And here is what I wake up to:
OK, I am so down with this.
They let us out on the tarmac (I wonder: Am I the only one who loves this? It makes me want to dress like Jackie O., but only for as long as it takes to get down the stairs) and we walk into the airport building to collect our luggage at the baggage claim.
I swear this is true: someone has a George Foreman Grill on the baggage claim and I try to snap a picture of it but just as I line it up, a woman’s arm reaches out and snatches it off the carousel.
By the time my bag comes around the area is three people deep. I have to carry the wheelie at chest level and step over the luggage carts to get out. I walk through the doors at the end and there is Craig.
Craig is boyish, blonde, exuberant, and engaged. As I step through the crowd he is smiling. “You’re in Africa! Do you want to go see some animals?” Um, yeah! We walk outside to the parking lot. East London is sunny and green and the air is salty. He leads me to a white BMW and I think, Are you kidding me? He’s not. We hop in and we’re off. Craig drives me directly from the airport to the Mpongo Game Reserve.
Click on the thumbnails to get a closer look:
After a couple of hours of picnicking and photographing, I am feeling a bit knackered. Plus, Craig is spooked because we saw monkey poo in the (onsite) toilets and heard crashing in the brush. We decide to leave the park and head back to the apartment. “I should warn you about the place before we get there,” Craig says evenly. “I live in total squalor.”