safarigeek

A friendly face at the airport

Travelling to a country for the first time is often a bit of a prickly time, regardless of how much of a globe trotter you are.  Having negotiated the packing (generally a rather hit and miss affair because I don’t usually have much idea what the weather will be like and choosing three out of twenty pairs of shoes is always irksome), and made it through the ever lengthening airport security rigmarole, time spent flying constitutes a welcome bit of downtime in a usually stressful process.

Upon arrival, getting from the plane to the terminal is a bit like a lucky dip…I never know whether I will have to walk up a tunnel, get onto a bus that resembles the London tube in rush hour or walk across the steamy tarmac apron, sweating and hauling my usually prolific hand-luggage feeling like a bit of a refugee, surrounded by the roar of engines and getting inadvertently high on aviation fuel.

Airport buildings in Africa are not famous for their sophistication or choice shopping.  Some time in the latter half of last century, the architecture ceased being charming and stately and commenced being intimidating and dull, adopting a style best described as colonial-gothic.  More recently re-vamped airports like Harare and those in South Africa are really quite lovely; calm spaces of tranquillity.

Next there are the innocuous immigration declarations to complete.  More often than not, they are written in such small lettering it’s hard to decipher.  I have visions of stacks of dusty immigration forms held together by old rubber bands lining some poor clerk’s office from floor to ceiling awaiting processing.  Sometimes the officials are a bit bored and disinterested, sometimes pretty cheery…it just depends which side of bed they tumbled out of.

Hmmm….luggage carousels.  Well, these things in Africa tend to have a life of their own and there are several things that you can never depend on: that the carousel with be working, that your luggage will appear on the designated carousel, or that there will be a carousel at all (it may be evident by the heaps of carousel components at one end of the baggage hall).  I just keep an open mind, adjust my expectations accordingly and leave my luggage-related sense of entitlement out of sight.

As I emerge from the airport, with all the above safely packed away in a box marked “experience”, what a pleasure it is to find my very own name on a board with a smiling face hovering above it, offering to take my bag.  I now don’t have to fret about how I will get to my hotel, where I can change currency without being fleeced or how I will negotiate a city completely devoid of street signs.  It’s just all taken care of…and suddenly I’m on holiday and I can appreciate my new surroundings as if I were a local.

Amanda is currently out and about exploring Zambia for the greater good…keep tabs on her experiences here.