4 April 1986: Parting Thoughts

Friday evening, April 4, 1986

JFK International Airport, New York

 

My bags are checked and I’m holding a boarding pass for South African Airways flight 202 for Johannesburg.  So I guess it’s finally happening.

Today was relatively uneventful although I did meet Eduard DuPlessis, the New York manager of the South African Tourism Board.  He presented me with a “to whom it may concern letter” requesting that I be provided with “practical assistance.”  Hopefully, that request will translate into some discounts and freebees as I don’t have a limitless supply of cash available for a long stay in South Africa. 


DuPlessis was eager for me to get some positive South African travel stories published noting that tourism in South Africa was down 17% last year.  He attributed this decline to news reports of violence in the country rather than to any moral revulsion by travelers regarding apartheid.

Mr. DuPlessis assured me that I would encounter no trouble in South Africa as long as I stayed clear of outlawed organizations like the South African Communist Party and the African National Congress (ANC).  He noted that I would find South African Blacks very friendly, polite, and docile, unlike those on New York City streets who tend to stare, give dirty looks, or make vicious comments to whites.  I translated that to mean that “our Black Africans know their place”.   Funny but I never seem to have bad experiences with American Blacks maybe because I don’t look for trouble.  As for the young, smart-alecky blacks I encounter on the street, I don’t take offense at their comments.  Instead, I just smile and go about my business while being careful to steer clear of rough neighborhoods.  Otherwise, I generally find these dudes more amusing than annoying or threatening.

Walking the streets of Manhattan is quite the stimulating challenge.  Drivers turning across crosswalks see how close they can come to one’s legs with their bumpers.  I was reminded of the scene in “Midnight Cowboy” when Ratso Rizzo (Dustin Hoffman) bangs his fist on the hood of a taxi which has almost hit him and yells at the driver, “I’m walking here!”  Pedestrians on the crowded sidewalks almost run you down if you don’t follow a straight and narrow path while walking.  Fortunately, I survived the ordeal.  A young black guy even sold me a bus token ($1.00) when he saw me cussing to myself because I only had a dollar bill (change required to buy tokens).        

Only ½ hour before boarding.  When my airport shuttle van pulled up to the terminal earlier, I spotted the tail section of my plane, easily recognizable by the blue springbok on an orange background.  Gave me a traveler’s rush, a feeling somewhat akin to sexual stimulation one might experience in the dirty movie theaters on 42nd Street!  So here comes 16 hours of being cramped up in a metal, winged coffin.  I’ll check for any ANC bombs under my seat.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sunday, 12 October 1986: Extolling the Ex-Pat Lifestyle

Image
Gaborone, Botswana Look, it’s not that life here in Botswana is all that exciting, but there is something indescribable about living abroad.   It’s like my friend, Karen Collins from Lewistown, Montana, said recently when she was driving me back from a Monday night Hash House Harriers run out in the bush:   “People back in the States have no appreciation for the challenges of just getting by here like having to deal with getting stopped three times in one night by army roadblocks.”   Yes, the average American would be totally freaked out or pissed off by the automatic-rifle-toting Botswana Defense Force soldiers who had just stopped us and asked us to open up our packs.   We took it in stride and had a very polite, friendly interchange with the soldiers.   By the way, the reason for all the roadblocks was that we were driving not far from the South African border. The Botswana government is concerned about South African commando raids to go after ANC guerrilla fighters who are alle
Read more

Sunday, 8 June 1986: My English Hosts Take Me to a First-Rate National Park

Image
June 16, 12:30 PM, Home of Steve & Beryl, Bulawayo, Zimbabwe I decided to leave South Africa for a couple months and head north in search of warmer weather.  Instead, my first couple days in Zimbabwe were bloody cold for Africa.  It was grey, windy, and only in the low 50s F on Sunday morning in Bulawayo which is technically in the tropics at 20°S latitude.  Of course, I have to remember that Bulawayo is situated at 4000 feet above sea level.   My first Rotary Club hosts in Bulawayo, Adrian and Penny Feather, are in their early 40s and moved here from England in the mid-1970s at the height of the Rhodesian War.  After two years, they had had enough of the war and went back to England.  However, after a couple years, they realized they really wanted to be back in Rhodesia.  Only, by the time they were ready to come back in 1980, the whites under Prime Minister Ian Smith had lost the war to the African rebels.  The country had become Zimbabwe under the leadership of Prime Ministe
Read more

Sunday, 4 May 1986: Boredom and Self-Pity Aren’t Pretty

Image
8:00 PM, Figtree Hotel, Nelspruit, eastern Transvaal Alone again in a hotel room with a bottle of wine and my little Brother typewritter.  This is becoming a recurring pattern.  The last couple days I’ve become bored riding around looking at tourist attractions with Louise from the South African Tourist Board (SATOUR).  After collecting me this morning at the guest house where I was staying in White River, Louise stopped to pick up a guy with no explanation as to who he was.  I guessed he was her boyfriend.  He appeared to be in his early 20s and had a very short haircut so maybe he is in the military.  They spoke Afrikaans to each other for most of the day and tended to ignore me. It was unseasonably foggy and rainy, and we drove around looking at waterfalls and a mining town.   I got a few photos but had lost most of my enthusiasm for the tour by the end of the day.   A good tourist I am not.   As a conventional travel writer, I’d be a flop.   I have little interest in the bori
Read more