(no subject)
pictures: http://tinyurl.com/mo9x9p
Getting to the airport in Frankfurt is becoming routine. I've gotten all the travel connections right this time, so settle into the business lounge for some more preparatory work (and a few snacks). After boarding, as I settle into my seat and arrange my things, I fail to get hold of the memory stick on which I've kept the relevant data for this trip. To be sure, I've been copying its contents onto the laptop regularly - but not the last bit I did in the lounge. Where I have to assume it slipped out of my pants' pocket while I reclined in an easy-chair. A quick discussion with the stewardess later and yes, I've got maybe 5 minutes to go and check. It only takes two - the business lounge isn't far, I'm motivated, and the person in the chair I was in answers my questioning look by picking my memory stick up from the coffee table on which he must have placed it after finding it and handing it over. On my victorious return to the aircraft, the stewardess (of South African Airlines) remarks “good thing this is Germany and not South Africa, or it would have been gone”. Good thing, indeed.
The food's okay, the movie list uninspiring and anyway I still feel the ghost of a possible jet lag hovering in some hidden corner of my skull, so I go to sleep early. Blantyre (as all of Malawi) is on GMT+2, so with Germany currently on Bravo time as well (daylight saving time) I should have no problems laying that ghost to rest if I don't do anything stupid.
The flight is uneventful. Dawn is beautiful from up here, but occurs well after we've passed Kilimanjaro (I'd been told to watch out for that). It's cloudy, too, so I don't get to see a glimpse of it. The inside of the Jo'burg airport at least finally looks different - they're selling a *lot* of African artwork here, which makes the whole place look a little like a bazaar. The lounge is nice, though my contact from the Bank never shows up. I don't see him at the gate, either, which is ever so slightly worrisome. He gets on the same plane, though, only rather late. Apparently his flight from the US was delayed, which has him worried about his baggage. He gives in to jet lag the moment take-off stops our chat - I finish reading the Economist. The landing is probably the worst I've experienced so far. The pilot keeps making a lot of bothersome corrections all the way down to the runway, and puts the plane down way harder and at higher speed than I have encountered so far. This is in stark contrast to the last landing in Hongkong, which was so smooth I could only tell we'd actually touched down by the rapid deceleration.
The remainder of Blantyre is in keeping with this first impression. After walking to the airport building (it's cool here, Malawi is in winter and it's not T-shirt weather) and passing through immigration, we get to watch the unloading in action. A tractor (of the agricultural variety) brings the baggage on carts, which are thrown or dropped onto the conveyor belt by one rather unmotivated young man, while two to three (rather more officious-looking) others look on.
After 45 minutes of this we find that Stuart's baggage indeed didn't make it, and he's told it will likely come on Wednesday (it's Saturday).
We are picked up by a Gentleman from the Reserve Bank of Malawi and are driven into Blantyre. Now I know Malawi is not a rich country, but I did not expect it to look so much like what I might have expected from TV. The road is rather threadbare, means of transport seem to be mostly bicycles and feet, not always with shoes. Oh, and they drive on the left side of the road again, though just having been to Australia this doesn't throw me off so much.
The commercial center of Blantyre (itself the commercial center of Malawi) is easily recognizable by the fact that most buildings have two stories, and a handful of them even more than three. The Reserve Bank of Malawi is one of them.
Stuart and I go out for some shopping. We have to try several ATMs before we find one that works (we were getting worried, there aren't that many banks here). At rougly 200 Kwatchas to the Euro, the highest denomination bill here is worth roughly 2.50 EUR.
This doesn't actually mean that things are dirt cheap here. Prices at the supermarket are below what I'd pay in Germany, but not in an entirely different realm. Of course, haggling with the woman outside who was carrying bananas on her head might have revealed entirely different pricing schemes, but I already feel like I stand out so much that I'm happy just to follow Stuart's lead (who speaks some of the local lingo, and at least - being from neighbouring Zambia - looks relatively local). A couple of kids follow us around begging, which to me at least takes the fun out of exploring.
The pharmacy in which Stuart gets some supplies that were in his suitcase has a manpower to customer ratio reminiscent of Beijing - there are five employees in a place that probably has less than 40 square meters.
For lunch we get pretty decent “piri-piri fries” with chicken. I choose the “mild” version for now - piri-piri can be really hot, and I feel that my stomach deserves a soft landing. I needn't have worried - I'll take the medium next time, with a view of upgrading to hot before the week is over.
Getting to the airport in Frankfurt is becoming routine. I've gotten all the travel connections right this time, so settle into the business lounge for some more preparatory work (and a few snacks). After boarding, as I settle into my seat and arrange my things, I fail to get hold of the memory stick on which I've kept the relevant data for this trip. To be sure, I've been copying its contents onto the laptop regularly - but not the last bit I did in the lounge. Where I have to assume it slipped out of my pants' pocket while I reclined in an easy-chair. A quick discussion with the stewardess later and yes, I've got maybe 5 minutes to go and check. It only takes two - the business lounge isn't far, I'm motivated, and the person in the chair I was in answers my questioning look by picking my memory stick up from the coffee table on which he must have placed it after finding it and handing it over. On my victorious return to the aircraft, the stewardess (of South African Airlines) remarks “good thing this is Germany and not South Africa, or it would have been gone”. Good thing, indeed.
The food's okay, the movie list uninspiring and anyway I still feel the ghost of a possible jet lag hovering in some hidden corner of my skull, so I go to sleep early. Blantyre (as all of Malawi) is on GMT+2, so with Germany currently on Bravo time as well (daylight saving time) I should have no problems laying that ghost to rest if I don't do anything stupid.
The flight is uneventful. Dawn is beautiful from up here, but occurs well after we've passed Kilimanjaro (I'd been told to watch out for that). It's cloudy, too, so I don't get to see a glimpse of it. The inside of the Jo'burg airport at least finally looks different - they're selling a *lot* of African artwork here, which makes the whole place look a little like a bazaar. The lounge is nice, though my contact from the Bank never shows up. I don't see him at the gate, either, which is ever so slightly worrisome. He gets on the same plane, though, only rather late. Apparently his flight from the US was delayed, which has him worried about his baggage. He gives in to jet lag the moment take-off stops our chat - I finish reading the Economist. The landing is probably the worst I've experienced so far. The pilot keeps making a lot of bothersome corrections all the way down to the runway, and puts the plane down way harder and at higher speed than I have encountered so far. This is in stark contrast to the last landing in Hongkong, which was so smooth I could only tell we'd actually touched down by the rapid deceleration.
The remainder of Blantyre is in keeping with this first impression. After walking to the airport building (it's cool here, Malawi is in winter and it's not T-shirt weather) and passing through immigration, we get to watch the unloading in action. A tractor (of the agricultural variety) brings the baggage on carts, which are thrown or dropped onto the conveyor belt by one rather unmotivated young man, while two to three (rather more officious-looking) others look on.
After 45 minutes of this we find that Stuart's baggage indeed didn't make it, and he's told it will likely come on Wednesday (it's Saturday).
We are picked up by a Gentleman from the Reserve Bank of Malawi and are driven into Blantyre. Now I know Malawi is not a rich country, but I did not expect it to look so much like what I might have expected from TV. The road is rather threadbare, means of transport seem to be mostly bicycles and feet, not always with shoes. Oh, and they drive on the left side of the road again, though just having been to Australia this doesn't throw me off so much.
The commercial center of Blantyre (itself the commercial center of Malawi) is easily recognizable by the fact that most buildings have two stories, and a handful of them even more than three. The Reserve Bank of Malawi is one of them.
Stuart and I go out for some shopping. We have to try several ATMs before we find one that works (we were getting worried, there aren't that many banks here). At rougly 200 Kwatchas to the Euro, the highest denomination bill here is worth roughly 2.50 EUR.
This doesn't actually mean that things are dirt cheap here. Prices at the supermarket are below what I'd pay in Germany, but not in an entirely different realm. Of course, haggling with the woman outside who was carrying bananas on her head might have revealed entirely different pricing schemes, but I already feel like I stand out so much that I'm happy just to follow Stuart's lead (who speaks some of the local lingo, and at least - being from neighbouring Zambia - looks relatively local). A couple of kids follow us around begging, which to me at least takes the fun out of exploring.
The pharmacy in which Stuart gets some supplies that were in his suitcase has a manpower to customer ratio reminiscent of Beijing - there are five employees in a place that probably has less than 40 square meters.
For lunch we get pretty decent “piri-piri fries” with chicken. I choose the “mild” version for now - piri-piri can be really hot, and I feel that my stomach deserves a soft landing. I needn't have worried - I'll take the medium next time, with a view of upgrading to hot before the week is over.