant, champion of the War of Flowers in 1656, who lost an arm and both eyes in a tragic sword demonstration”… and so on. 

Paris is a city immune to schedules and time frames.  My four months in Paris wasn’t enough, let alone a week that my friends had, so seven hours didn’t even compare.  No matter how much time you have, there’s always more to do.  This layover was just a teaser, and hopefully enticing enough that Sam and Madison want to come back.  I know that I could never get my fill.

Back in the airport, we killed time by lying on the floor in a corner by the gate and making up yoga poses to stretch out our sore muscles and feet.  Madison walked one foot up and down my back.  Our flight was slightly delayed due to an air conditioning malfunction, so by the time we boarded our double-decker flight it was 90 degrees in the cabin.  Not a great start, but then when they closed the doors we realized the plane was practically empty.  We each moved to have a row to ourselves, basically in the lap of luxury.  And then the rain started, followed closely by fierce lightening.  At first, we were sure we’d be grounded, but we still took off as the sky was streaked constantly.  Madison and I spent the first hour of the ride with our noses pressed against the window, me giggling (I often have inappropriate reactions) ad with Madison behind me calmly stating, “This is the most terrifying thing ever.  How is this plane in the air.  This is insane.  Cool, but terrifying.”  When the worst of the storm had passed, dinner was served, I put on Ocean’s 11 for some familiar and clever scheming, and then curled up to sleep.  Seven glorious hours later, I was awoken by the attendant trying to serve me breakfast, after which I started writing this post  Between then and now, we landed in Tambo airport in Johannesburg, rechecked our baggage for the next flight, ate a rather sad ham and cheese sandwich in front of an excellent view of landing planes, and then boarded our final flight to Harare.  It was an easy 2 hour hop to Zimbabwe’s capitol, and am now typing this out as quickly as I can from the Wharton’s lovely home- we have a long day of adventure in front of us!  Next post: Motobo National Park!