Kwa heri - Bye, Tanzania
That's keyswahili for 'so long'. On my last day, I spend
most of the day at home, tending to the dogs, Fred and Ginger. The weather is absolutely
gorgeous, some clouds, but overall just a pleasant, warm day. After two and a
half years, though, it's time to say bye bye to Tanzania.
I pack the rest of my belongings, drink a cup of tea, and
wait for the taxi.
The first crisis occurs when Zelda the cat won't fit in the pet crate. She's simply too big for it. Somehow I do squeeze her in there. I don't like it. And the kitty likes it even less.
Later in the car, I pass the dozens of vendor stands on Cocoa Beach, most of them selling snacks or coconuts for the evening beach crowd. I would like to say how I am filled with sorrow or any regrets that I am leaving here, but the truth is, it's time to leave, and it's come at the right time.
The taxi driver tries to rip me off as we get out of the cab at the airport. 55 dollars, he says. No, pilgrim. It's 35, no more than. Nice try. Too bad you're driving a mzungu who lives here. Now say bye bye to that tip of yours.
At the airport, I give up the cat for the cargo. The locals are awesome with the cat, and now I can relax a little with bags and cat stowed away. One egg sandwich before I fly for almost nine hours to Amsterdam. It will be another nine from there to Atlanta. Always a pain for long-legged creatures like me traveling in coach. And even more so for a kitty who will soon learn what a jet engine sounds like.
I have no farewell for Tanzania. Heck, it can't even see me, it's pitch dark outside. What matters now is surviving two long flights plus a rental car ride of another three hours, minimum.
I arrive super early in Amsterdam. I have a layover of about three hours. Beautiful, Murphy's Pub, right there in the airport. That's two ice cold Heinekens, at seven in the morning. Heck, I've earned them. And I will earn another couple once I complete the next flight. The Heineken from the tap is delicious, as advertised.
When I head back to my gate, I can hear my name being called out over the PR. That's never a good sign. They aren't offering to upgrade my seat to business or cockpit, I'm sure, so it must be the cat. The lady at the counter says that it's too hot in Atlanta, that I will have to fly KLM if I wish to keep the kitty in cargo. That would be hours later. Luckily, I have kept the soft bag with me, knowing something like this would happen. I can stay on the flight to Atlanta, I will have to move the cat from her crate, that's all. She will get to share a seat with me.
When the Dutch bring out the kitty, I notice they have swapped my old, tiny, shabby crate for a vastly larger and more improved model. Love you, KLM. And how you took care of my cat.
So the kitty comes on board with me, and she attracts all sorts of attention. The kitty is calm throughout it all. She seems to know she doesn't have a choice in where she is going. What the little orphan kitty also doesn't know is that she will be in America soon, in a world very foreign to her.
We've missed the tropical storm that went on a rampage up and down the east coast and eventually land at Hart International. Back in the U.S., in Atlanta. Feels good.
The first crisis occurs when Zelda the cat won't fit in the pet crate. She's simply too big for it. Somehow I do squeeze her in there. I don't like it. And the kitty likes it even less.
Later in the car, I pass the dozens of vendor stands on Cocoa Beach, most of them selling snacks or coconuts for the evening beach crowd. I would like to say how I am filled with sorrow or any regrets that I am leaving here, but the truth is, it's time to leave, and it's come at the right time.
The taxi driver tries to rip me off as we get out of the cab at the airport. 55 dollars, he says. No, pilgrim. It's 35, no more than. Nice try. Too bad you're driving a mzungu who lives here. Now say bye bye to that tip of yours.
At the airport, I give up the cat for the cargo. The locals are awesome with the cat, and now I can relax a little with bags and cat stowed away. One egg sandwich before I fly for almost nine hours to Amsterdam. It will be another nine from there to Atlanta. Always a pain for long-legged creatures like me traveling in coach. And even more so for a kitty who will soon learn what a jet engine sounds like.
I have no farewell for Tanzania. Heck, it can't even see me, it's pitch dark outside. What matters now is surviving two long flights plus a rental car ride of another three hours, minimum.
I arrive super early in Amsterdam. I have a layover of about three hours. Beautiful, Murphy's Pub, right there in the airport. That's two ice cold Heinekens, at seven in the morning. Heck, I've earned them. And I will earn another couple once I complete the next flight. The Heineken from the tap is delicious, as advertised.
When I head back to my gate, I can hear my name being called out over the PR. That's never a good sign. They aren't offering to upgrade my seat to business or cockpit, I'm sure, so it must be the cat. The lady at the counter says that it's too hot in Atlanta, that I will have to fly KLM if I wish to keep the kitty in cargo. That would be hours later. Luckily, I have kept the soft bag with me, knowing something like this would happen. I can stay on the flight to Atlanta, I will have to move the cat from her crate, that's all. She will get to share a seat with me.
When the Dutch bring out the kitty, I notice they have swapped my old, tiny, shabby crate for a vastly larger and more improved model. Love you, KLM. And how you took care of my cat.
So the kitty comes on board with me, and she attracts all sorts of attention. The kitty is calm throughout it all. She seems to know she doesn't have a choice in where she is going. What the little orphan kitty also doesn't know is that she will be in America soon, in a world very foreign to her.
We've missed the tropical storm that went on a rampage up and down the east coast and eventually land at Hart International. Back in the U.S., in Atlanta. Feels good.
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