The flight at nine did (to everyone’s euphoric surprise) actually take off. Not only that, but it was on time as well. Charlie, Benito and I got up ridiculously early, caught the shuttle back to the airport, and reserved spots at the very front of the check-in queue.

Four hours later, I stumbled to the side, gazing at the ticket with astonished eyes. Then the laughing began. Charlie told me later that I looked as though I had won the lotto, found a golden ticket, or had simply gone crazy. Apparently he was leaning towards the latter....

Nothing else seemed to matter after that. All I wanted was to see that fasten your seatbelt sign go on. That being said, it was still pretty awesome when Benito managed to get me into the SAA lounge with him and Charlie, and we could spend the last few hours in South Africa enjoying free food, wireless internet and amazing bathrooms.

Awful photo of the view from Joburg airport

I have absolutely no idea how I managed to get so lucky: Dave, Will, Jamie, Benito, Steve and, most of all, Charlie. They all looked after me so much, I felt like a free-loader. Buying me dinner, drinks, breakfast, getting me into lounges, making sure I found my luggage, stopping me from panicking, and just generally taking care of me, they are the real reason I managed to get through it all without pulling all my hair out.

The flight, as they usually are, was long, dull and dry. There were numerous free seats scattered around: something which worked in our favour as both me and Charlie had four seats, allowing us to get some long-forgone sleep. But the frustrating part was that many people had no idea a plane was taking off that morning and were left behind in Jo’burg – poor planning on the airline’s behalf.

When we finally arrived, Charlie had to dash off to try and hire a car. He still had to make the drive all the way up to his place in Wales, and he had tried to book the previous night but all the cars had been taken. All he could do was hope that there was a cancellation.

I warily made my way to the baggage terminal, dully pondering how long it would take me to find my precious luggage. Ten minutes later, I was blinking dumbly about, sure that my eyes were playing games with me. Surely that wasn’t my dad?

It was.

Then the next bit was my worrying about Charlie. If he didn’t manage to get a car, he’d probably have to spend the night at a train station or hire a taxi (ridiculously expensive).

I was still a bit in shock, but wasn’t too out of it to not notice the fact that my parents managed to get us lost on the way to my brother’s house. It felt so good not being the one getting people lost....

And finally we arrived.

View from my brother's flat

The place, wonderful as it is, was not fully appreciated by me in my half-dazed state, but the view of the canal from the window was enough to get a delighted murmur.

Still worrying, I called Charlie, checking up on him and thanking him for allowing me to stalk him. He sounded exhausted, but happy, and had managed to get a car, was on his way, wished me a merry Christmas, tried to convince me he didn’t mind my trailing him around for four days, and made me promise to look after myself next year when I’m travelling.

By then it was getting later and I was more than ready to collapse. But still I was not allowed to rest! My delightful family dragged me out to a pub for dinner and I nearly face-planted in a bowl of sag (spinach, apparently).

I don’t remember much beyond that.....

written by  Brigid Jelsma on December 22, 2010 from Hertford, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: Walk a little further to another plan
tagged Hertford
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