My African Adventure
My African adventure began like a Rodney Dangerfield (I don’t get no respect) skit. On the morning we were to fly out, I awoke to painful stomach cramps, followed by two hours of bathroom duty. Then we boarded the airport shuttle to Detroit Metro Airport. We told the driver we needed to go to the International Terminal, but were advised that the shuttle was only allowed access to one drop off space and it wasn’t International. The driver did inform us where we needed to go and we packed up all our baggage and moved that direction.
Detroit Metro Airport. Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.
Once in the terminal, we were given conflicting information about where to go and ended up circling the terminal twice before finding out we needed to go up to the 6th floor to clear customs.
We hopped in the first open elevator and zipped up to the 6th floor. There we were informed we needed to obtain our electronic tickets. We begged, pleaded with and threatened the ticket kiosk, but could not get it to spit out our tickets. A guard then pointed us to a long line of other people who had also been refused by the kiosk. After waiting our turn, we were given tickets and checked our baggage. We boarded our plane and got ready for our eight hour flight to Amsterdam.
Shortly after takeoff, we were served supper. I don’t know whose idea it was to serve chicken in a very watery barbecue sauce, but I’m sure he’s thoroughly enjoying watching people seated in a crowded airplane trying to eat barbecued chicken with plastic forks on those tiny fold down table tops.
After giving up on the chicken, I decided to check out the movies and music on board, so I popped the remote control out of the arm of my chair only to find it had more buttons than the NASA Control Center in Houston, none of which could I get to work.
Giving up on the entertainment, I decided to turn my attention to resetting my clock to the appropriate time. I was immediately faced with the issue of what is the appropriate time. My ticket said we would arrive in Amsterdam at 7:30 a.m. Amsterdam time. However, we were flying on to Tanzania, Africa, so why should I care about the time in Amsterdam? Oh, sure I did need to know when to board the flight from Amsterdam at 12:00, but was that reason enough to reset my clock? And, by the way, does anybody remember which way you turn your clock when you’re
flying East? Do you move forward six hours or back six hours? Since we’re coming back in less than two weeks does it really make any sense to change our clocks anyway?
Kilimanjaro International Airport. Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.
About then, I noticed I was becoming chilled. I turned my air control off, but continued getting colder and colder. I got a blanket and still the cold got worse. I began shivering until I was shaking all over. My Wife saw me shivering and got another blanket, but still I shook uncontrollably. As we descended into Amsterdam, the shivering subsided to be replaced by nausea and a headache. The flight crew arranged for a wheelchair and we landed.
In Amsterdam, my Wife wheeled me to near the next boarding gate, but even nearer the bathroom, which became my closest friend for the next two and a half hours.
My Wife wheeled me aboard the 777 bound for Kilimanjaro International Airport and gradually the nausea lessened and I slept most of the eight hour flight to Kilimanjaro.
Without further incident, we landed at Kilimanjaro and headed for customs. There was some delay in my passport and visa being accepted and, upon inquiry as to the problem, were told it looked like I had gotten a haircut since having the picture taken for the passport.
At last we arrived at our hotel and I spent the next 2 days in bed with the headache still persisting. We postponed our climb for a day to give me time to recover, but I never really recovered and was unable to complete the climb. I never found the cause of my illness. One person speculated that I may well have passed a kidney stone over the North Atlantic, but I didn’t know. The symptoms did seem consistent, so to be on the safe side, I began taking the antibiotic Cipro. The Cipro may or may not have helped with whatever ailed me, but the certainty is that it sent me back to the bathroom where, I have spent most of this adventure.
