this ‘n that

This ‘n That By Anne Vargas annevargas.3@gmail.com … continued tales of a timid traveler

Ishared the story last month of my reluctance to accompany my spouse on a cruise where he had been invited to be a guest lecturer. To say I didn’t share his enthusiasm is an understatement; he

Anne Vargas managed to get me on that ship only by solemnly promising me we would do it only once. I carried my life jacket, clutched my rosary and clung to the thought that this sea sojourn would ultimately end and I’d be safely back on terra firma in my own quiet corner of the world. Little did I know then what lay ahead with more in the way of adventure than I could ever have imagined. That was cruise number one; now the story of cruise number two: Spouse: “Honey, I’ve been invited to lecture on a leg of the World Cruise”. Me: “The what?” Spouse: “It will be a great experience. The ship sails around the world for 110 days.” Me: “WHAT?” Spouse: “We won’t be on that long; we’ll board in Barcelona

and get off in Florida.” Me: “How many days is that?” Spouse: “Twenty-six” Me: “That’s too long!!!”

Subsequent phone conversation, in aftermath of my weeping and wailing: Spouse: “My wife doesn’t want to stay on the ship that long; I looked at the itinerary, could we possibly fly home from Dakar, Senegal?” Cruise line executive, after a rather long pause: “are you sure you really want to do that???”

On our 13th day on the ship I grudgingly admitted that the Mediterranean ports we had visited had been lovely, that Tunisia and Morocco had been fascinating, that the ship hadn’t sunk and possibly cruising wasn’t that bad. However, the travel plans I had insisted on were firmly in place and couldn’t be changed so at 8 p.m. on day 14, in Dakar, Senegal, we made our way to the gangway to meet our transportation to the airport.

In subsequent cruises we would learn how unusual this was. Departures usually occur in the morning at the conclusion of a cruise but in this instance, we were midway on the itinerary. The ship was in port until midnight and there was only one flight out, late at night. We were the only people disembarking. Dakar was certainly not a port for passengers and seasoned entertainers knew better; they had all opted to stay on board until the ship reached Florida. We would also subsequently learn that transportation to airports is usually in roomy vans with professional drivers.

The tiny vehicle we climbed into had no windows, one door was tied on, the fender was hanging off, we had to sit on top of our luggage and the driver spoke no English. I wanted to climb out to seek reassurance from ship personnel that we were in the right car but we sped off into the blackness before I had a chance. The ride seemed endless and I fought mounting panic. The town was totally dark except for light from intermittent oil drum fires where large groups of people gathered to cook and socialize. The dirt roads were full of holes, the car shook, shuddered, and periodically died. My imagination ran wild as I envisioned all sorts of imminent danger. My (Traveler on page 27)

Traveler / from page 26 spouse tersely reminded me why we were in the middle of nowhere with no idea what lay ahead as opposed to being in the comfort of the ship’s dining room.

By the time we reached the airport I was so convinced we were never going to get there I was trembling with relief. That relief was short-lived, however; ahead was the most challenging airport experience we were ever to have. After an interminable wait for the clerk to acknowledge us at the check-in counter, we were quizzed extensively about ourselves, our itinerary and our possessions until we were

finally given a card that would allow us to go to the waiting area. That, however, meant going through three checkpoints, each with a guard, each of whom examined and stamped the card and then demanded money. No money, no go. Only by displaying our now empty wallets were we able to get past the third gate to wait for our flight.

The flight was late. The waiting area was filthy beyond description. There was no running water and no toilet availability. There were no chairs anywhere and the floor had never met a mop. It was a long, uncomfortable wait until we were able to board the plane that was to take us on the first leg of our flight home. We were heading to Paris on Air France, which sounded wonderful. Surely once we were airborne everything would be fine. And by now I was starving and eagerly anticipating being fed—maybe some interesting ethnic cuisine? Boarding the plane was chaos. There was no queue or order, everyone just pushed their way on. The plane was dirty and overcrowded. Seat assignments were interpreted as merely a suggestion and virtually ignored. Fist fights broke out in the aisles over who would sit where, calmly ignored by non-participants. What was eventually offered in way of food had such a pungent odor we declined. Only one toilet was functioning which was distressing to me but seemingly not to the gentleman who opted to use the aisle.

It was then that I turned to my spouse with my apology and my promise that I would never, ever complain about any travel mishap if we could just get safely back to the western world. That’s a promise I kept in the ensuing years; not a word did I ever utter through cancelled flights and weather delays and missed connections and lost luggage and overnights stranded without a hotel room.

Six hours after leaving Dakar we landed in Paris where we waited in a very cold and very uncomfortable waiting room on very hard chairs for eight very long hours for our next flight.

Everyone around us was grumbling. Not me!