Wednesday, 31 January 2018 to Friday 2 February 2018
It was time to say goodbye… once again. “Nooooo, not agaaain!” I thought as I travelled north on the N1 highway from Johannesburg to Pretoria for a final few farewells.

But how did it come to this? In June 2015 when we left South Africa on a yearlong sabbatical it was going to be just that, a year long absence from SA. We ended up staying in Thailand for 18 months, then moved on to Serbia and Montenegro and finally on to France, the country of my ancestors.

We had applied for and received a one year residence permit to stay in France starting mid March 2017 and we stayed on in Europe until mid October 2017 before returning to SA. That last month while we were in Europe we did a road trip that took us from Holland to Germany, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Slovenia, Croatia, then back to Slovenia, then it was on to Italy, Austria, again through Germany and finally we made our way back to Holland… it was time for a rest!

In order to escape the harsh – by our terms at least – European winter, we elected to spend the southern hemisphere summer in South Africa, my country of birth. This was not merely a sun seeking expedition but also a chance to visit family and friends whom we had not seen in two and a half years. It also afforded us the chance to address admin matters that were woefully overdue like renewing expired and expiring credit cards, payouts of a miniscule investment fund (more about that in a future post), renewing expired driver’s licences and ID cards and the like. A synopsis of our wonderful three and a half months spent in SA will be the subject of a future post.

When we got back to SA by mid October last year the question on everybody’s mind, but mostly mine, was whether we were in SA for good or whether we would be returning to France to try and renew our residency for another year. If the latter was the answer we would have to return to France at least by end January in order to complete the appropriated documentation and follow due process. This question though was auto-answered without further thought a few days into our stay.

We had some shopping to do and had to cross that notorious Louis Botha Avenue in Orange Grove where minibus taxis reign supreme. They have always been and will forever remain a source of extreme irritation as they are a law unto their own with no regard for anyone whatsoever.

While trying to cross Louis Botha one almost ran me over while running a red light… the minibus taxi, not me. Another was parked in the opposite intersection blocking the traffic behind it while the light was green for them. The rest were hooting and scrambling and jockeying for position, but that all c’est normal. That intersection at Louis Botha and Athol Streets was bedlam, I had to tread carefully. “I don’t want to be here…!!”  I heard myself scream with pursed lips. “I want to go back to where people respect the law and the order that it brings!” In that instant I knew we would be returning to France.

And now, as I entered the premises of my last place of employment in Pretoria to say goodbye to my old team I once had the privilege to manage. I felt a surreal sense of yearning for “the good old days”, what amazingly good times we had. And yes, it may sound like a bit of a cliché, but we did work hard and we did play hard.

But, then a sense of absolute sadness and reality washed over me. I thought of how this once amazing proud institution called the South African Revenue Service (SARS) – once a shining beacon of hope for all South Africans – was state captured and turned into a quagmire by an allegedly inept, nefarious and corrupt commissioner and his cohorts in two short years. In that instant I knew it was the right decision to return to France.

After saying goodbye to the team, who are still diligently doing what they do best; persevere under extremely difficult circumstances and still doing a phenomenal job, I reluctantly left them behind. I was dropped off at the Pretoria Gautrain station by Indressan who, as in the past, will be looking after my car while I am abroad, and for this I thank him profusely.

I bought a ticket to Rosebank and soon enough I was sitting back and enjoying the carefree ride, not having to deal with those incessantly pesky minibus taxis. In anticipation of being car-less and needing a ride home after this trip, and having never used Uber before, I downloaded the app a few days ago and registered myself on their service.

As I emerged from the depths of the Rosebank station I fired up the Uber app and tried in vain to order my very first Uber. But, no, I first had to complete the registration process, I needed to update my credit card details. There were three drivers in the vicinity who apparently were two minutes away. It was a few minutes longer than that when my driver Robert appeared.

All in all I must admit that it was a rather pleasant experience. You are quoted a price upfront and do not sit in the backseat watching the taxi meter ticking over far too quickly, which is always stressful as you never know how long that piece of string is. With Uber you know the cost upfront so there’s no stress at all, the driver cannot take you for a ride, so to speak. As you may recall from previous posts, I abhor taxis, but I could easily get used to using Uber.

As always Adri managed to get everything packed right on time, seems like she is well versed in the JIT (Just In Time) principles. Our Uber, yes, my second for the day, arrived at 15:30 and after saying our sad farewells to Mimi and Lisa, after having said our goodbyes to Maria earlier in the day, we were promptly delivered 20 minutes later at the O R Tambo Airport.

The Turkish Airline ground crew could not have been friendlier. Our guy noted that the plane was not very full so booked us each an aisle seat in a four seater centre row, which meant that we had two seats between us that he “would try and keep open so we can have a good night’s sleep!”Wow, what a guy, and it worked out exactly as he planned.

The Immigration guy was grumpy but not overly so and soon enough we found ourselves in the Bidvest Premier Lounge where we presented our brand new Diners cards to gain access. Unlike on our last trip home – when we were travelling with expired Diners cards – this time we could look the attendant right in the eye, we knew we would get access with our shiny new cards.

After a gin and tonic accompanied by some cheese and biscuits and a wonderful Russian beef salad, my appetite was whetted for supper proper which was made up of chicken Wellington, mashed potatoes and carrots. This all made me thirsty for another G+T. Fully satisfied we settled down for a few last minute emails, Whatsapps, phone calls… and relaxation.

On the flight I had a lovely little white wine with supper – ‘n onnutsige (a mischievous) little Colombard – which went so well with the delicious hake, accompanied by mashed potato and aubergine. Amongst many others, the drinks menu also included that Turkish specialty called raki, which is essentially the same as the Greek’s ouzo.  And why would I not order this? I was offered a glass filled to the brim with this goodness.

After settling down with an aniseed mist swirling around my cranium I watched a movie called Our Brand Is Crisis with Sandra Bullock, which was not bad. IMDb describes it as “A battle-hardened American political consultant is sent to help re-elect a controversial president in Bolivia, where she must compete with a long-term rival working for another candidate.” This movie once again shows that politicians will promise anything to get elected, and then do whatever they please, against the will of the people.

It was past midnight and somewhere along this movie that I took a sleeping tablet to secure a good night’s sleep. After the movie, I was still trying to fall asleep, and was nearly there, when a sudden sting appeared in my left thigh. From experience I knew that this was the worse and most painful cramp in existence, in my view at least. Before it could bite really hard, I extended my leg along the aisle and nursed my leg between stretching and not, massaging it all the while and soon enough I was out of trouble, but I was now also wide awake.

It was right after this cramping incident that I started to feel real kak (shitty). My stomach was churning, my body was burning, it felt like I needed to go for a number one, two and 99, and any other number in-between. As I got up to go to the gents, a sea of speckles invaded my eyes, my legs felt wobbly, I was fearing I might fall or puke on one or many on my way to the loo.

On shaky legs I entered the facility and promptly made myself comfortable on the throne. Someone was staring at me. I soon enough discovered – with great relief mind you – that there was a mirror in the cubicle and it was I who was staring back at me. Just to make 100% sure it was me I moved ever so slightly to the right and my whole world went out of focus… what the… I moved back and my world was okay. I moved to the right and… and that’s when I saw the huge smudge on the mirror to the right which caused the inconsistency in my focus.

With great relief once again entering my body and soul I soon enough felt much better. What felt like half an hour in there in reality could not have been more than 10 minutes else Adri would have come searching. And then I remembered Adri was fast asleep… Now I was not so sure anymore but either way, I was now feeling 100%. I trundled back to my seat wondering what te hell that was all about? Might it have been the raki or the…the…?

Adri had stretched herself out cross the three seats next to me, in deep sleep and blissfully unaware of my ordeal. I woke up at some stage to see her back on her seat and that’s when I stretched out, my very own business class bed. I slept like a babe for the next hour or so until breakfast arrived.

Breakfast Thursday morning early was served containing an omelette, grilled tomato, mushrooms and slices of potato. This was accompanied by a fruit and a veggie salad. The food on Turkish Airlines really is great. With a fruit juice and coffee as part of the deal I was soon enough ready for the day… or night… all the lights were once again switched off after breakfast to encourage people to catch a further shuteye before landing in Istanbul at 05:55.

The Diners card worked its magic at the Airport Lounge, this time we only needed a comfortable seat, an internet connection and a cappuccino, we were still stuffed from our in-flight breakfast. An hour later saw us rushing to gate 705 which is situated on the other side of the airport. We never did get the announcement that the flight was busy boarding… near catastrophe.

We reached Amsterdam after yet another breakfast and at around 10:30 we landed safely back in the EU. As we got off the plane and entered the airport building, two Immigration officers were checking everybody’s passports right there. I have seen this happening only once before – in Serbia – it was unusual, maybe they were on the lookout for a person of interest.

The poor fellow that we got thought he had found his person of interest in Adri, he could simply not find her Schengen Visa or French resident page despite his flipping through the pages for the umpteenth time. I showed him the corresponding pages in my passport after which he rifled though Adri’s passport yet another umpteenth time; I was getting worried that we may have lost those pages.

He finally came to the French residence permit which meant zero to him. “Turn one page back and you’ll find the visa, arsehole”, I thought but kept that thought to myself. The arsehole did turn one page back and finally found the visa. He let Adri go and insisted on checking my passport even though I had already shown him the relevant pages…

We arrived at a long line at Immigration and it moved along at a slow albeit steady pace. We finally reached the Immigration cubicle of a friendly looking chatty chap. After stamping our passports he handed it back to us accompanied by a smile and a “baie dankie”, he obviously knew some Afrikaans. Not to be outdone I shot back in Dutch with a “danke wel” which brought an even bigger smile to his face.

As we entered the arrivals hall after picking up our – by now – weary looking bags from the baggage carousel we were met with open arms by Ashley. What a welcome sight that was in the sea of nameless faces. We were to spend the day relaxing at her and Remko’s home while waiting for our bus trip to France in 12 hours time.

After we were dropped off at home in Weesp, and Ashley having gone back to work, we made a beeline for the bed in the spare room where we passed out almost instantaneously. When I woke up at around 16:00 it was an effort to keep my eyes open and stay focussed. We went for a shower and then a walk and by the time we got back Ashley was home and preparing supper. And what a supper it was!

Remko arrived home and of course there were drinks all around, it was great to be back in Weesp amongst friends. It was around 21:00 that we were dropped off back at Schiphol Airport where we were to board our bus to France (Guingamp) at 22:35, with a stop and climb-over at Paris’ Bercy bus station.

 

At 22:25 the by now familiar bright green Flixbus stopped in front of us. The driver assisted the passengers to load their bags into the hold and me – being a passenger and all – was of course also assisted. And me, being nice and all, warned the unsuspecting driver of the heavy load he was about to receive.

After loading our stuff he fixed a stern stare in my direction and I was waiting for the inevitable “what the hell is wrong with you with such heavy luggage”. And I would have been okay with that. But instead I was greeted with a “your luggage is overweight, that will be €10 per bag, pay your €20 over there!” pointing a finger at his accomplice taking tickets. “What an arsehole” I said aloud but under my breath… but, no need to upset a guy that will be holding my life in his hands during the next 12 hours.

I’ve never been charged for “overweight” luggage on a bus before although I have been charged for such on a train in Indonesia! Believe it, I couldn’t… on a train? Overweight? Anyway, the ticket taking lady was nice and explained that they only enforce the overweight rule on their double-decker busses due to the luggage hold being in the back, and not spread out under the floor, the latter being better for weight distribution. I suspect they’re worried the bus’ front wheels may lift off the ground making steering way impossible for arseholes…

The trip was pretty pleasant. We slept, we used up our allotted wifi, we read and slept some more and before we knew it we were in Paris. While waiting for our bus to Guingamp we had a breakfast of baguette and ham and cheese and stuff we bought at the Schiphol airport last night. We by now knew that there are no restaurant facilities at the Bercy bus station with the nearest one a few hundred meters away. And we were not going to do that trip with this luggage. The contents of the coffee dispensing machine at the station were not too bad and gave me a final jolt back to life.

 

 

After boarding and spending another few relaxing hours on the bus we finally arrived in Guingamp exactly on time Friday evening at 18:20. Now being familiar with the workings of Uber I was ready to order us a taxi to take us to our new home. But, oh woe, Uber had not reached this part of Brittany yet. Having been dropped in the centre of town we expected to see at least a few taxis milling about that could take the place of our Uber. We were wrong to expect that.

Next best thing was to use our ever-present-never-to-fail-us feet. It was 1.4km to our new abode so we started our journey home by foot. Using Google Maps as our guide I called out our progress to Adri every 100 metres or so, just to keep the morale of the troops high. We made it without breaking a sweat, or not too much of it anyway.

When Google Maps announced “Your destination is on your right” we entered the premises to our right, received the keys and voila, we were home. And home was great! Entrance hall, bedroom to the left, separate toilet to the right, bathroom to the right, storage room to the left with the open plan lounge, dining area and kitchen all in one. A door from the kitchen leads onto a large patio with a small barbecue. The patio would be great for summer, but… this was winter, deep winter… it was cold out there, I quickly shut the door.

We unpacked just enough stuff to make coffee, have something to eat and sleep, we were dog-tired. We finally fell into a deep-deep-deep sleep after a very long but pleasant journey.

And so we made it back to France with lots to look forward to and lots to do, lots to do… lots to…

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