7th - 10th Jan 2014
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| Leaving Livingstone with Vic Falls spray far side. |
The final day in Livingstone was hot with blue skies. What a pity the previous weather had been so damp and unpredictable. Hey ho, but mustn't grumble. I was booked onto the 70 minute ProFlight back to Lusaka and then on up up to Ndola. Jetstream 41s again and either I'm getting bigger or the cabins in these aircraft are shrinking, but at least they were on time. There was time in Lusaka for a lunchtime pit-stop and was met by my Lusaka friend for a reviving drink or two.
On boarding the aircraft in Lusaka for the 45 minute flight to Ndola there were four spare seats. I grabbed a window seat with one of the vacant seats next to me. At least I had a bit of space. All pax seemed to be on board and the door about to be closed when there was a bit of a kerfuffle at the front. At the last minute an enormous black lady had struggled up the steps and was now wedged in the door. She was prised in by the concerned looking hostie, sweating, swearing and accompanied by ominous ripping noises. I had that awful premonition of the inevitable; I just knew where she was going to sit. OK, I was in the centre of the small aircraft and if she sat at either end there would have been a serious CofG problem. Sure enough she bore down on the spare seat next to me and attempted to sit down. I was trapped. African ladies tend to be of fairly well upholstered construction, what is known as the 'traditional' build, especially in the prow and stern areas, but this one was exceptional. To use another naval term 'avast behind' would not do her justice. She possessed the shape and size of bum that you could park your bike in and rest your beer mug on top. To be honest, her figure would cause a hippo to believe it was anorexic. The arm-rest between us had to be raised and I felt as though I was being engulfed by an avalanche of sticky flubber. Without a 'by your leave' or word of apology she overflowed around her seat and the worried hostie had to find an extension seat belt which, if it was ever done up, was now invisible although, relastically, she didn't need one as she was the living incarnation of an inflated heavy-duty airbag. Squashed against the fuselage I began to feel somewhat claustrophobic and breathless. It was made worse by the fact that this behemoth was pouring with sweat, had dried up sores down her flabby trunk-like arms and her scent was certainly not of the Givenchy 'Vien a Moi' variety. This was going to be a nightmare 45 minutes. Was the Captain aware he was carrying the equivalent of an extra 5 passengers? Assuming the aircraft managed to get airborne, I was genuinely concerned that I was going to suffocate and nobody would see me helplessly engulfed by black flesh.
We did leave the ground ( after an extended take off run? ) and at some point this moist monster produced a book which I couldn't help but read a bit of as it was partly wedged under my weeping eyes and I couldn't move. It was entitled 'The Power of Prayer to Help Your Problem Adult Children' What!? It banged on about 'praying hard to the Lord and your crack-smoking bandit offspring will become reformed'. I asked myself 'who writes this rubbish?' Presumably some charlatan religious freak who had spotted a lucrative market selling religious clap-trap to suggestible and naive Africans. I wondered if this elephantine creature had any books on 'How to Lose 20 Stone Immediately'? If so it would have been more useful, indeed essential, reading. Maybe there's a market here?
During the flight the hostie wheeled a small trolley up the isle offering soft drinks. Due to my inability to move scarcely a muscle I declined the possibility of a cup of coffee. Actually I don't think the hostie could even see me buried under mounds of flesh and fabric. I think she had to dismantle the cart to get it past the blubbery outflow from Ms Universe. At one point I considered deploying the oxygen mask but in any case would probably not have been be able reach it. In the event of a crash, so the safety brief goes, use the nearest available emergency exit. This would not have been an option open to me. This woman-mountain was a flight safety hazard! If she really had to fly anywhere it would be more sensible if she was carried in a net underslung from a Chinook helicopter or, preferably, taken by truck.
We duly arrived at Ndola and after all the other passengers had exited my sweaty barrage balloon companion, without a word ( perhaps she never noticed me either ), was levered out. Phew! I had only just survived and was much relieved to get out and breathe some fresh(ish) air.
Met by Tom ( the helpful Brit farm assistant ) we drove back to Battledore Farm. He did ask me en-route what the awful smell was. I explained. It was a great relief to have a shower and much needed resuscitating beer or two.
We had been joined at the farm by Michael, the co-owner, who was visiting from London. After another day relaxing and recovering from my near death experience, Gazza offered to cook his world renowned chicken biriyani for dinner. Despite being somewhat 'hard of seeing' he is an excellent and inventive chef and often manages to put the correct ingredients into the correct pots and pans. Another debauched feast, and this was our last as we were due to fly home the next day......so bye-bye to Zambia and our generous hosts.
Left: Saying goodbye to the house staff; Evanesse, Israel, Martin and Mary, with GD. They had looked after us very well and also provided a most efficient laundry service. If I'd known I would have brought more clothes with me. Mary, at the front, is wearing a wig. Many, if not most, Zambian ladies wear either wigs or hair extensions, some of them very large and elaborate. I suppose they like to copy western hairstyles but they must be most uncomfortable and hot. That is the price of 'fashion'.
A particular skill African ladies possess is the ability, and desire, to carry things on their heads. This, right, is a poor example but demonstrates the ability to balance asymmetric loads which are sometimes quite enormous such as sacks, bundles, containers or even car parts. I saw one lady with a whole exhaust pipe on her head. They do this totally 'hands free' and scarcely seem to notice what is balanced on top however heavy or oddly shaped. A most peculiar sight was a lady carrying a furled umbrella on her head! Can't imagine why she didn't just hold it by the handle. It must be something they are born to do naturally and without thinking. It is probably good for their poise and posture.
Our flight from Ndola to Nairobi left 40 minutes early! Lucky we had left plenty of 'fudge factor' time in hand. I have never before known an international flight to leave early!
On arrival at Nairobi, Jomo Kenyattayatta, airport Gazza was back in his wheelchair, pushed by the attentive and helpful Eric ( left ). This facility, as previously explained, is the most magic way of getting through all the immigration, security and customs farrago quickly and hassle-free. I will look at ways of using it in future. A zip-on plaster cast might be a useful aid, or maybe just dark glasses and a white stick.
We had an 8 hour wait at Nairobi. Michael had furnished us with a pass for the 'Priority Pass' lounge which offered many home comforts. Unfortunately we were informed that this facility had burned down in a serious airport fire back in August last year. Bugger!
Not to be defeated we went to the Kenya Airways VIP suite. Here we deployed our amazing 'blagging' skills with great success. Initially being told by the nice lady on the desk that no way could economy class oiks like us enter these hallowed portals, I then whispered in her ear that the poor gentleman in the wheelchair was none other than the famous actor Peter O'Toole. He was suffering badly and had fallen on hard times. She was mighty impressed and asked for his autograph. We were in! Unlimited free food and wine ( and wi-fi ) made the long wait perfectly acceptable. I hope the charming and besotted lady on the desk did not get to see Mr O'Toole's obituary published 3 weeks previously.
So back to London Heathrow the next morning. We didn't manage an upgrade despite much pleading and we couldn't push the old film star scam any more due to being asked for our passports. Of course the only time the wheelchair routine failed was in the labyrinth of grotty passageways at LHR. Initially put on an electric buggy they then wanted to transfer GD to a wheelchair but could not find the 'officially permitted' wheelchair pusher and a couple of rather dour jobsworths started to argue with each other as to what to do. Gazza having got bored with this performance, like Lazarus, then just got up and walked.
So that was the end of our excellent 'Avoid Christmas' trip to Zambia. A most amusing and educational experience. My over-riding impression of Zambia is of a vast underpopulated and generally poor country with a slightly creaking infrastructure and probably a somewhat corrupt government. However it is a peaceful and stable place with enormous scope for investment in farming, game parks, tourism, mining and many other things I expect. It gets a thumbs up from me.
Next venture is likely to be a tour of Argentina and Chile at the end of February so stand-by for more of this erudite waffle from there.
"Shaaleenipo, twalaamonana"...that's Bemba for "Goodbye, see you later".
We did leave the ground ( after an extended take off run? ) and at some point this moist monster produced a book which I couldn't help but read a bit of as it was partly wedged under my weeping eyes and I couldn't move. It was entitled 'The Power of Prayer to Help Your Problem Adult Children' What!? It banged on about 'praying hard to the Lord and your crack-smoking bandit offspring will become reformed'. I asked myself 'who writes this rubbish?' Presumably some charlatan religious freak who had spotted a lucrative market selling religious clap-trap to suggestible and naive Africans. I wondered if this elephantine creature had any books on 'How to Lose 20 Stone Immediately'? If so it would have been more useful, indeed essential, reading. Maybe there's a market here?
During the flight the hostie wheeled a small trolley up the isle offering soft drinks. Due to my inability to move scarcely a muscle I declined the possibility of a cup of coffee. Actually I don't think the hostie could even see me buried under mounds of flesh and fabric. I think she had to dismantle the cart to get it past the blubbery outflow from Ms Universe. At one point I considered deploying the oxygen mask but in any case would probably not have been be able reach it. In the event of a crash, so the safety brief goes, use the nearest available emergency exit. This would not have been an option open to me. This woman-mountain was a flight safety hazard! If she really had to fly anywhere it would be more sensible if she was carried in a net underslung from a Chinook helicopter or, preferably, taken by truck.
We duly arrived at Ndola and after all the other passengers had exited my sweaty barrage balloon companion, without a word ( perhaps she never noticed me either ), was levered out. Phew! I had only just survived and was much relieved to get out and breathe some fresh(ish) air.
Met by Tom ( the helpful Brit farm assistant ) we drove back to Battledore Farm. He did ask me en-route what the awful smell was. I explained. It was a great relief to have a shower and much needed resuscitating beer or two.
We had been joined at the farm by Michael, the co-owner, who was visiting from London. After another day relaxing and recovering from my near death experience, Gazza offered to cook his world renowned chicken biriyani for dinner. Despite being somewhat 'hard of seeing' he is an excellent and inventive chef and often manages to put the correct ingredients into the correct pots and pans. Another debauched feast, and this was our last as we were due to fly home the next day......so bye-bye to Zambia and our generous hosts.
Left: Saying goodbye to the house staff; Evanesse, Israel, Martin and Mary, with GD. They had looked after us very well and also provided a most efficient laundry service. If I'd known I would have brought more clothes with me. Mary, at the front, is wearing a wig. Many, if not most, Zambian ladies wear either wigs or hair extensions, some of them very large and elaborate. I suppose they like to copy western hairstyles but they must be most uncomfortable and hot. That is the price of 'fashion'.A particular skill African ladies possess is the ability, and desire, to carry things on their heads. This, right, is a poor example but demonstrates the ability to balance asymmetric loads which are sometimes quite enormous such as sacks, bundles, containers or even car parts. I saw one lady with a whole exhaust pipe on her head. They do this totally 'hands free' and scarcely seem to notice what is balanced on top however heavy or oddly shaped. A most peculiar sight was a lady carrying a furled umbrella on her head! Can't imagine why she didn't just hold it by the handle. It must be something they are born to do naturally and without thinking. It is probably good for their poise and posture.
Our flight from Ndola to Nairobi left 40 minutes early! Lucky we had left plenty of 'fudge factor' time in hand. I have never before known an international flight to leave early!
On arrival at Nairobi, Jomo Kenyattayatta, airport Gazza was back in his wheelchair, pushed by the attentive and helpful Eric ( left ). This facility, as previously explained, is the most magic way of getting through all the immigration, security and customs farrago quickly and hassle-free. I will look at ways of using it in future. A zip-on plaster cast might be a useful aid, or maybe just dark glasses and a white stick.
Not to be defeated we went to the Kenya Airways VIP suite. Here we deployed our amazing 'blagging' skills with great success. Initially being told by the nice lady on the desk that no way could economy class oiks like us enter these hallowed portals, I then whispered in her ear that the poor gentleman in the wheelchair was none other than the famous actor Peter O'Toole. He was suffering badly and had fallen on hard times. She was mighty impressed and asked for his autograph. We were in! Unlimited free food and wine ( and wi-fi ) made the long wait perfectly acceptable. I hope the charming and besotted lady on the desk did not get to see Mr O'Toole's obituary published 3 weeks previously.
So back to London Heathrow the next morning. We didn't manage an upgrade despite much pleading and we couldn't push the old film star scam any more due to being asked for our passports. Of course the only time the wheelchair routine failed was in the labyrinth of grotty passageways at LHR. Initially put on an electric buggy they then wanted to transfer GD to a wheelchair but could not find the 'officially permitted' wheelchair pusher and a couple of rather dour jobsworths started to argue with each other as to what to do. Gazza having got bored with this performance, like Lazarus, then just got up and walked.
So that was the end of our excellent 'Avoid Christmas' trip to Zambia. A most amusing and educational experience. My over-riding impression of Zambia is of a vast underpopulated and generally poor country with a slightly creaking infrastructure and probably a somewhat corrupt government. However it is a peaceful and stable place with enormous scope for investment in farming, game parks, tourism, mining and many other things I expect. It gets a thumbs up from me.
Next venture is likely to be a tour of Argentina and Chile at the end of February so stand-by for more of this erudite waffle from there.
"Shaaleenipo, twalaamonana"...that's Bemba for "Goodbye, see you later".
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