MONDAY JUNE 18 – STARTING HOME

Since our flight was scheduled to leave at 9:00, we wanted to be at the airport by 7:00, so the van picked us up at 6:00 after a restful, though short, night at the Hotel Africana. David got up to see us off, but went back to bed. He had time to finish his nap while the van made the hour-plus trip to Entebbe.

It was still dark when we pulled out of the parking lot and into the usually crowded traffic circle below the hotel. The city was just coming to life, with a few people walking slowly along the street. As we started out Entebbe Road, we saw security guards walking with their World War II era rifles from their night watching jobs watching over the exorbitant homes of the rich and powerful of Kampala to their own homes with no electricity, no running water, and dirt floors. It was eerie seeing armed and uniformed men walking along in the darkness. The chilling words of a young woman I met on an earlier trip came to mind. “Remember when you see them walking what they have seen at their jobs and what they will see when they are at home. Then remember, these are the people in Uganda who have the guns. How long will they wait?”

The closer we came to Entebbe, the higher the sun rose. Soon we could see everything – the incredible green of the landscape, the older women going into town in their wonderful traditional dresses in colors from yellow to purple and everything in between. The young women in office attire. The men, often in crisp, white shirts. They waited by the highway for overloaded taxis. They waved and sometimes the taxi vans stopped and let them squeeze in, but usually, the van sped on and they kept waiting.

There was very little traffic once we reached the insane construction zone at the airport. There was no oncoming traffic, so squeezing into a single lane didn’t really matter. The guard at airport gate seemed sleepy. He spoke to us then waved us through without ceremony.

The airport is undergoing a major face-lift for the upcoming Commonwealth Meeting. The area where passengers get out is presently a dead-end, so we had to get our bags out quickly. The guys quickly unloaded our bags, and we had a quick goodbye with Vincent, then he had to move the van. No one had a lot to say. Baby Lisa was still sleepy and a bit grumpy. I guess they were all sleepy because no one found much to say. That wasn’t my excuse. I didn’t talk because I couldn’t, the thought that I might not be back was more than I could handle. Ray and Lisa seemed in no better shape than me.

Only ticketed passengers were allowed inside, so we had quick hugs and handshakes, then we went through the first of three security checkpoints. This one led to a huge line. We were more than two hours early and the lobby of the airport was already filled with British Air customers! But the confusion and hassle gave us a few minutes to get ourselves pulled back together.

All bags must go through x-ray. There’s no one to help load the bags on the machine belt and that makes this a very chaotic thing. Bags are always HUGE and many of the fliers aren’t, so it would be comical to watch everyone trying to get things loaded into the x-ray machine if you weren’t waiting in the line and dreading your turn to sling your unbelievably heavy bags from the cart to the belt.

We got through with only one bag searched, which isn’t bad for this airport! We looked outside once we cleared the x-ray machines, but our friends were already gone. The people at the BA desk actually ran the whole e-ticket thing as well as any airport anywhere (only two years ago, paper tickets were absolutely required!). They had one piece of interesting news: we were checking our bags all the way to Chattanooga. We had packed very little into our carry-ons, so we would have an interesting day trying to piece together toiletries and clothing for the final leg of our trip.

Immigration couldn’t have gone more smoothly, because no one there said a word to us. We had more than an hour and a half until the plane was scheduled to leave. We’d had no breakfast so we planned to eat at the coffee shop, but we were side tracked by the great gift shop in the departure lounge. I found an African shirt on clearance and we found a few other small gifts. It was crucial that we shop because our trip to the jungle had cost us our shopping time. But we shopped until they made the last call for our flight, which meant an hour until take off. But we had another security station to clear, so we hurried on to the line with our new purchases.

The Departure Lounge is about as uncomfortable as such a place can be. There’s no air conditioning or fans, so there are open windows to the runway. There are no screens so there are bugs. And the lounge must have been set up for smaller planes. There are barely enough seats, but it is a rather snug fit. Of course many people don’t abide by the last call, so there are folks in line trying to get in up until the last minute. We noticed this time that several were turned away at the security point.

We talked quietly as we waited. Ray was still in first-timer mode – he wanted to talk about everything and everyone, and even though we’ve been over many times now, we were just as ready to talk as he was. It had been a wonderful trip!

Our departure time came and went. About twenty minutes later, they told us to board. There were no row numbers, so it was a mad rush to the door, but there was no pushing or shoving, just a cattle stampede on the one poor person taking tickets.

We walked out of the airport and onto the tarmac. There was a private jet at the end of the taxi way surrounded by a large crowd. There was a military regiment near the steps leading down from the plane and a small group of men in grass skirts and brightly colored tops. The vast majority of the crowd was dressed in business attire.

It was the president’s plane, and this was his welcoming committee. The men dressed in jungle attire were apparently the kings of Uganda. We watched out the window and actually saw the president’s legs as he walked past the plane, then he was whisked away in a vehicle we couldn’t see.

The flight couldn’t leave until he was well away, so we sat at the gate waiting. It must have been some time, but I wouldn’t know. I was sound asleep as soon as I sat down!

This plane had only two seats on the two aisles, so Lisa and I had a window and aisle seat. It was cloudy as we flew up Africa, but it cleared a bit over the Sahara Desert. There was nothing as far as the eye could see, just red desert at times, or white desert at other times and an occasional track which must have been a road. We dozed and watched movies and ate terrible airplane food. About ten hours later, we landed in London.

Immigration in London is always intense, but we had a very nice young female agent who was pleasant and interested as she asked us about our reason for being in Africa. Since we had no bags to claim, we hurried through baggage claim and into Heathrow. We had absolutely no idea where to go! After roaming for a bit, we were told to go to Terminal 1. We were in Terminal 3 which meant we had to board the London train and get off at the first stop. We followed the signs into the new terminal, then couldn’t find any signs directing us to the hotel busses. We asked and didn’t understand the directions, which led us to a line of cars, but no busses. We asked again, and finally found the place which turned out to be the place where we’d ridden to and from Gatwick on previous trips. We found that our hotel didn’t have a shuttle bus, so we would have to take the Hotel Hopper for 4 pounds each, just over $8 (actually, $25 for the three of us). We got our tickets as we boarded and took seats in the relatively crowded bus.

We wound around the terminal and stopped one more time, but no one got on or off. We road through a tunnel and out of the airport, then immediately turned into a hotel where, again, no one got on or off. Then we drove out of that hotel, crossed the street, and turned into ours. The ride took all of 10 minutes and couldn’t have been more than 1.5 miles!

We went into the modern lobby and in no time, we were registered. Lisa went to the Concierge while I registered. We were hoping to go into London for Spamalot, the Monty Python play, but she learned that with the hour plus delay for the president and our inability to find our hotel, we were too late to make it into London. Ray really wanted to eat in a pub, so we decided not to go into London at all. We agreed to meet in a half hour. We thought we could find a local pub.

We had gotten our rooms for under $200 each, which was amazing because the posted rate was $275! It was a Sheraton Hotel, and the room was incredibly nice with air conditioning and every imaginable convenience. And there were no mosquito nets! It was terribly hard to drag ourselves out of the luxury to go to dinner!

Ray was waiting for us when we came back to the lobby. I went to the Concierge once again and he gave me a map with a pub marked on it. “Out the front. Cross the road. Go down past the entrance to Hell, you know, those golden arches, turn left, go straight for a while, you’ll find it on your left.”

I looked at the map and saw the route he’d marked. I knew we should be able to follow it even if his verbal directions were a bit odd. We crossed the road and found the golden arches, good ole McDonalds! We turned and within 100 yards, we had entered a British village! Each tiny row house had an equally tiny well tended flower garden and perfectly cut mini-yard. The doors were all dark wood. The houses were pretty much all the same: two stories, a front door and a window on the front with the flowers and bit of grass. There were huge trees along the narrow street and we ambled along the walk for several blocks. We came to two story pub with a sign telling us this pub had been in operation since the 1600’s when it had also been an inn. The outside tables were packed with locals drinking beer, so we decided to go inside. The door was about 6 inches shorter than me, but the ceiling inside was tall enough for me to straighten up. Every table inside the dark little room was packed with drinkers, so we edged back out into the courtyard. We decided to walk on and see if we could find another option.

There was another pub across the street a few blocks down. This one was in a much newer, brick building, though it still appeared older than most buildings in America. We looked through the window and saw that there were many open tables. We went inside and found a menu with fish and chips and other pub food, as well as a few specials. It wasn’t clear what we were to do, whether we should be seated on our own or needed to wait to be seated. We stood at the bar for a few minutes and no one said a word to us. Finally, we stepped up to the bar. A small, white haired, lady with thick glasses seemed to be working the cash register. She looked up, “You know what you’ll be havin’,” she asked. We gave her our orders: Lisa and Ray wanted fish and chips, while I decided to try to the duck. She wrote down the order and turned away. We stood for a minute more, then found a table in the corner. There were several other tables taken, but many were empty. The table nearest us was occupied by 8 business people who were discussing the day’s deal.

We were all hungry and it seemed to take the kitchen forever! Finally, a woman came out carrying two fish and chips. She sat them down and left. Lisa gave me a few chips and a bit of fish while I waited and waited and waited for my duck. Finally, I caught the waitress’ attention and asked about my order. “Oh, I gave it to the table over there,” she said. “They must have ordered duck, too, but I wonder what happened to theirs if I gave them yours? Do you want it still? I can order it for you. Won’t take very long.”

Since Ray and Lisa had finished, I told her not to bother, but asked that she adjust our bill. She seemed very embarrassed by it all. Someone was smoking a vile brand of cigarette and I started sneezing, so Lisa had to face the old woman at the register. The bill, of course, had not been adjusted. She tried to charge Lisa for the missing duck. I came back in when I saw that there was trouble, but Lisa handled the woman well and the bill was soon properly settled.

We decided to go back another way. We continued down the village street to the highway and turned back toward the hotel. We walked along the very busy road through a marshy area and across a stream. There was a huge facility next to the hotel on the side away from the airport (the side we hadn’t yet seen). There were a number of four story brick buildings standing beyond a fenced parking lot. As we got closer, we saw that the fence had razor wire on the top and there was a guard shack at the entrance. There was little doubt that our hotel sat next to a correctional facility! I finally saw a sign that the facility was operated by British Immigration. Apparently, it was where people awaited deportation! The facility looked brand new, probably built since 9-11.

We were tired from the long flight so we went back to our rooms as soon as we got back to the hotel. I was hungry, but too tired to think about it! The room was wonderful. There was warm water in the shower and even wash cloths!

But the lack of mosquito nets was a real problem. I awoke many times during the night trying to find the net, as I would do many times each night for more than a week after returning home!