Day 1. Flight or fight to Cape Town

We’re on our way, the first 15 hours of about 80 hours flying in South Africa (SA).

First little drama of many came at check-in. We thought Debbie had been allocated seat 23K – that’s what it said on her e-ticket. The plane was already close to full, and Debbie was allocated row 69 at the back of the plane, and in the middle. For a 15 hour flight, that’s a tough spot. I explained the reason we did not prebook a seat was she already had 23K. The deskie said it was not available, and apologised profusely. Seems like everyone’s going to South Africa.

As we waited for the flight, I reread the ticket. Bag 23K. Oh, that’s the weight allowance. Well done, smart arse. Since the deskie didn’t say anything, chances are I’m the first genius who made that mistake. But they must have taken pity on Debbie, as at the gate, someone hadn’t turned up, and because we’d had such a whinge, she was moved up to a good seat.

On the plane, I introduced myself to the friendly couple next to me: Ed (I think) and Frida. Had a good chat:

“You going over for the football?” I asked.
“We’d better,” said Frida. “Our son’s the captain.”
I didn’t know Mr and Mrs Gerrard lived in Australia. Then I realised.
“Oh, Lucas. Wow, is he confident?” I asked.
“He’s always confident,” said Mrs Neill, as matter-of-factly as if I’d asked whether she hopes the plane lands safely.
So I’m in the presence of football royalty. Are they tired of answering questions, or do they love the attention, basking in the glory?
“Do you go to many of his games?”
“Only the major tournaments, like the Asian Cup games.” As you do.
“Has he got his family with him in Joburg?”
“He does, but he won’t see much of them. He’s here to do a job, this is serious business.” And damned right too.

They are down-to-earth and friendly. They sink a few G&Ts and chardies, and when Mrs Neill goes to the toilet, she picks up all the bits of paper and wrappings I’ve thrown on the floor. I’d say she brought up Lucas with a disciplined but fair hand. There you are - me summing up the Australian captain’s entire life based on a bit litter.

I watch Invictus, the movie about South Africa winning the 1995 Rugby World Cup. Good movie, although Matt Damon is not quite enough of a thug to captain a Springbok Rugby team. More like a Cape Town Knitting Group. But it’s very well done, especially the rugby bits.

I like the line when Damon as captain is explaining the game to a group of black African soccer players in a poor township, and he says, “The first rule of rugby is that you can only pass the ball backwards.” Cute. A game where the fundamental principle is going backwards. That should catch on among these kids.

But the Mandela story is remarkable, that he could be imprisoned and mistreated for 27 years, and then become President and forgive the people who punished him. The message of the movie is that the 1995 victory would somehow unite black and white South Africans. And yet the heading in the article in today’s AFR on SA is, “Violence and Crime are National Sports”, and that only 7% of crimes are solved (versus 55% internationally) and the murder rate is five times the global average. There is little border security, so maybe 25% of the 50 million people in SA are ‘illegals’. Puts Australia’s boat people issue in perspective, where we have a national heart attack and vote for Tony Abbott because a leaky boat with 40 terrified Sri Lankans arrives at Christmas Island. Get a grip, folks.

We’ll soon find out how serious this security issue is. Yesterday, a security guard was shot dead in … Sydney, outside the CBA building at Darling Park. If that had happened in Cape Town, it would lead the news, and demonstrate how the entire country has gone to hell. Mrs Neill reads aloud from the Tele, that one Australian has already been robbed in Joburg. Yes, and he was drunk and out late. We can expect to read about this for the next month.

What the movie also showed is how much it will lift the event if South Africa does well. The rugby team was not favoured before the 1995 event, but the nation carried them over the line. How good if the same could happen again, at least beyond the group stage. With Mexico and Uruguay in their group, it’s not impossible.

Arrival in Joburg was a total stuff up. The Qantas plane from Sydney was supposed to arrive at 4pm, but it was over an hour late. We were heading on to Cape Town, but Qantas announced that connecting flights would be held up. But this did not happen. By the time I cleared customs, I’d missed my South African Airways flight to Cape Town, where we are staying for 16 days. Debbie’s flight was 30 minutes later, so she booked in fine, but there were no seats left on the plane for me. We had a car from the hotel meeting us, so I’d see her in Cape Town.

Then the problems began. SAA refused to book me on another flight, because I had paid Qantas, and I had to sort it out with them. The Qantas desk was in another terminal, and when I eventually found it, there were another 30 or so Australians looking for another flight, and the Qantas person had gone home, assuming everything was fine. Great. Eventually, a SAA person came, took us all like ducks following their mother through a couple of terminals where we met someone with details on the new flights.

By this time, it was about 6.15pm, and my new flight left at 6.35pm.

“Do you mean that’s the time it starts boarding?” I asked, knowing I had not even checked in and had all my bags with me.

“No, that’s what time it departs,” she replied, not seeming to realise the timing issue.

So I legged it to the SAA check-in counter, bowled over a couple of Brazilians (no jokes, please, I'm not in the mood right now), and at the counter, the clerk was merrily chatting to her security guard boyfriend, fluttering her eyelids and caring not for the crazy man standing in front of her.

“My plane leaves in 20 minutes,” I said, which seemed to give her some reason to stop fluttering. “Will I make it.?”

“Unlikely, but if you run, maybe.”

So I took off again, all bags in tow, looking for the gates, which of course, were on another floor. And I still had to go through security. Again, apologising, I pushed a few folk out of the way, and put my bags though the xray machine. Then my lap top had to go through again, and … there was a small Swiss Army knife in my main bag, which in normal circumstances, would have been in the hold. We had to find it first. By the time I reached the gate, the flight had closed.

Now my main concern was that Debbie did not have a mobile phone, she would not know whether to take the car to the hotel or wait for me at Cape Town airport, and I might not get on another flight tonight. The lady at the counter refused to allow me on the plane. She said I had to start again – go outside into the public area and check-in again.

At this point, over 20 hours since leaving and at about 2.30am Sydney time, I nearly blew a fuse. There was no way I was starting again by going outside. So she showed me to the SAA lounge, and they told me I’d just missed the 7pm. Holy feckin shit. Why didn’t any of the previous SAA people put me on that flight instead of me running around the airport like Mr Bean! She said they could squeeze me on the 8pm, which would arrive in Cape Town at 10pm. Great, do me a favour next time. And if my wife is hijacked in Cape Town by some mad driver from Swaziland, I’ll find the CEO of SAA and put his head through his own xray machine.

By the time we reached our hotel, we’d been on the road for over 24 hours without any sleep. Welcome to South Africa and the almost total indifference of the SAA staff.