JEFF McLEAN'S BLOG | MARTY POUWELSE'S BLOG
- 01/10/2002 - Warts and all... (Mali)
- 14/10/2002 - Timbuktu...Tomboctou...however you say it, it's bloody far away... (Mali)
- 23/10/2002 - Goin' birko over bein' in "Burkina" (Burkina Faso)
- 05/11/2002 - Ouagadougou to Bolgatanga (someone get me a linguistomy fast!) (Ghana)
- 11/11/2002 - Roast to Coast (Ghana)
- 26/11/2002 - Ghana get to Benin and finish this thannnnnnnnnnnng... (Benin)
- 10/12/2002 - Currently slumping in the couch...for a little bit anyway... (Australia)
10/12/2002 - Currently slumping in the couch...for a little bit anyway... (Australia)
G'day all,
...for one last time.
So now I'm back in Melbourne.
The Africa "thing" is over.
Marty is at home wondering what the hell to make of cars that look like they HAVEN'T been run over by monster trucks.
"Pete" the trike is breathing a sigh of relief at being able to take another adventure to some place that hopefully doesn't resemble the crater filled surface of the moon.
We did it.
We may have been split up in the last minutes of our journey, but we all came through.
Amidst the absurdly efficient, rationale-killer of international fear and media zealots (and the dickheads who supplied the volatile fuel in the first place), the worst that we could fear did not come true AGAIN. The risks, smaller than the dangers we can encounter at home in our daily lives, but still in existence, did not deliver harm. And, strangely, we have appeared out of the other end of a badly skewed, smoke-and-rubble-filled vision of a world that is, basically, OK.
So, looking back, what were the final gory details?
If you have been following them, you will have read from Marty's posts that our parting at the airport was hard (see the webpage http://au.geocities.com/africa_postings.htm - Marty's last post is now there, COMPLETE WITH PICTURES!!!!!)
The story went something like this...
Initially, I had a bad impression of Air France, the airline that was to speed us away from Cotonou. Paul Rodriguez, the manager that delivered the bad news, was pleasant and assertive, and in retrospect did an amazing job of delivering some very difficult-to-hear news.
We had arrived at Cotonou airport many hours early for our flight out, as I always do. This would ensure that there was plenty of time to load the trike; that there was plenty of time for the baggage handlers to become used to the fact that, YES, this thing CAN go on the plane! (This, of course, is to be excepted during those times when the plane is absolutely full in peak season.)
We stayed outside the front door of the airport with the staff and the guards for a couple of hours when it was apparent that we could not get to the check-in desks; the airport wasn't to open until just before check-in for our flight. That did not bother me (unfortunately) - Marty and I were buoyed completely by the feeling that FINALLY we had made it. More to the point, we had made it on-time for our last flight, despite the incredibly tiring events of the preceding week (when Marty had his passport stolen.)
So, when we appeared as one of the first customers at check-in, and had to wait until Paul appeared to tell us that there was no way this trike was getting on the plane tonight, I was less than impressed. Paul did mention one VERY important factor; "This IS Africa - what do you expect? There is no staff available at this time of night (8pm) to go through the process of loading your trike..."
At the time, I expected service. The next day was an eye-opener that absolved Air France's part in the problem.
My task was to take the trike to the freight section of the airport on the morning that I was to fly out. Twelve hours before departure.
I had to have the trike weighed for transit, as all oversized baggage should be. And the "process" that I endured was mind-boggling.
Paul at Air France let everyone know at the freight centre what was to happen. He informed me of the process too. All was set for a very simple experience.
Of course, when things started to go off the rails, I, as an Australian outsider, could not dictate what had to be done and where. But what should have taken five minutes had blown out to three hours including four death-defying trips on the back of a mobylette (moped) trying to find out who was right about what, attempts to extract about $300 from me when I was told that all was to be free of charge, and a certain level of trust in a system I knew nothing about.
In short, Paul became a great friend over the two days, always assuring me that everything would be taken care of now that it was in his hands, and also letting me know that any excess baggage costs would be absorbed given the extenuating circumstances. The whole baggage issue remained a stressful issue until I boarded. At any stage I expected to hear that something else was a problem, and that I would have to wait for the next flight out. That issue was crouched in the corner of my mind, ready to pounce at any moment. It was a stress to deal with, but one that seemed like it had been overcome. I could put it to one side to a certain extent.
I had other serious problems though.
The fact that I could not leave the country when planned meant that I was overstaying my 2 day transit visa. I would be overstaying it by one day. That would make me an illegal alien in Africa!
(Now, Sigourney Weaver did NOTHING for the public image of Aliens in our country. Nor have the combination of our "news"papers and boatloads of people seeking asylum in Australia. The word "Alien" is loaded here... So how were aliens viewed in Africa? And ILLEGAL ONES at that???)
Seriously, to obtain an extension to the visa would take 3 days, meaning that Immigration would have my passport when I needed to travel. Hmmmmmmmmmmm.
So, I approached the Immigration staff at the airport on the last day of currency of the visa and asked if I could pay for an extension as I was leaving. The lady at the head of immigration AND her co-worker / translator, both told me that it would be possible. However, as hearing one thing and experiencing something completely different in Africa was commonplace, this answer was also to be a stress until the last moment of leaving.
As it turns out, in the heady moment when I did finally have my check-in procedure finished and proceeded to Immigration, the woman at the desk instantly took issue with me and said that this paperwork was not in order, and inferred that I could not leave. I nearly left a nice little pile of stool sample at her station - why was this happening to me? I remained very calm and offered her 5,000CFA ($15) as my extension fee.
That was not good enough obviously - she said no, no, no, as if a bribe was an affront to her integrity.
I argued in the nicest way possible that this was what I was told to do - how the message got across when I could speak little French and she could speak no English, I don't know.
DON'T STUFF ME UP AT THIS LATE STAGE YOU BIT...BIDDY...!!!
Eventually she looked up at me with a disappointed look (as if to say "tutututututuutt, you should not be doing this"), took the 5,000CFA ($15) WITHOUT the extra 5,000 that I had offered her, and stamped my passport with a lovely, fat EXIT STAMP. I would have paid 50,000 to get out of there and would have kept offering until the cops dragged me away.
So I was out...
...can you imagine the feeling of elation as I drifted mindlessly through the duty free shops thinking "@#%$ this joint - it looks like I'm on my way home."
There was still heaps to do though.
With the delays exiting Africa came more problems. I was to fly Cotonou-Paris-London, from where I would catch my Qantas flight home to Melbourne.
Unfortunately the two day delay would mean I could not catch this Australia-bound flight.
I had been beside myself in those last two days of delay in Africa. I was worrying about the worst irrational fears I had yet encountered. I was worrying about whether there was any "cosmic reason" for me missing my flight. My family at home were frantic. I had never wanted to be home more in my life.
Allison, the love of my life I had left behind for SIX months (never again Al) was waiting at home, ready to embark on the Great Victorian Bike Ride with me. I had also wanted to do the right thing by Greenspeed, by taking "Pete" on that Ride so people could see and feel what the speedy beast was like.
It looked like I'd missed out on that opportunity to pay something back to two people that had done so much for me over the last few months.
I was gutted.
Back to my family's frantic activities. They were calling all and sundry to see what could happen. Harvey World Travel in Essendon (thanks Bianca and Michael) worked welllllllll after they should have on many occasions to try to find out how I could get home in the best way possible. It was looking like I'd have to re-book an short-notice flight home, costing OVER $8,000!!!
Still, if I HAD to, I probably would have paid it, and worked out how the hell to pay it off when I got home. Like I say, NEVER have I wanted to get home more in my life. After all the Hell of the preceding few days, the silly but all-too-seemingly-real fear that I may never get home - irrational, but ever present - and the tiredness from the journey I had completed, I really would have paid.
Now it's time for one unbelievably good friend to enter stage right.
Keith King of Qantas, a man that I am completely indebted to, responded to my calls for help with the most outstanding show of customer service that I have yet seen from any person or organization.
In my previous dealings with Qantas, the airline that has carried me and my trike on my other adventures, I have never had any issue with their customer service. They have always been happy to carry the trikes I have brought to them. They have always shown impeccable courtesy and professionalism.
But this went waaaaaaaay beyond the call.
In Paris, I heard that Keith was looking at the case; I received the good news that things seemed to have been sorted - that Qantas would honour the original homeward bound ticket I had bought. That was SUCH a relief. I was to check-in as early as possible at Heathrow, and Qantas would help me out with the arrangements. Chris Black, manager at Heathrow, was also onto the case. That news was good; there was hope.
Well, a few hours later, I got to Heathrow, but the trike didn't.
In Paris, I managed to make the connecting flight to London, but my trike did not. That came through a few hours later. Still - no time for real complaint - there were two more flights from Paris before things would be critical - I should just go to Qantas and let them know "the latest development."
This was absolutely no trouble for Qantas. Was I wearing the garb of a monarch??? They seemed to be treating me this way?
By the time I arrived at the Qantas checkin, I began to feel like the whole world knew of my woes and was going to make everything simple for me.
And they did.
Di was the first person I spoke to on the phone at the Airport. She put me at ease as though I'd just be plonked in a recliner-rocker. She let me know unreservedly that everything would be OK - just get the trike here to Qantas' check-in when I could.
When I arrived with the trike at about 2pm (FIVE hours before check-in should begin for my flight!) Harby Kumar, the man handling all of Qantas' affairs at the time, devoted all of his attention to checking me and my luggage in and ensuring me beyond doubt that everything would be ok.
Everyone DID know the story.
I was told to leave all of my baggage with the staff and to go into London (if I so desired) so that I could enjoy the hours I had left in front of me, and relax for the flight home. It nearly makes me emotional just writing about it. The relief was indescribable. I really had the feeling that these were staff that didn't just seem to care. They did care. Thanks Chris and Harby for all your work and honoured assurances.
There were further niceties about the trip home regarding seat placement and levels of service that are almost embarrassing to write about. All I can do is make a public thank you to Qantas and Keith in Australia for picking up the ball and making it happen. You identified when someone really wanted help, and you provided it in bucketloads. Qantas and your staff - the staff that MAKES you - thanks VERY MUCH for making a very trying and difficult experience end in the most wonderful way. I just couldn't consider flying with anyone else now.
Now for another change of subject - back to my old favourite - Africa.
Africa challenged me. And I don't want that sentence to be seen as a cliche. Please read it again. It took me by the privates and shook me around and had me on a plate.
And it does that to its citizens every day.
How they manage, I don't know.
We have it easy.
It is amazing to come home, breathe our own polluted air, and consider it as clean as a breeze off a forest's canopy.
It is amazing to come home, read our papers, see our insignificant woes, and already start to wallow in them.
It is amazing to come home, and watch people fearing the future, while not really worrying about today. Is this because our present is so damned palatable? In Africa (as with many other places), they justifiably fear the present. I reckon their future is just too horrible for them to contemplate, let alone fear.
I can't think of another time in my life when the statement "someone is always worse off than yourself" has had more currency.
If you are able to read this message, you have incalculable gifts. Sight, access to technology, access to jobs, access to shelter, to food, to loved ones and probably to a decent political system. They are things that took only 30 seconds to think of. If I kept typing on the subject, I'd easily fill a page in an hour.
We are lucky.
In finishing, as always, there are a few others I would like to thank.
Those friends of mine, on and off this mailing list, who supported me with e-mails from home that I so often wanted. You provided a great support and link to home that is so necessary when you are travelling in really difficult areas. And especially to Trev that helped so much with his mails in the initial stages of this project.
To Air France, and especially Qantas, for the parts they played in the story above to get me home. Keith King, you stand above the shoulders of anyone that I know in terms of looking after your company's clients.
To HPA (and Terry Daly and Mark Bongiourno especially), you have been mentioned so little in these posts (because I guess the "relevance" wasn't there to the subject matter). Thanks for your great support as a company, and your belief in sharing the vision of this film that is currently in production. We would not have been able to entertain the thought of a film without your valuable financial support and your faith in this project. You're not only the best Outsourced Services Provider in the country...can we add film to your many talents???
Greenspeed, and Ian Sims in particular, has similarly shown great faith in this project, by providing us with "Pete" the tandem trike, and a trailer, and all kinds of support when I have needed it on my journeys. He had the trike set up with some extremely versatile and lightweight cameramounts. He has provided this equipment, knowing it would be unused for four out of the six months it was out of his hands. Ian and Greenspeed, as the biggest contributors to this adventure, I thank you personally and warmly for your faith. Thanks also to Harry at Greenspeed for all your initial advice about the camera mounts, and your valuable tuition on all things photographic.
To my family, for their love and best wishes for the six months I was away, and for their acceptance of my need to do this, I thank you. And to Mum and Dad specifically for working like ephedrine-charged gophers over my last few days of frenetic activity when they received over 20 e-mails in two days - for understanding that it was near impossible to make a phone call in a country where local money was hard to get out on credit card and calls cost $18 per minute - thanks for EVERYTHING.
To Allison, my love, my confidant, and a woman whose trust, understanding, and support over an incredibly difficult six months is something I can never repay. I will never understand the trials you went through daily - I can only imagine, and that imagination stings. Thanks for your patience, your cheeriness, your support and your love.
And finally to Marty. It takes a very special breed of person to catch a glimpse of an opportunity and grab it. You did that in an amazing way. Your current line of work is so specialist that it does not have oodles of opportunity for new positions. You had practically never cycled any long distance. You had never been out of the country.
You had faith. You had faith that you could cycle in the oppressive heat. You did it - over 1000km of it. You had faith in your ability to cope with travelling in strange lands. You did that well too - you chose to go to one of the strangest places on earth, and one of the hardest locations in which I have travelled. And, most admirably in our society, you had faith that you would make things work vocationally when you got home. Now that seems to be going ahead nicely.
In short, you bit off much more than any normal person could chew, and not only did you consume it admirably, but you chomped, masticated, ingurgitated, then gulped it all down and sat there licking your lips for more.
In the words of that band of musicians we both love, "you jumped out and an angel gave you wings." I hope they carry you far.
Love to you all,
Jeff
"Here now I come to rest
Under a lion rock
Over marine parade
Maybe this time
Here I'll stay"
- "Into the sunset" from Neil Finn's album "One Nil"