Once back in South Africa I spent my last couple of days in a Johannesburg hotel. It was very near the airport and full of quirky aviation features.
The bar stools were aircraft tyres although, funnily enough, no-one deemed them comfortable enough to sit on.
Working hard honest.
My flight home turned out to be a classic Ruth adventure. We were flying from Johannesburg to Schipol. As we neared our destination the pilot announced that, due to weather (it turned out to be a major storm across NW mainland Europe), we were in a holding pattern for 45 mins. So we dose-doed around Amsterdam as elegantly as you can in a 777 for 3/4 of an hour and then came into land. Or tried to. Being the geo spotter I am, and particularly because I was bored by this time, I was watching the flights stats screen as we came into land. 2000' feet, 1500' feet, wheels down... It was the rockiest landing I've ever experienced and people around me were deploying their sick bags. 1000' to go ("thank goodness") and suddenly the pilot nosed up and accelerated. And then the flight stats screen displayed JNB-BRU. I looked around me and exclaimed "we're going to Brussels!". The flight attendants told me to shush awaiting the Captain's input (pardon me) and then the Captain tannoyed to say that we couldn't land in Schipol (it was gusting 60 knots) and we were going to Brussels. So off we went to Belgium.
We landed, taxied and were told that we had to refuel (good point - there is only so long a 777 can be airborne) and would wait until the weather cleared in the Netherlands and then we'd pop back. However by then, obviously, 100s of flights over Europe were out of place. Schipol had closed that morning and air traffic control were naturally focussed on landing the long haul flights and just not letting the short haul take off. At the end of the day, if you have an aircraft coming into land from across the equator, which has been flying for 11 hours and probably only has a couple of hours' fuel left, you're going to make it a priority over a local European flight. Wow I really do so love how air traffic control works. It was absolutely seamless. We tried to land, failed and within a minute air traffic control re-routed us to Brussels, which obviously delayed other flights into Belgium etc etc.
Anyway, after 3 hours on the tarmac we took off for what I think will be my weirdest ever city hop: Brussels to Amsterdam in 25 minutes. In a Boeing 777.
Anyway Schipol was OK except that due to its earlier closure the re-booking facilities were max'ed out and I went all African and simply pretended I didn't understand the queueing system and re-booked my tickets on an available machine (no-one was using it honest) and caught the last flight out of Schipol to London. Meanwhile I had time to amble amongst the tulips and other non-seasonal events. I was a little confused by this scene. There was a guy behind the clock face sort of repainting the clock handles. Very strange.
Aaah, this is better.
Anyway, I landed at Heathrow late Thursday evening and rocked up to my aunt's at 2200 (I had warned her: she'd had time to hide) and stayed with her overnight. What a relief. And then the next morning I ambled home. I've had shorter journeys back from Africa.
As I rebounded over the next few days - washing, post etc - I emptied my wallet and was amused to see its collection. This is why I adore travel.
The bar stools were aircraft tyres although, funnily enough, no-one deemed them comfortable enough to sit on.
Working hard honest.
My flight home turned out to be a classic Ruth adventure. We were flying from Johannesburg to Schipol. As we neared our destination the pilot announced that, due to weather (it turned out to be a major storm across NW mainland Europe), we were in a holding pattern for 45 mins. So we dose-doed around Amsterdam as elegantly as you can in a 777 for 3/4 of an hour and then came into land. Or tried to. Being the geo spotter I am, and particularly because I was bored by this time, I was watching the flights stats screen as we came into land. 2000' feet, 1500' feet, wheels down... It was the rockiest landing I've ever experienced and people around me were deploying their sick bags. 1000' to go ("thank goodness") and suddenly the pilot nosed up and accelerated. And then the flight stats screen displayed JNB-BRU. I looked around me and exclaimed "we're going to Brussels!". The flight attendants told me to shush awaiting the Captain's input (pardon me) and then the Captain tannoyed to say that we couldn't land in Schipol (it was gusting 60 knots) and we were going to Brussels. So off we went to Belgium.
We landed, taxied and were told that we had to refuel (good point - there is only so long a 777 can be airborne) and would wait until the weather cleared in the Netherlands and then we'd pop back. However by then, obviously, 100s of flights over Europe were out of place. Schipol had closed that morning and air traffic control were naturally focussed on landing the long haul flights and just not letting the short haul take off. At the end of the day, if you have an aircraft coming into land from across the equator, which has been flying for 11 hours and probably only has a couple of hours' fuel left, you're going to make it a priority over a local European flight. Wow I really do so love how air traffic control works. It was absolutely seamless. We tried to land, failed and within a minute air traffic control re-routed us to Brussels, which obviously delayed other flights into Belgium etc etc.
Anyway, after 3 hours on the tarmac we took off for what I think will be my weirdest ever city hop: Brussels to Amsterdam in 25 minutes. In a Boeing 777.
Anyway Schipol was OK except that due to its earlier closure the re-booking facilities were max'ed out and I went all African and simply pretended I didn't understand the queueing system and re-booked my tickets on an available machine (no-one was using it honest) and caught the last flight out of Schipol to London. Meanwhile I had time to amble amongst the tulips and other non-seasonal events. I was a little confused by this scene. There was a guy behind the clock face sort of repainting the clock handles. Very strange.
Aaah, this is better.
Anyway, I landed at Heathrow late Thursday evening and rocked up to my aunt's at 2200 (I had warned her: she'd had time to hide) and stayed with her overnight. What a relief. And then the next morning I ambled home. I've had shorter journeys back from Africa.
As I rebounded over the next few days - washing, post etc - I emptied my wallet and was amused to see its collection. This is why I adore travel.
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