We roll into Mbombela in late afternoon. The bus is near to mutiny. The driver took a detour and we ended up missing our lunch stop and a bathroom break. Our last stop was hours ago and we haven’t seen so much as a small town in miles. Now that we are in civilization, people are begging to stop.
Donald, our illustrious local guide tells us “no worries”. We will stop in White River, nearer our lodge and at a mall. He assures us there will be lots of places to eat. We get to the “Mall”. It is a strip mall and the road to parking is under construction. There is nowhere to park the bus. We turn around and head back the way we came. The bus groans collectively. The driver takes the hint and figures out a way to make a series of small turns to get us into the upper parking lot. Crisis averted.
Donald suggests that people visit the grocery store. As much as I love a good grocery store, I want to sit and eat. We decide to walk along the construction zone back to a McDonald’s. I know that at least the fries will be quick, hot and tasty. I shouldn’t have to eat out of a paper bag in aisle three. Two of the Canadians from the bus join us. We sit together and commiserate on the unending bus ride. No one knew that the transport would be a bus ride, double the time projected, with no stops and no opportunity to get so much as a drop of water.
Perhaps we should go to the grocery store and stock up. It could be a long few weeks if this is our new reality.
We find out that the Canadians are actually not a couple. They just met on the plane on the way to Africa. They are both single and from different parts of the country. Each had an African Safari on their bucket list and decided to just chance the experience. “Steve” took the trip in honor of his 50th.
I share that I am celebrating a big birthday tomorrow. We toast with diet cokes. I have a feeling that we will be spending more time with them. Anyone who will walk through a construction zone for a cheeseburger is alright by me.
We have some time to kill at the “Mall” that isn’t a mall. There is a grocery store, where we buy water for tomorrow’s safari and a few snacks for the next time we are stuck on a bus. I am introduced to the “Pick N Pay”, an African discount clothing store. I buy some pink linen joggers for under $10.00. You never know when I will need a back up pair of lounge pants. If I am going to be stuck on a bus for double the amount of time I anticipate, at least I want to be comfortable. Besides, the teenage working the register gave me free peanut butter packets with my purchase. Nothing says thank you for buying lounge pants like “here is some free peanut butter.” Perhaps she knows the bus I got off of and is helping to ward off future starvation.
We have alot of time to kill even after hiking to McDonald’s and buying pink pants. It seems that Donald’s logic is that if we are stuck on a bus for double the time with no break then we should take double the time we need to eat at the next place we come to…. even if there is nothing to do at said location. So…. I wander in the post office, and the supplement store, and the safari outfitter. I take photos with the lion sculptures in the parking lot. We even take random pictures with automobiles and send them home to our friends. A girl has to pass the time and there is nowhere to sit….so….
We finally arrive at the Anew White River Lodge. It is a lovely older resort in the lowveld that is advertised as 3.5 hours from Johannesburg. It has been over seven hours and counting, but perhaps if you drive yourself you can make it in 3.5. I will let it go. I just want my room.
There is confusion as the bags are unloaded. Donald wants to read everyone’s name and room number aloud. We are all in different room blocks and that somehow manages to make it take more time than it should to get rooms sorted. Or maybe Donald just likes to double the time. I see a pattern. My type A efficiency is really straining. I can feel my eye twitching. I mutter under my breath, “African time, no worries….African time….”.
I am tired of waiting and determine to carry my own bags. The lodge is uphill and far from the reception. When I finally get to the lodge, I have to go upstairs to go downstairs, to go upstairs to my room. (yes, really). We are huffing by the time we find our room number.
The room has a sliding glass door onto a narrow patio. It is nice inside. The warm wood and crisp white sheets evoke nature and the great outdoors. I love it. We even have a lovely table and chairs outside our room. I am going to go sit outside and relax in the courtyard.
Wait. Hold Up. In the time that I went in the room and unpacked, a French couple have taken my table and chairs and moved it down the corridor. The women are holding hands and chain smoking. I sit in the one remaining chair left by my door hoping they will take the hint. They do not. They look at me with rolling eyes and talk more loudly… if that is even possible. I am choking on the cigarette smoke (even though it is supposed to be a non-smoking lodge). I go back inside and suggest we take a walk. Maybe we will get lucky and a porter will deal with the ladies while we are gone.
The walk does us good. It is nice to stretch our legs. We walk past the conference center and notice that African conference attendees, like American attendees stand in the parking lot to discuss the things they didn’t want to say in front of the presenter. We walk past the pool and notice that it has not been cleaned. It is also not heated, so I will not be swimming. We walk past the numerous soccer fields and understand why this resort serves as a training facility for a variety of sports clubs.
On the way back, we find the dining lodge. It is lovely. I can’t wait to make my way back for dinner. Since we just had lunch at 4 pm, I suppose dinner will be at 9:30 or 10:00 pm. I don’t want to be up too late as we are going on safari tomorrow and will be up at the crack of dawn. People from the bus wave from the patio. It looks like they are recuperating from the drive by having bottle of wine.
I see a swing hanging from a lovely tree in the pic-nic area. It is relaxing to swing. I may be celebrating a big birthday tomorrow, but I am still a kid at heart. I swing with abandon. I am in Africa in a lovely lodge. The flowers are exotic and the birds are singing. I have french fries in my belly and the promise of a lovely meal to come. I have new pink pants and two packets of peanut butter. I even found a packaged dinner roll left over from the flight at the bottom of my back pack. I am Donald proof on the next bus segment. I smile at the thought.
We get back to the dining lodge toward the end of the dinner period. Donald visits our table to tell us that he needs our passport numbers to fill out the paperwork for tomorrow’s safari. This means that I have to leave the dinner table and head back to the other side of the resort to get the passports out of the safe. I leave Glenn to order and I take off at a fast clip. Up the stairs and past the loud french women (yes, they are still chain smoking at my table). I head into the room, secure the pass ports and jog back toward the dining lodge.
It is really dark, and there are few lights. I hear a small voice asking if I can help. I look around and finally make out a tiny, older woman wandering around in the dark behind the building. Her name is “Shelly” and she can’t find the path to the dining lodge. I tell her to follow me. I head off. I look behind me and she has wandered down another side path. I go back and get her and tell her follow me. At the next junction, it happens again. I am beginning to wonder if this is a prank. Before I can turn around she notices and tells me to stay where she can see me and she will head toward me.
I finally get to the restaurant, despite my wayward senior companion. The meal is lovely. I enjoy spending some time with my husband. We are in Africa and dinner is relaxing. But … as we talk…..I notice that where I am sitting, I can see into the men’s restroom every time someone opens the door. The door opens a lot, and I can unfortunately see ….well…a lot. Suddenly, I am not quite as hungry. I try looking at the wall or at my plate. My husband asks what is wrong. I don’t know how to tell him without letting the rest of the room know that I may or may not have had a front row seat to their personal hygiene habits. Awkward…
Maybe it is time to go crawl into those crispy white sheets. We have made it (despite not knowing what day, what time, or what route we were taking) to White River. I am resigned to operating on Donald/Africa time. Tomorrow I will enter a new decade and we will be on Safari. What can be better than that?
