Surprisingly enough, the next morning we departed en masse from the Grand Palm close to the appointed hour. Kenny and Colleen had parked their car at the Gaborone Airport in anticipation of their flight home from Joburg that evening. We piled into the big van for one more trip, reversing our journey of arrival.
This time we were prepared and sailed through the Customs Offices in Botswana and South Africa, setting off for Johannesburg with plenty of time to spare.

The idea was to drop off the car before 3 PM to avoid paying for another day, and then spend some time together before their 6:30 PM flight. Needless to say, as in all things African, things did not go as planned.

The roads in South Africa are well marked but confusing, and we got lost again, despite the careful preparation of Colleen. She clutched the Google Map pages, trying to decipher the correct direction after our lunch stop, but it was her husband who finally got out of the car at a gas station to ask for directions. Apparently, there are many ways to get to the airport, and we finally arrived at the modern garage around 5 PM. A frantic call had been placed to Hertz, to no avail, and they tacked on another day anyway. We left the newlyweds to haggle with them, while secretly plotting amongst ourselves to pitch in and make up the difference.

Perhaps it was just as well that we only had a few minutes to say goodbye, for the tears flowed between Colleen and her mother at farewell, and we all turned a bit misty-eyed. They ran off to catch their flight and we grabbed some dinner before our final boarding for Atlanta. We joked about how cool and modern the airport was and figured out that they are in deep prep for the World Cup visitors in June! On all the roads to the city, we had seen signs and locations for the various games, and realized what a big deal this will be for South Africa. Even the local Wimpy’s (Mc Donalds + a hostess to seat you) boasted signs of the upcoming celebration of soccer!

Security was tight as we boarded the plane, with a second search of carry-on luggage plus a pat down by guards. We gladly acquiesced to their requests, thankful to have an extra layer of protection. The long flight to Atlanta ended with more scrutiny, this time with dogs sniffing the luggage upon arrival, passport and customs control, and yet another security screening to enter the US. This time the shoes came off, which seems to be more of an American priority, and they checked my laptop twice.

Of course, we had been delayed on the tarmac at Joburg by the lack of a truck to push us out to the runway, and that extra 45 minutes plus strong headwinds got us into Atlanta an hour late. Passengers were frantic at the carousels, racing to make their connection, and everyone did – except me. I was eleven minutes too late for my flight, but Delta promptly booked me for an hour later, and soon I was headed for LAX! The ease of this arrangement was amazing, they just slipped my boarding pass into the computer and it rescheduled the flight. No more haggling with the flight desk and no explanations. They were on top of it, which is a welcome sign after fifteen hours in the air.

Later, as I sat in the tiny terminal at LAX, waiting for the puddle jumper to Monterey, I had to smile at the usual suspects sitting around me. They were fresh and chatty, and probably had a good night’s sleep, but they could not have been more excited than I was about the final destination. There’s still no place like home.

Monterey Airport looked so small and quiet when we landed, and after my big old fatso bag tumbled out into baggage claim, I found my friend Gilbert waiting with a taxi. He had driven me home from Manhattan six months before, and recalled the trip and the wedding in the Big Apple. I told him about Africa on the way home, in a traveler’s daze of gratitude.

So there was my house and my garden, everything in place and waiting for me on the eighth day. The deer grazed outside my patio and people walked by with their dogs, so nothing had changed. Nothing, except for me. Now I find myself in Botswana in the blink of an eye, and I will never be the same. That’s a positive sign, perhaps you will agree. They got me good, with their smiles and their customs and the lazy time clock and the Chuckalucka. They surrounded me with their love and hugs and generous spirits. They welcomed me into their family.

I wore my bracelet with the wild animals from Mokolodi while I walked on the beach today, wondering what they are all doing. They are waiting for my return!

Go to PART... I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII