New continent new thoughts. I arrived in Johannesburg about 1:30 yesterday afternoon, after a hellacious 31 hour/2 layover journey from Singapore. The incredibly unhelpful women at the Ethiopian airlines counter in Singapore had me all nervous that I was going to get tossed back to the winds of international travel at immigration due to my lack of an onward plane ticket, but this ended up being a load of bollocks. The immigration agent I dealt with, an African named Jeremiah, was as polite and helpful as anyone I’ve dealt with on this trip, and I even ended up spending a few extra minutes shooting the breeze with him after my stamps had been graciously applied.
So I was off to a good start all things considered, and I was supposed to be getting picked up by a driver from the NBA at the Jo-burg airport, so this was going to continue to be a walk in the park.
Just like the commentators curse on a perfect game, as soon as the thought left my mind, things went catawampus.
My driver was no where to be seen, and the internet wouldn’t let me make phone calls, only shoot emails, so after a half hour I decided to take my chances and jump on the train.
I say take my chances not because I was overly concerned about getting lost, (although I only had a neighborhood and hotel name to go on) but because crime in Johannesburg isn’t so much an unexpected incident as the cost of doing business. I figured in broad day light, surely I’d be alright, although with 50 lbs of gear draped both over my back and front, I surely wasn’t going to be in much of a position to try to defend myself if I wasn’t.
So onto the train I went. It was pretty straightforward (other than the pricing, which I’m pretty sure I got hosed on, even though it was all computerized.) Soon I was jumping off at the Roseland stop, climbing into the early spring sun and looking around for the Hyatt.
I couldn’t find one, so I started looking for a restaurant or something with WiFi. I found a McDonald’s down the road, which of course, didn’t have WiFi, but I took a load off my feet to regroup and figured I’d ask around and maybe get lucky.
As soon as I sat down, a boy who I thought looked awfully Chinese/Malaysian sat down next to me. He was a school kid, as school must’ve just let out because there were all kinds of white kids in private school uniforms. He started to make conversation (something about a massive backpack just screams “talk to me”) and I asked him if he knew where I was going. He laughed and said he didn’t, but he asked if I knew where he was going.
Next year, he is headed to the University of Oklahoma to study biomedical engineering. He’s yet to find Oklahoma on a map, so he was ecstatic to find an American who would vouch for the place. I told him I’d never been there personally, but I did briefly date a girl whose dad was a dean out there and she’d spoken highly of the place. He seemed relieved by my milquetoast review.
Finally I found an old man who knew where the Hyatt was. I trudged down the road until I came to the place. Now at this point I was an oily, stanking mess. I’d been on a plane for nearly a day and a half, and hadn’t seen a real bed or shower in 48 hours. I waltzed right into the Hyatt like I owned the place however, and within 5 minutes, I’d talked one of the front desk girls into letting me up to use the spa while I waited for my friends.
God bless her. I felt like a new man after 30 minutes in the steam room, plunge pool and the spa.
I headed back down to the lobby to wait on Noah and Romola and was promptly joined by about 30 flight attendants from Luftansa, an airline that still knows how to hire lovely flight attendants. After chatting with a few from Colonge and Dresden, I saw Dikembe Mutumbo walk into the lobby, big as all outdoors.
For those of you who don’t know who Dikembe Mutumbo is, I’m sorry. He was one of the first true African players in the NBA, and also one of the funniest. I’m currently typing this without the help of internet, but I’d imagine that he is every bit of 7 feet tall, and I know that he has size 22 shoes because I put my own meager size 12 foot next to one and almost fainted that a man can be that big. I didn’t have the cajones to ask him to give his famous line after a big block (a finger wag complete with, “No, No, NO!”) but he was as nice a person as you could hope to meet.
Behind him came the smaller, but still incredibly large Noah. It was a watershed moment as this was the first time I’d seen somebody I’d known before the trip since Benny left on June 5. 2 months of making friends on the go has been a blast, but occasionally it is a nice warm feeling to see someone you’ve known for a while.
I gave him a hug, the best that a 5’10’’ guy can give a 6’8’’ guy a hug and he laughed and pointed at Romola 15 feet away in a corner of the restaurant, who had been there all day.
Myopic vision runs in the family.
We caught up and talked about what’s going on, both in the US, the world and at this Basketball Without Borders showcase. He started pointing out the various NBA personalities around the room, from players to scouts to the coach of the Raptors who was kind enough to later sketch out a few base offensive plays for Noah and me.
The whole thing was just a little surreal, especially for someone who has been backpacking through the jungle for most of the last 4 months.
I hung around for a few hours, attending a talk about apartheid by the first South African Olympic chair after Mandela’s election. Finally I headed off to my hostel, as my budget wasn’t going to allow me to stay in the $150 a night Holiday Inn next door to the Hyatt where Noah and Romola were staying.
I initially thought about taking the train and then walking. That idea was blasted out of the sky like a Minnesotan duck on opening day. Everyone kept trying to impress upon me, “it isn’t IF you’ll get robbed out there by yourself tonight, it is a when.” I saw the wisdom of their words and jumped into a car arranged by the hotel.
It was quite a cab ride. I spoke with the driver on the way, and we drove past beautiful home after beautiful home, all surrounded by 8-10 foot walls and razor wire. I’m not talking a few; I’m talking every single one. The streets were beautiful, clean and tree lined, but there is obviously a vein of crime running unseen that is not to be messed with.
Whatever progress has been made since the fall of apartheid, there is infinitely more work to be done.
When I finally arrived at my guesthouse, it too was surrounded by a razorwire wall and had not one but two gates that had to be opened before I could enter. It is unlike any hostel I’ve stayed at yet though.
Once a single-family mansion, it was converted at some point into a hostel with one 20 bed dorm and several 4 bunk bedrooms. The place is beautifully designed, and for some reason reminded me strongly of my great-grandmother. Heinz, the proprietor was working when I rolled up. He let me in, started a tab in case I wanted to have a few drinks, and showed me the grounds. I could tell that the grounds were fantastic because no one was allowed out after dark. Even as I sit here writing this post at 7AM, a girl is trying to go run, but can’t get out of the compound to do so.
Danger really does abound in this beautiful land.
Today it is back to the BwB showcase, with some scrimmages and maybe another round of village visits this afternoon. I’m excited to see more of the area, as I’ll only be in Jo-Burg for about another 2 days before heading over to the Kruger National Park on the Mozambique border. I can’t wait to see some of the most naturally beautiful land on earth, as well as take part in a few game drives with rhinos, lions, cheetahs and the like in their natural habitat.
The world is always offering a new adventure, just make sure you don’t get mugged along the way.