The Marie Has Landed

This is how much I love you, dear readers.

It is 7:30am and I have woke up a full hour than necessary to write this post. Anyone who knows me can appreciate the magnitude of this feat. Dragging my bum out of bed in the morning is no easy task.

Your next question might be why I was due to wake up at 8:30am to begin with. It turns out I'll be off for a three-day excursion with my roommates around the Western Cape. In my foggy morning haze I can't remember squat about the places we're going to. But I can tell you that part of it involves seeing 5000 penguins. That I remember.

I'll be back home Thursday night and will hopefully be able to pop online to update you all on how I fared.

Before going, though, here is a little run-down of my first few days of my adventure:

THE FLIGHT(S).

You know when you hear how awful trans-Atlantic flights are but you hold tight to your optimistic ways and turn your nose at the thought of a 18hr flight being that bad?? ...No? Okay, well, that was me. I somehow figured that I was exempt from enduring a truly miserable flight.

I blame this unwarranted confidence on my last overseas flight to Paris, where my friend and I were luxuriously privy to three seats to ourselves, a flight attendant who snuck us extra ice cream cartons, and a mere 7 hour flight plan.

This, my friends, was no flight to Paris.

Flying from Winnipeg, to Denver, and then on to Washington was quite alright. Besides feeling mildly nauseous from getting zero (zero! See last post.) sleep the night before, the flights were comfortable and without delay.

It was the Washington-Joburg flight that killed me.

The misleading thing about boarding airplanes is the sneaky fact that you must always first pass through First Class. This gives you the hope that things won't be as cramped and sardine-like as you may have thought. That travelling this long on a plane will indeed be a humane experience and not self-inflicted torture.

First Class lies.

As I reached my "economic" seat, I was stunned at its sparse allotment of personal space. There was less leg and arm room than on a domestic flight! Literally a 2" by 2" square. Brutal.

The only thing that could make this more uncomfortable would be if I had to face my two worst in-flight nightmares: the chronically stinky person and evil crying baby.

And wouldn't you know I was graced with BOTH those presences! On either side of me.

The man seated to my left smelled like rotten cabbage. With a healthy dose of sour underarm stench mixed in. It was made worse around hour 12 of the flight when he felt the need to reach his hands into the air and unload a whiff of body odour so pungent into my face that I actually had to get up and walk away, lest I vomit and make my 2 x 2 square even more unpleasant.

Thank goodness for solid perfume. I ran into L'Occitane (seriously guys, you  must visit this store. The smells will blow your mind) the week earlier and bought a tiny pot thinking it somehow might come in handy. Well I guess so. Dotting a few bits underneath my nose was the thing that got me through.

A few other standout products include:

• slippers (tiny feets do not fare well in over-airconditioned cabins)
• Visine/lip balm/body lotion (it is mind-boggling how dry the air gets... pretty sure investing in a humidifier wouldn't kill the airline's budget)
• earplugs (the baby aforementioned literally screamed -- not cried -- for 30 straight minutes)
• my supremely soft, cozy blanket (which I debated bringing... note to self: NEVER forget to bring)
• Thermarest travel pillow (Travis, I am forever indebted to you)

We re-fueled in Dakar, Senegal. They told us it would be an hour but it, of course, took two and a half. Not that I really cared at this point anyway. After flying 8+ hours, everything becomes a mushy mess of cramped muscles, fuzzy thinking, and sleep deprivation.

The second leg of the flight was from Dakar to Joburg. The best part was touching ground. Knowing that I had successfully made it onto South African soil felt like such an accomplishment. After all of the planning and waiting to be here, the moment I felt the wheels bounce on the tarmac I was overcome with a sense of relief and excitement. Suddenly all the stress and discomfort was worth it.


ARRIVING IN CAPE TOWN.

Unfortunately, my flight into Cape Town was from 6:30pm-8:30pm, so I wasn't able to see anything as I landed.

As we flew over a giant sea of orange and blue lights, I could have been landing anywhere. Toronto. Winnipeg. Paris. It was sort of odd to realize that, at night, the city looked no different than home.

I was shuttled over to my hostel where I dutifully emailed my mother to tell her I wasn't dead, and then crashed. Bed never felt so good.

The next morning I was up early to attend an orientation session downtown. As our car lifted over the hump of the hill that my hostel is situation upon, the most spectacular view opened up. Table Mountain towered in rocky glory over to my right and to my left stretched out the Atlantic waterfront, sparkling in the bright morning sun and peppered with large tanker ships and sailboats. Exotic fig, orange, and lemon trees dotted the yards we zipped by, while the lush, hilly surrounding area took my breath away.

It is almost better that it happened this way. That I flew in under a cloak of darkness, only for everything to be revealed in the morning. It felt like I was in a dream. The last terrain I had seen in daylight was the familiar suburban spread of Washington, D.C. It was a gift to be able to visually experience Cape Town when I was more awake and thus better able to appreciate my arrival and its natural beauty.

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So that is that. More updates to follow once I get back from my little trip.

I'll let you all know more about my roommates, the place I am staying at, and hopefully post some photos for your viewing pleasure.

Now you let me know -- How are things back home? What am I missing out on?