Be warned… this is long !!
In Bordeaux. I was met by our newly appointed French agent, whom I did not know. Always a bit fraught that, as you depend on this person and whoever he works for to do all the necessary and personal chemistry can be a large factor as to whether all goes well. Bizarrely enough the French domestic flights all arrive in the international terminal of Euro arrivals, so I carried my bag past a customs man again – don’t think the Brits would like like and the Amurricans would be apoplectic. Anyway it turned out to be a great fit – Bertrand, a fortyish guy from Aix en Provence was there and quite incredulous to find someone who could speak his language – we must all be regarded as v dim I spose. We drove off to take a look at Bergerac airport where our BIG plane would be turning up in 2 days.
Can hardly say a fever of great anticipation was in the air, but all seemed in order … one small point – WHERE WERE THE STEPS? Well, they had their 737 height steps and on top of them they had built a wooden box to serve as a extra top step – I had me doots as to whether it was tail enough (757’s have enormously long legs) but the moment would come in a couple of days time. Off then to the hotel I was to stay at, prior to moving into our chateau (which was actually closed and reopening just for us). The place I was in has a 3 star Michelin dining room, which I had sampled once before and was only too happy to check out again, so we did it that night. Somewhat posher than the Routiers (in fact about the opposite end of the spectrum), Madame on the front door was amply padded by years of what Monsieur had been creating in the kitchen. He looked like the twin brother of Rene in ‘alto ‘alto – I was very tempted to say Good Moaning. The decor was heavily ornate and the food ditto. Of course, it was all sublime and we licked our chops and wudda done our plates too, but it just wasn’t that sortta place.
An amazing table of six well turned out, middle aged, Amurrican ladies adjacent to us – came in sounding and looking like toute Texas on the move and then when the waiter and sommelier moved in, they all went into totally fluent, perfectly accented French. I had to pinch myself. but was polite enuf not to lean over and ask just who the hell they were and which side of the pond they started. They were even ballsy enough to send back a bottle of wine … I liked them a lot, as they were a)French speakers, b) were having a good time, c) knew their food and drink. They spend ages going over the menu with that intensity that only the French ever have. The Frogs examine a good menu as if they were checking for typos and then of course it all has to be put together in conjunction with their livers/kidneys/hearts etc etc, not to mention the wines that would go with what. It’s a ritual and not something to be taken lightly. A great hush can go over the entire table. I suspect the the Lycees in foreign cities probably run courses on it. as the deciding is half the fun. The wine list ran to some mighty expensive vintages and just ONE DAY, I’d love to sample one just to see if it was really worth it…. We burped our way to bed.
Next day was spent running around to the various cave sites that the pax would visit and we managed to fit in a lunch somewhere (just 3 courses and a cheery bottle of rouge – we can economise when we have to…) and a Iooksee at a couple of other hotels we may need to use sometime and all was good. And soon it was time for the BIG moment for Bergerac Airport to receive a 757 for the first time. It landed to the minute and suddenly looked absolutely vest outside the mini building that serves as a terminal. The stairs were positioned and guess what – we had a jump of about 2 foot drop for them to negotiate, but they did and soon they were off and running and 1 was with my new best friend Bruno, who drove the baggage truck. He could actually talk about Mali of all places, as he had been in the French military there in ye olde days – we agreed that it was a pretty desperate place and he had no wish to return.
Next couple of days were spent sometimes with the pax (a good gang several of whom I knew from previous trips) and sometimes looking at other places for future stops. And of course there was still eating to be done. Had a triff meal at a less than inspiring looking hotel in Sarlat, where for just an ordinary dinner they sat us down with a nice glass of champagne and little savory puff pastries, plus olives, then thick home made lentil soup with grated truffles in a dirty sprinkle across the top, then a WHOLE lobster thermidor each, a half of which wudda been a large enough portion, rich as it is and HOW good it all tasted too – then how about this nice BIG veal chop. smelling sweetly of herbs, glistening with a drizzle of deglazed buttery sauce and why not chose from this tray of cheeses and then a hot fruit desert of berries and a sabayon sauce . well why NOT ??????.. If we had told the pax the menu in advance, they would have all screamed about the fat content and heart attacks wudda broken out all over the place and great cryings out for glasses of seltzer water, just thinking about it – “whatcha trying to do ? – kill me ? “etc etc, BUT the reality is that they all scoffed it up, said it was totally delish and came home fat and happy. I’m just glad I brought extra Alka Seltzers with me.
All too soon, la France was over and I was on my way back to London for a night, so I could rush off to Ethiopia next day. It is quite normal for me to go north so that I can then go south.
Next day I was en route to Addis Ababa. THANKS to one reader here, a seat move was managed on the flight which made a HUGE difference – nice Brit Mediterranean crew – they are a friendly lot and were all smiles, even though going from LHR to Alexandria and then on to Addis gave them a duty day of some 9 hours (and when I think I used to walk 13 hours nonstop from Tel Aviv to NY with a much more demanding load … well this gang are just babies). They have only just started to run this route and the crew had never been to Addis, so I was able to give them some do’s and dont’s, which may just have just about saved their lives. Anyway, dead on time at 0145 we landed in Addis and my smiling minder was waiting there. This poor guy spends half his life at the airport, regardless of the hours and he’s the sort that just makes you feel better just looking at him – I’m back in Mr Teeeeem land.
The Sheraton Hotel still stands and amazingly is in excellent shape. I’m always a bit wary of newly established posh hotels in third world countries, which start off grand and then go into a slow decline. This one has not and will be happily received by our gang. I went off later to see the ground agents, who are rather slow shall we say and sometimes if 1 wonder if the message is getting through to them, but they did OK last time we were here, so inshalla’h all will be well. It’s a bit like an old Russian office with a lot of rather underemployed people sitting around, not even pretending to look busy. The place is exceedingly scruffy and someone would be well employed taking a bucket of water and a mop to the floor. The chief feature of the window display is a model of a 767 in Ethiopian Airlines colors, which has managed to lose both its engines – the first time I saw it, there was only one and now it is rather clean winged. I asked if Ethiopian was now into gliding, but it went right over their heads.
But at the office of Sudan Airways just around the corner, where I made a courtesy call in search of timetables for me mates (fruitless too, I should report. though I know they never believe me) – a place almost as sparse as our agents, filthy stained carpet, a torn poster on the walls and a long desk, drifts of dust at the unused end and a small female and a big blank computer at the other and THERE, in all its faded glory, was this absolutely spendidly HUGE cutaway model of a Comet 4, sitting up on a metal stand. A real live five foot by four foot Comet that no one ever looked at and just totally ignored Must have been about 40 years old and was getting a bit sad looking, but still, what a grand sight for old small boys who loves planes. This was something really special. I walked around it and looked through the cutaway perspex at all the seats – and how wonderful and powerful and hi tech it was and I yearned for the sound of it taking off with all four big Avons blasting (don’t think noise was a problem in those days – it represented how advanced we were then and therefore we shall all enjoy it. Far from the killjoys who decide to live around airports these days. They should all move to rural Nebraska and let planes show off their noise). There did seem to be rather a lot of toilets and not much galley, but this may have been artistic model making license. I examined it from every direction and it just became better looking and it was love at first sight. I offered to buy it off them at any price but the young thing on the desk. was absolutely dumbfounded at such a question. I was supposed to be buying tickets, not making unrepeatable offers on the decorations. The Comet had stopped flying long before she was even born, so here he was, as far as she was concerned, this rather pathetic white man offering to carry off the only good looking thing in the office. Kinda like it had been sitting there collecting dust for EVER and what would they put there without it ??? I would have taken it off to a much better home and shall remount this attack each time I return here. Perhaps I can get my minders just to walk in and waive bits of paper and say they have come to collect it and just take it and run. The previous owners would get over it’s loss quite fast, I’m sure. ldda bought them a pot plant, honest.
Anyway, evantualee, our plane arrived (some 20 mins early, I must point out to all you grumblers who always mutter about them being late…), Best thing was that its arrival came as a complete shock and surprise to Ethiopian Airlines, who were to handle its transit. They claimed to know nothing about it. Strange, says I, cos I know otherwise. Anyway we got over that hurdle and the pax were whisked through and I coped with their bags after they had left. Next morning we had them outta their beds at 0500 (well at the price they pay per day, you gotta maximise that…) and off to the airport at 0600 for our special (that’s my new word for charter) Ethiopian flight to Lalibela which was sked to depart at 0700 – and guess what – go on, guess ………… c’mmon on ……… well you were probably wrong, but the thing departed some five minutes EARLY – I’m worried that actions may be taken by senior management against the persons responsible for this breach of ET regulations, which require that even though pax are boarded in a timely manner, then there is a great hiatus when nothing discernible actually happens, but it ensures that all flights leave about 20-30 mins later than advertised.
Anyway we purred along in a Fokker 50, high wing 2 x 2 seats and two boys in the traditional dark green of ET provided us with a doorstop cheese sandwich (somewhat heavy on the bread and light on the cheese, a l’anglaise) and a piece of fruit cake and water or Coke, so we wanted for nothing well, kinda. 55 mins later we were in Lalibela, home of the celebrated rock churches and about a million flies. There wasn’t much I cud do about the former, as they have been there for +/- 1000 years, but the latter I actually HAD tried to do something to ease the pain inflicted on tender Amurrican eyes, noses and mouths by these pesky things_ At each stop we give our babies, a little pressie – something tasteful of course and not garish – must also be OK for males and females and not fragile or heavy – or expensive – you can see from that basic list, that the search can become difficult. Anyway when I went to Addis to set this thing up, one of my duties was to search for the perfect pillow gift (such are these things called in the trade) and suddenly I sees a Coptic priest with his traditional fly whisk and I had a eureka moment and off we went and stocked up on them. So when the babes arrived they found this waiting for them (along with a ready stamped postcard and also $10 worth of Ethiopian Birr – yes that’s the local money and very filthy stuff it is too and probably now has anthrax as well as bubonic plague on its surface) – after stuffing envelopes with it, I washed my hands much harder than normal.
So next day, in Lalibela, there were all whisking away and what a good idea it was etc etc and I let them know that it was MOI that was looking out for their welfare and they thought I was a good egg etc etc (if anyone is actually called a good egg these day ?? ). And there are the beggars. Oh dear such a sad sight to see – totally heartbreaking and I’ve tried to train myself just NOT to look. cos it just doesn’t get any easier to see again. Trouble is the churches also attract domestic visitors (tourism would be quite the wrong idea) and so they sit around on the ground with their hands outstretched, just hoping for something. Many are blind and others genetically deformed and some both and it’s a tough call to walk past. What I set up for them was for our gang NOT to try to do anything, as they would almost be too traumatised by the sights anyway and instead we have our ground agents distribute cash later, so at least we do give them something, but even so, it’s a haunting experience.
Our return to Addis had its problem though – mainly the simple fact that the plane that was supposed to come find us, was sick elsewhere and we were stuck. Lalibela airport, is, of course, undergoing a huge transformation so they have the builders in, which makes it far less attractive, esp when you have to sit there for 3 hours. I spent some of it in the ET office, trying to work on a plan B and C, just in case the missing plane was towed away and buried somewhere. The young lad there communicates with Addis by radio. That’s it. No phone, just a staticky radio. They proposed various skeds, which he wrote down, all in GMT so add 3 for Ethiopia and the boy was quite impressed that I could understand such ideas and I told him that I was doing things like that probably before not only he was born but his dear papa even, which made him look at me with wide eyes – fortunately I was seated or I’m sure he wudda given me his chair.
Anyway to cut a boring story short, our plane was eventually fixed and flew in and we departed. The highlight of the return to Addis had been planned to go to the museum to see the 2 MILLION year old bones of Lucy, who trolled around not far from Addis. We had the professor along with us who had found her (one of the carrots for coming on the trip was to meet him and the family) and we were going to see the real bones themselves rather than the plaster casts on view in the museum – this was a HUGE honor as they ain’t dragged out for anyone), but now we were severely off sked. The phone lines buzzed and we were told that cos it was HIM and they like HIM, they would wait -well we got there at 7pm in the end and guess what, the man with the key had gone home and they didn’t know where he was. Ahhhhhh such angst, almost tears from some punters – THIS WAS WHY THEY CAME etc etc and tomorrow’s sked was already tight with an 0800 departure down to Tanzania and we had to go home and start calling down south and rearranging like mad – but in the end we did it and they went to the museum at 8am and it was opened for them and they saw the celebrated girl herself and we all walked on water again. Honest, we’re frigging wonderful, even though I have to say so myself.
And I foxtrot oscared to Dubai for the night.. Fortunately ET decided that they would operate the flight to the original sked and routing (they often surprise their punters by arbitrarily changing both – I once turned up in Dubai to hear my plane’s engine starting in the distance – even though I had reconfirmed the flight the day before, they had overnight resked it to depart an hour earlier), so we zooted along to Dubai – flew right over the Hadramaut area of Yemen, which still has not received the honor of a visit from yrs truly – frustrating to be within 39,000 feet of it – then endless acres of the Empty Quarter in Saudi – what a godforsaken place it looks too – Lawrence of A had to be totally out to lunch to go wandering around there – masochism on speed I think.
And so into the efficient arms of DXB as the sun set – I’m met inside the terminal by a young lady waving a clipboard with my name on it and she sweetly asks if I had been there before and I looks at her and says “Honey WAY before u were ever thought of “which she finds Very Amusing and nearly drops the clipboard. She was from Beirut (everyone in DXB is from somewhere else …) and I could tell her about that before she was born too – I’m beginning to feel quite ancient again and may have to sit down and put my legs up for a while. So having refused all offers to part with $139 in the 1000 to 1 car raffle, and discussed the hopes of delivering bags speedily to arriving pax – this nice man from the airport authority was stood standing there (with another clipboard , another booming business in DXB must be the importing of these things and yet another stock tip for you) and I told him v sweetly that if this had been ever-efficient Singapore, weeda been outta the doors by now, which he felt was impossible and I promised scouts honor and all that, that I spoke the truth. Outside I am met by the Indian man who looked after me last time, but he was just there to press the flesh for an instant and pop me into a nice BMW (I think, you know I’m not good on cars – as long as they go, i don’t care what they are …) and off I goes to somewhere called The Royal Mirage, a VERY fancy schmanzy palace place along the beach and there is the Sales Mgr there waiting for me (I’m already getting slightly paranoid that wherever I go around here, there is someone lurking around every corner, almost all with a clipboard, who knows my name and presses his business card upon me – I’m getting quite a collection of these, which intend to leave to the nation eventualee).
This guy turns out to be a wandering Canadian with a spiffy haircut, lived all over the place, so we then dine alfresco, as this is the best time to be there for such pleasures. The hotel has a good choice of restaurants and the fish one virtually on the beach is full already and its not even 2000 and the locals don’t come out til 2200. We exchange airline horror stories – make a mental note not to patronise Air Gabon and stay away from Zambia too. We move to the kinda oriental courtyard, where there is a Moroccan musician playing what looks like a home made sort of stringed instrument, which he manages to pluck and tap out the beat too – sweet sounds under the palm trees and an apple water pipe to suck on, along with the obligatory the a la menthe. All v nice indeed. I’m invited to pop me head into the nightclub to view its beauties and v swish it is too, though I wouldn’t be caught dead going there. The man on the door is big and dark and ‘no worries’ for me take a look, which is Oz/Kiwispeak and I peg him as a Samoan and ask if he’s from Samwa, which is how they says it, and he nearly keels over from shock. He said no one has ever pinned him down that easily… I am invited to return anytime I want -thanks, but no. I am dead on the feet and go off to a nice bed in a v dark room and I sleep like the proverbial log (has anyone ever seen an awake log ?) til the alarm goes off at 0600 and I’m reinstalled in a Volvo). I’m sure about that one and retrace my steps to the airport. Another girt waiting for me on the kerb, holding her you-know-what and she swishes me to the check in and a sweet little Fillipina does the biz. Place, as usual. full of itinerant middle eastern and subcontinent visitors, some of whom have spread out newspapers on the carpet and are fast asleep – henna dyed feet stick out from a black burkha type of thing – feet are VERY gnarled and look more like they should be plodding along behind a water buffalo or similar, rather than having a kip in DXB. One day I’m going to get there early enough to carry out some interviews – if I carry a clipboard, that will make it official for sure, as there must be a feast of stories there. And while I remember, Addis airport always has a contingent of Chinese, puffing away on dreadful cigs, legs tucked up under them or giving each other ferocious pounding massages… gotta find out one day just what they are doing there. Perhaps they bring them in to make the place look more cosmopolitan and they actually never go anywhere ? Addis though has its own share of curiosities, like an ET flight going to N’jamena (Chad), Kano (Nigeria) and Bamako (Mali) which of course would win the international “Hand Baggage of the Year” award, (boom boxes still much in demand there and also a couple of family sized rice cookers, which would never go above or under a seat) not to mention the size of the ladies (not slim shall we say) or the aroma left behind them all. It’s a feast for watchers comme moi_
Boy this one is going on and on – sorreeeee
I’m gonna end it right now.
Tim
timothyvalentinestravels 