We visited Central Park and did all of the things you’re supposed to do while in New York (except getting mugged) including supper in Little Italy and a great time was had by all. We found a random backpackers somewhere in Manhattan – which was fine until we got home on night no. 1 a little after 12. It was locked. Or more accurately, the lift door was locked, which meant we couldn’t get up to our place (no stairs, oddly enough). After a while we figured out we could jimmy the door if only we had a long, thin steel pole…but who has one of those hanging around?! So off we went in search of said pole.

The corner cafe down the street (yes, it did happen to be run by a rather nice Portugese guy) let us borrow one of their metal shelf holders which did in fact open the lift. *whew*! That should have served as a warning for the following night…

Realising that we may not get back in on our final night we took our bags with us the next day. More wandering around etc etc and when we got back, you guessed it – they were locked. In spite of promising to be open and making alternate plans to get in, we couldn’t rouse anyone. Our place was on the 3rd floor so we spent 1/2 an hour throwing coins at the window (and occassionally hitting it) to try to draw some attention, but only passers-by gave us any of that (along with weird stares). Slowly we realised a few things.

a) we had no-where to sleep
b) we didn’t know what place would be open at that time of night
c) we had a long flight home via Italy – and it would be nAsty getting on that plane without showering…
d) it was getting cold

The only logical place for us to go was the airport. JFK is an hour and a half by train (at least it felt like that) so we got there at about 3 in the morning, and promptly went to sleep under some benches inside.

Woke up the next morning by some kid laughing at me…and felt rather homeless. No chance of a shower either. So we check into our flight…which happened to be Alitalia. I don’t think they exist any more, and I’m rather sure why. They had some really low budget movie showing on the way to the States, and showed the same candid camera from the early 80’s at any opportunity. *sigh* It’s going to be a great trip home.

So we check in, only to find that airport workers in Italy are striking and our flight is delayed. Which would have been annoying had they not given us $50 meal vouchers…mmmmm…food! So we spend the rest of the day in the airport, reading magazines and eating well. Now we’ve missed the original flight – which was supposed to take us to Milan and then to Joburg. So now they’re scrambling to get us connecting flights back to SA. First, we fly to Milan, then they send us to Heathrow. After that, hopefully Joburg – it wasn’t sorted by the time we got on the plane.

But at any rate, a short 6 hours later and we’re in Milan. Great. More stop-over time – 3 hours. Great. Now there’s one thing I can’t stand, and it’s dirty, sticky, greasy hair…hich was exactly my present state of being. Plus, I’ve realised airports don’t believe in showers. Maybe they do in first class, but we were faaaar from that…so I did something I’ve never done before or since. I went into the bathroom with my backpack and a cup, stood over the toilet bowl, and washed my hair. Whenever the cup was empty I’d back out of the stall, fill up the cup from the basin, and slowly pour it over my head again. That felt unbelievably good! Other parts of me were smelly-sticky, but hey, at least my hair was clean! Right, let’s go to England.

On the plane we see more of the same inane Italian candid camera moments along with abrupt canned laughter. I understand why the stewardesses look the way they do.

At Heathrow we get told the marvellous news that there’s no connecting flight to Joburg. Hooray. So what will we do? Easy – they’ll fly us to Cape Town! At this point I don’t care. I don’t want to be flying around in Europe any more, I really need a shower and offering to put me just ON the African continent is good enough for me. Let’s go to Cape Town. Luckily it’s not too long a wait and we get flown to Cape Town.

All through this I’m trying to contact my parents to let them know what’s happening and when they’re supposed to pick me up from the airport. I rather cunningly bought some internet time in Milan and logged on to the Vodacom4me site, smsing my Dad with details on some stupid, unusable keyboard. Only when I got home did I find out he never got that sms…

While the Cape Town flight is boarding I’m trying vainly to phone home and let them know what’s happening. 2 pounds gets me 30 seconds with my Mom when I basically say, “I’ll be in Cape Town tomorrow and I don’t know when I’ll be in Joburg. Call you from SA!” Much later, on the plane, I remembered it was her birthday and I’d forgotten…oops.

Cape Town was great. Flying into South Africa was great. Leaving Europe behind was great. Home! (albeit another flight to Joburg…but home nonetheless!). Now, about that shower…oh, wait, airports don’t believe in showers. And we’ve got another 2 hours wait…

Luckily, God, in his eternal grace, decided that this would be the day Nescafe would do a promotion of their new instant coffee machine. Some student was demo-ing it, and the rule was the coffee was free. I think I drank 6 cappucino’s while we waited…and only didn’t drink any more because every time I went back, I got stranger and stranger looks…well, at least I didn’t smell.

Finally, the flight back to Joburg. Hooray. Our travel home was: New York, USA -> Milan, Italy -> London, Heathrow -> Cape Town, SA -> Joburg, SA. All that was left was to collect our luggage…

After waiting and waiting until we were the only ones at baggage collection, Andre and I dragged ourselves over to the “Baggage Claims” counter. “Right, let’s see where our baggage is…”

After a bit of a search, the lady said, “Your baggage appears to be in Frankfurt…” Frankfurt?! Germany?! We didn’t even go NEAR there…well, relatively…

They said they’d deliver our baggage to us the next day, and miracle of miracles, they did. At last – a happy ending!