JANUARY 7, 2010: Gaborone is warm and balmy on Thursday morning, and I can actually open the large windows that overlook the Grand Palm Hotel and the city beyond. It is quiet and peaceful here, with no obvious guests strolling in the beautiful garden or swimming in the pool below. can see a terrace where they serve food, and a table for two awaits one of us for some late breakfast.

I For me, there was room service with fresh fruit, cereal and yogurt, and a lovely woman who smiled when I paused about the tip. I know the currency is in Pulas, but have forgotten the amount per dollar in the confusion of the two day journey from San Francisco to Johannesburg. Given that, everything else was almost perfect, schedules met, flights on time or early, and a joyful reunion with the bride and groom!

We landed a little early in South Africa after the dreaded fifteen hour flight, ( tack on five hours from San Francisco to Atlanta for me), still a fairly chipper group of two uncles, mom, dad and Aunt Judie. Twenty minutes later, we walked through Customs at Johannesburg airport, and headed out to meet Kenny and Colleen. The wedding couple had insisted that they drive “the inlaws” home instead of subjecting us to one more flight into Gaborone. Soon, we strolled though the empty airport to a modern parking garage and piled our bags into a shiny rented Mercedes van. It was wonderful to have all that space, and the back compartment was filled with luggage and various items from their shopping trip earlier in the day. It was getting dark when we finally pulled out onto the streets of Joburg, joining the workday commuters.
It was probably a good thing they didn’t tell us about the hurdles to be jumped before we actually reached the hotel, where each of us enjoyed a secret yearning for a bath or a real bed. Out on the highway, things began to look much like areas of California, with tract houses and reddish adobe dirt piled at construction sites. This wasn’t so different after all, we joked, as the sky turned to velvet blue and an amazing assortment of stars appeared. We all hung out the windows admiring the Big Dipper and Orion while Kenny drove quietly toward Botswana.

The freeway signs are clear and so are the numerous toll booths which fund new highways, but somehow we missed a turn and ended up looping back to find it, adding more time to the weary souls in the back seats, but nobody complained. We were all just thankful to have beaten the odds so far, squelching the rampant media tales of long security lines and terrible delays that swamped network news during the holidays. If there is one piece of advice I could pass on after this trip, it would be to do your homework, be prepared and ignore the naysayers.

In San Francisco, I breezed through security in sixteen minutes, despite a pat down and close inspection of the beautiful fresh orchids in my hair. The guy who checked me in at Delta was a veteran of many years, and grunted his despair at the scare tactics in the press. Like it or not, the airlines try to move things along when they can, and they were on fire early that morning.
Inside SFO’s terminal, there was plenty of time for restoring my silver wrist cuffs and getting some goodies to eat on the first flight. Everyone knows that the post security food is superior to In Flight, and they have quite a gourmet assortment. I got a huge apple and a fresh Mozzarella sandwich along with the standard bottle of water and settled in to call my mother. Although she has lived through many trips with me and knows better, she frets before I depart. At ninety six years old, I think she is entitled. Some things never change.
Back on the road to Botswana, we began to see huge bolts of lightning flash across the sky, and soon the raindrops appeared. This was not a welcome event since we could see it was hard enough for Kenny to concentrate with all the family stories bantered about. Of course, his new wife was checking his driving every few minutes, but he was of good humor and powered over the wet roads , driving carefully on the left side with all the cargo trucks and vans.
Eventually we reached the border, where it’s necessary to present your passport and credentials before leaving South Africa. It seemed a little strange for the civil servants to be at their desks at 11:30 P.M., wearing the grim and weary face that seems to be standard operating procedure for such a position. We filled out forms and passed their scrutiny, heading for the last hurdle of the night: the Botswana Border.
The second customs office was manned by a friendlier group of Botswanans, and we were greeted by Kenny’s brother and his family in the parking lot. Inside, several other visitors were checking through, although we barely made the midnight deadline. Can you imagine doing such business in the USA at that hour?
Outside the stragglers did some stargazing while I surveyed the contents of Kenny’s brother’s trunk. He had been shopping for flowers that day in Joburg, and displayed all the wedding flowers as well as some hardy specimens for the visiting artist. It’s always nice to have a relative who is a florist, especially in Africa!

Armed with a large bouquet, I was first out of the van when we reached the Grand Palm resort, requesting a nice vase along with my reservation. When we finally entered the room where I would spend my nights in Botswana, the sight of a beautiful raised tub and the spacious gardens were a balm to the soul.
Soon we were all tucked away in our rooms while the lights twinkled over a sleeping city. We made it!

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