So here is a short little version of my "run-in" with South Africa's Home Affairs. When I went to go take care of my visa (which, admittedly, was about 6 days overdue,) I was wisely counseled by my sage sister to go into the US consulate beforehand just to make sure things ran smoothly on the South African side. After penetrating the huge protective structure that is the US consulate and presenting my passport documents, I was told to take a seat as my passport was taken to the back to the buildings inner sanctum. About an hour later, the head US consulate emerged and told me that I had overstayed my visa by a month and six days and that a trip home for Christmas was strongly encouraged. Turns out that the authorities had started my visa when I connected through Joburg airport to Malawi, a month before I ever actually arrived in South Africa to stay. So, not feeling up to taking my chances and the possibility of spending a night in the South African jail, I took the advice of the consulate and scooted on back to Texas.
It was absolutely amazing being home for the holidays, and I really am grateful for my lack of lawfulness. It was pretty easy leaving the country-- the Home Affairs/passport checkers were more interested in flirting and getting me to stay in the country than taking care of this American renegade. Almost disappointingly anti-climactic, I went through the line and was given a fine but no shackles, trips to a concrete interrogating room, or even stern warnings. They were all smiles and chatty as could be about my "overstay."
Yesterday, on my way back into South Africa, having paid my fine and expecting no delays at all, I was finally given the trip to the back room that I'd wanted so much on my departure. But far from my imaginative constructions, the room was not a concrete block with a naked bulb hanging over a dilapidated wooden chair but a normal office with stuffed couches and family pictures on the desks. I guess I was finally given the drama of being taken to the back, but, for god's sakes South Africa, at least paint your walls a darker color of cheery yellow! Would it be too much to ask for some dim lighting and a metal table?
Overall, though, the 48 hour long haul was quite manageable. It began rather precariously-- I was given a middle seat next to a man with gold chains who had already staked his claim to MY arm rest-- but turned out to be a rather charmed journey. Before take off, I left my middle seat and took up a window seat across the aisle. My seat partner, a pilot, was then moved to first class and I ended up with a whole row to myself-- not bad considering my humble cramped beginnings.
In London, I had a 12 hour layover which, admittedly I was less than enthused about. To complicate matters further, my summertime South African ware was a poor match for the storm of the year that was rolling through the UK. Determined to brave the weather, I put on everything I had in my carry-on which consisted of three hoodies and a scarf. If you get preppy credit for three popped collars, do you get underpass credit for wearing three hoods? I felt like the hoodlum bag lady of many colors-- I had a red hood, a green striped hood and a fur lined blue hood-- and did have a bit of trouble looking anyone in the eye at the Tate Modern.
But despite my haggard look, it was a great half day in the city. I went to St Paul's cathedral for sunday communion, the Tate Modern for a fantastic guided tour of the "poetry and surrealism" exhibition, and Covenant Gardens for a beer and ballet. Not bad for 12 hours. The pub I went to in Covenant Gardens was fantastic-- it was down a small winding alley way and it was called the Lamb and the Flag. Going in, it felt just as drab and English as all good pubs should be. My snakebite was served in the "traditional" or "only correct way" which is to say the English way-- a bit of black current syrup with my cider/lager mix. Also, as any good pub should, the menu was limited to Fish and Chips or Chicken, Roast Beef or Roast Pork with yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots and gravy. Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm, love the British fare or at least the idea of it.
Then, the real charmed moment arrived. Walking through Covenant Gardens (where it started to snow, the flakes collecting in all three of my colorful hoods and beginning to weigh me down,) I saw a bunch of people milling around in the lobby of one of the Theatres. Having about 2 hours before I had to be back at the airport, I decided to go in and see if there was a show on.
Turns out, the first act of the English National Ballet's "Snow Queen" had just ended. I think they must have felt sorry for this American bag lady because when I turned to leave, they offered me a free ticket. Slightly more shaming than walking through the Tate modern, my three hood look was a bit unorthodox for the London Ballet-going crowd. Whatever embarrassment suffered, though, was more than worth the chance to see this performance. The sets were spell binding and I really don't know the last time I have seen a Prima Ballerina with such grace. The Snow Queen ballerina was absolutely mesmerizing with had the most poignant lines of any dancer I have ever seen. Truly truly incredible, there is nothing quite like a ballet to relax and hypnotize you before an 11 hour flight into Africa.
It was all a bit of a blur that became quite surreal on the flight over Africa. Looking out the window at night, flying over Western Africa, there were no electric lights to be seen only semi-circles of fire blaze. As beautiful as the bright white Western Ballet was, the night time vistas of Africa were extraordinarily and surreally beautiful. Talk about fodder for my plane flight dreams...
No comments:
Post a Comment