The art of travelling economy

We really enjoy going on road trips. The journey by car becomes part of the experience. Obviously it is not always convenient, appropriate or realistic to hop into a car to get to a destination. Being able to travel is a wonderful privilege, the convenience of travelling by air, however, can be more of “hurry up and wait”.

A long weekend in George to celebrate significant birthdays of Matthew’s brother and his fiancé was a case in point. In theory it’s a quick two hour flight down south. In reality it’s a far longer and more involved process that included mitigating traffic snarls, unwieldy queues at the counter and surly security procedures.

Before we had even packed our bags we were notified that our return flight on Tuesday had been bumped from an early 08h30 to a much later 18h35. The plan had been to get back home on a less expensive flight with daytime to spare. Now we would be spending the daytime in George and getting home at the wearying time of closer to 22h00.

We rolled our eyes and gritted our teeth and held thumbs that the pilots’ strike would not impact us any more than it already had.

Travel can be stressful

Travel can be really stressful. Especially by air. Packing is an art in itself. Do we have the right clothing for the weather predicted, when we know that weather forecasts are remarkably like looking into a crystal ball: somewhat illuminating, often wrong?

“We’re only going to need one bag,” said Matthew looking hopeful.

“I’m not so sure,” replied Chantal, “Let’s see how we go.”

We packed two bags. It is winter, jerseys and jackets take up room. And there’s the yoga mat. Chantal does try to balance not too much and not too little but always ends up thinking, why does this bag still feel so damn heavy?

We decided to leave early and reserved an Uber. For some reason the Uber app thinks we live two houses down and on the other side of the road from where we actually do. The driver was early but we had to wave and yell at him to come and get us.

He was friendly enough. His car rattled alarmingly and when he asked for directions there was a moment of panic. Thankfully, he got us to the airport in one piece. The sudden jump in fare caught Chantal off guard, though.

“Maybe I pressed the wrong button for his tip,” she said in answer to Matthew’s query about her frown, “I really can’t worry about that now, though.”

Not too bad

We got through security almost intact. Bags, laptops, jackets, backpacks, scarves and hats were disposed of into trays and pushed through the x-ray machine. No buzz as we walked through the metal detector to re-layer ourselves with clothes and bags on the other side.

We were shunted from one end of the departures lounge to the other just as boarding opened. The abrupt gate changes caused some confusion amongst the passengers as to whose flight was actually departing from which gate.

We do not spend time standing in the long queue, waiting for the gate to open. What’s the rush? They can’t leave without us even if we are at the very back of the line. The problem is that it’s pot luck as to whether we will find overhead storage space for our bags when we get on the plane.

We sat on cold plastic seats and eyed with disdain, the passengers that stood in the snaking queue. So many had large carry-on cases, plus a back pack, and a bag, or two, snuggled close to their sides. Not everyone was stopped to put their wheelie bags in the hold.

Place for only one, this time. Chantal had her backpack stuffed at her feet for the flight, her handbag at Matthew’s. Not too bad, it was easy to get to her crochet and the battery pack allowed her to charge her now depleted phone. Too bad for Matthew who had left his phone charger cable in his backpack which was two people and a cramped passage away.

A groovy success

Of course the plane was delayed on the tarmac. For over half an hour we stared out onto dry grass and felt the temperature inside rise. A meeting we expected to be able to get to was now not possible.

After a hot and stuffy and somewhat uncomfortable flight we rolled out on the other side. Matthew’s brother was waiting for us in the car with the big boot. From the time we left our home at 08h00 it had taken us nearly seven hours to arrive at our destination.

We were tempted to complain but really to what end? There was little we could do about the pilots’ strike or the delays as a result. We had arrived with the promise of a fabulous celebration to look forward to.

What we did have was a weekend of connecting and celebrating. The combined 70’s and 80’s themed party was a groovy success. Chantal was more 70’s with big earrings and bellbottoms. Matthew was all black 80’s with a splash of sparkle in his ears.

“Oh my goodness,” said Matthew catching a glimpse of himself reflected in the car window, “To think I actually used to dress like this!”

No art

The next day we drove to a restaurant for a late lunch. It had a view of a flat sunlit sea and a lazy whale rolling in the bay. Then to see Mosselbay just so we can say we have.

Monday dawned sunny, but soon reverted to grey and dripping. We withstood the cold in two pairs of socks and several layers of clothing as we caught up on admin and a little bit of work.

On Tuesday we eventually arrived home to an Uber protest that sent prices rocketing. A swallowed gasp, a hit of the button and we managed to find a willing driver. It rained on our way to Linden, odd for Johannesburg, reminiscent of George.

Home welcomed us with wide open skies and curious cats. How lovely to be back. How wonderful to have been away. The fire crackled and warmed our feet as we sipped rooibos tea and mentally surveyed our trip. A celebration, a reconnection, a meetup and network opportunity. It has been a full few days.

Travel, as with much in life, is about the journey as well as the destination. The journey starts way before you leave the house and continues once you have come back. It’s what you choose to focus on that can make the difference between a memorable experience or a nasty one.

There’s no art to travelling economy, there’s just patience, planning, accepting that it won’t be perfect and remembering to pack your sense of humour with the extra socks.

Until next time.

Yours in feeling,
Chantal & Matthew

Credits for this issue — Images: 5th Place