Most of my life, I have been used to the idea of flying. In fact, my first memories take place in the back of a transport helicopter, in a combat zone, when I was around the age of four. Long story, but a true one… so goes the life of an Air Force brat. I guess that’s why the idea of flying by passenger airliner doesn’t really do anything for me.
In fact, the last time I was in an aircraft and actually cared enough to take my camera out, was in October; and that was only because it was the first time my daughter flew, and I found myself fascinated with her reactions, and intent on recording them.
This time round, I tried it again, though the cloud cover was so intense, leaving from Johannesburg International, that scarcely a minute into our climb, everything was white… sorta like the way certain wankers in this country wished Jo’burg had always been.
Landing was a different story, with strong winds forcing us to turn over False Bay and approach from a different direction than usual. That said, it’s still not the same as hurtling along in a Puma with the doors open and your legs hanging out. Coffee’s better, for a start.
Arrived at Fokof’s place, where I will be staying… the combat theme endures, it seems. The night before had been rough, with some of the guests staying over, like Jaco here. With everyone nursing hangovers and the like, the band started moving house into town. I packed away my camera and got stuck in. Looks like “work”, of the non-manual labour variety, only starts tomorrow.