Part II: London Layover & Breaking the Equator

I've found that it's best not to plan everything out before travelling, otherwise people stress themselves out far too much trying to meet their own deadlines – not my kind of game.

So when I got to London, I realized for the first time that I had a solid 12 hour layover.  Now, I love layovers, especially long ones.  I rarely waste a pocket of completely unobligated time and after the thousands upon thousands of hours I’ve spent in airports, I know that few realize what a gift it can be. 

With my baggage in a holding service, I hopped on the express and went straight into Central London.  (Entry Tax in the U.K. only applies if you’re there for more than 24 hours: score)  I didn't know it when I woke up to sunrise on the plane, but I had a very busy day ahead of me.  Popping up first at Trafalgar square, I visited the National Gallery (knowing that all the museums in London are free: score).  There's a good number of Turner paintings that I've always wanted to see and now was my chance.  Little did I know that Rembrant's last self-portrait, one of my favorites, is also at this Gallery.  

Big Ben seen from Trafalgar Square.  The National Gallery is just behind me.

Some pompous young dude in front of the National Gallery.

He got in all my pictures.  Here he is in front of the British Museum.

I ended up visiting not just the National Gallery and the British Museum, but also the Tate Modern and a pub for some fish'n'chips along with a Guinness.  The day was a bit like sprinting spliced with quiet meditative breaks.  Well worth it.  And fortunately all that running around wore me out so that by the time I boarded my flight south to Johannesburg, I passed right out.  Now that’s what I call a layover. 

The morning star came up in the East.  The dark world split into land and sky.  The morning star pulled with it a hot edge of blue.  Africa was below me, around me in every direction, it was the horizons.  

The jetway tunneled heat.  I wasn't just in a new time zone, I had passed the equator for the first time in my life (an aerial shellback, one might say..) and was on the other end of the year's seasons: summer.     

Hoedspruit was my next destination.  This is a pinprick on a map just west of central Kruger National Park.  I booked the next flight and within an hour I was back in the sky.

Looking down over the African land, it was green, patchy and grew to heights like bluffs - mountainous compared to the Mississippi bluffs of Iowa and southern Minnesota.  The bluffs grew larger, more frequent as we flew and then faulted and the land spread flat beyond them to the east, to Kruger.  Throttle eased and ailerons limp locked, we began our descent and it was here in these quick moments over the trees that my Safari started.  Three giraffes fished up into some distant trees, licking leaves from the branches. 

The Hoedspruit airport proved to be smaller than the airplane it serviced.  The beige-bricked building was a bit like Katmandu International, but with a bit better upkeep. 

Luckily, in such a small airport, it's much easier to find the car rental agencies.  

"No booking?" The man behind the counter asked.  

"Nope."

"Ok, I got one car left."

"Sweet, I'll take it."

He pulled around a tiny red Fiat.

Well hell.  It's only me and my backpack, what difference does it make?  I just won't take any pictures of it.  It was a stick shift - a redeeming quality.

I'll tell you right now though, I cranked that sucker up to 80 on a dirt road in the middle of the park and got the bloody little car airborne, so Fiat, my hat's off to you - damn fine car.  

After fuelling up and getting a map I took off on the open road, north towards the Phalaborwa gate.  

The land looked flat from above but it was still full of ripples, a rumpled land, hot and dry.  I cranked the windows, the music, the speed and took off with that great feeling - not of expectation but a sense of wandering, of curiosity.

I stopped in a small town to stock up on some provisions for the trip (3 bottles of wine and a bottle of cognac) and found myself to be the only white person around.  I'll say only that it's quite an experience to have everyone staring at you.

The Phalaborwa gate was easy enough to find after a couple hours drive. I was admitted after showing proof of my rest camp bookings (the only part of the trip I pre-booked).  The gate lifted and I was free into the park.