Johannesburg airport was not fun. You cannot check your baggage through from London (thank goodness, perhaps, as rumour has it that your chance of getting back what you put in a quite slim if you check your baggage through via Johannesburg).
So, you have to go out through immigration, collect your baggage, clear through customs and then start checking in all over again in another part of the airport.
When we landed, about three hours before our next flight, we imagined that we had bags of time to transfer, but after a while it started to feel a bit tight. Indeed later, Daisy spoke to a couple who had been on the same Heathrow flight as us (but economy) who were so far at the back of the immigration queue, they eventually alerted an official and got themselves whisked through.
Then there was also Daisy’s weight problem. Most people don’t think of Daisy and weight problems as connected terms, but Daisy does consistently have one particular type of weight problem. The weight of her baggage when we fly.
Yes she does tend to pack the tennis gear (although not this time and anyway I weighed it once and it was not all that heavy). It used to be [received wisdom that] her old suitcase was to blame, until she bought a modern, lighter one, to no avail.
Yes she does carry the medicaments, sun creams and toiletries (some essential, some not so vital).
Still, she promised to pack light this time.
The first sign of trouble was when the poor minicab driver from West Acton cars asked me to help him lift it into his car.
At Heathrow they accepted the 25 kg monstrosity because we were Club Class but warned us that we get short shrift in Johannesburg if we tried to check that on economy. So, after collecting our own baggage at Johannesburg, we were soon on our knees (in my case agonisingly painful knees) moving some heavier items from Daisy’s case into mine.
Come check-in for Blantyre, I saw some people having their luggage weighed but no one called us forward so I guessed it was a “miscreants only” affair.
But when we came to checking in our bags, the lady asked me for our weighing slip. I shrugged. She asked me why we hadn’t weighed. I said that we had been invited, which was true. She shrugged and checked us through.
We were in good time by now and relaxed for a few minutes before timing our approach to the gate well again. And irritating delay of nearly an hour while some no-shows bags were found and removed.
The steward announced every variant of South African airlines product available, but at the end of the flight apologised they had not had time to sell us duty-free goods.
Blantyre airport was hot and equipped with novel kit for fingerprinting and photograph in arrivals, so that’s what they do. We were towards the back of the plane and the last to disembark.
We finally got through formalities to find that we were sharing our transfer (irritatingly) with other people who seemed equally or more irritated that they had to wait for us.
Quite a long drive. We see people and a few sites, although the viewing point the driver took us to had very little going for it.
We saw a wedding convoy which stops at the house for the reception – the house apparently has a lovely garage garden.
Soon enough we were on the outskirts of the Majete reserve. We stopped and went through a painstaking process of triplicate form filling the like of which Daisy and I have not seen for many a year.
The lady of the irritated/irritating couple (who are travelling with Audley I noticed) made a mistake on her form, which we chose to talk about for a while – not least the delay.
Once inside the reserve the other lady who seemed uptight and was asking the driver zillions of questions was soon in her element – spotting creatures and identifying their rareness level.
We saw baboons, kudu, warthogs are plenty and then she spotted a sable which is apparently very rarely seen and she was in heaven. My idea of heaven by then was the thought of some cool liquid to go in and a chance to get rid of some of the warmer liquid. It was very dusty too.
Still, the adventure continued as we arrived at a wobbly walking bridge and then said goodbye to our driver who is generously tipped by no one other than me!
Over the bridge and onto an open vehicle for the last few hundred yards. Warm welcome from Chris and Emma who are local white folk who seem to know their stuff including the other places we are staying.
Quick shower and attempt to sort out basics before dark as you don’t want lights on much in those beautiful open chalets.
Barbecue dinner of chicken and marinated beef – chef Guy revealed the marinade but not the spices!
Nice puds too – choc mousse and two other chocolate treats. A bottle of Passchendaele Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot in the chiller for a short while. Lovely.
Early night under air-conditioning mosquito net and boy did we sleep.
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