Travelling solo

I travelled on my own at the beginning of this year to celebrate my father's 80th birthday.

When the boys were little we travelled a lot together, visiting my parents and the family every couple of years. There are no direct flights from Cape Town to Gran Canaria so we go the long way around. We've done many variations on the theme, namely Cape Town-London-Madrid-Las Palmas, or Cape Town-Johannesburg-Madrid-Las Palmas and quite often Cape Town-Dubai-Madrid-Las Palmas.

Alexander, who’s partial to the good life once said, Emirates is the only way to travel. After flying Iberia and British Airways, we tend to agree.

The boys have been travelling overseas since they were babies. Flying with children at this young age is quite a task. The challenge is to try and keep them relatively clean for the length of the journey and hope to god they will sleep in between. If there's little sleep, then there's trouble. You don't want bad behaviour, you threaten this at all costs. In fact you start preparing them a couple of weeks before.

If one of you so much as....

Becoming a mother is a time you come into your own, you leave behind any insecurities and shyness and very quickly learn to become assertive and direct. A travelling mom has to have her wits about her, eyes in the back of her head, she takes no prisoners.

I became a master at juggling my babble of boys. I would think nothing of asking the closest person for help, I was demanding with zero conscience and the strictest mother that ever there was. My job was to get my family safely from one side of the world to another. Mind the way folks, I'm coming.

I remember on one occasion, Greg was with us at the time, Alexander refusing to walk up the stairs to the plane, he had to bribe him with sweets, Greg mutttering jelly tots in the bag. Desperate times require desperate measures, we had a trail of people waiting to board behind us.

Another time we gave Alexander, Stopayne. The doctor had recommended it, he said it would gently send him off to sleep for the long haul. Oh no it didnt. It had quite the opposite effect. He was wired for the entire flight.

But we managed and survived, arriving at our final destination in one piece.

After years of travelling on my own as a teenager then as a responsible mother of 3 boys, you would think I would be well versed at getting myself to and from destinations. You would think nothing could go wrong, but funnily enough sometimes things do. And when they go wrong, they have a habit of going catastrophically wrong.

What pray could that be, you might ask.

To the people who’ve heard this a million times before, allow me to tell this story just one more time.

Going back about 10 years, my eldest sister Nicola and her longtime partner, Ian announced they were getting married. They had lived together long enough and together they had a little daughter, Emily.

Hooray a wedding we thought, but money was tight and life was busy, we knew it was impossible to get our family from Cape Town to London to celebrate Nicola and Ian’s big day.

In those days I was a fully committed mother, feeding, driving, lifting my boys to and from school. The organisation involved was a full time commitment. Nobody, I believed, could replace me.

Impossible for us to go, I said.

But then Ian phoned, he said he would pay for me to fly over for this special occasion. He would like to do this for Nicola he said. Very kind. I said thank you and gulped.

Greg was in agreement. He would hold the fort.

How?? This is full on, Gregory, you’re not going to manage, PLUS work.

He convinced me that he could and he would. (We will save the packed lunches and hair raising lifts whilst I was away for another time, all character building, you can’t control it all)

The day comes for me to fly.

Can you manage Gregory, are the boys going to be ok? Can I just explain the dogs schedule, ok no you’ll work it out, ok. With trepidation and bucketsfull of anxiety, I say goodbye to Greg at the airport.

Have fun, he says. Relax. Have a break, everything’s going to be fine. I’ve got this all under control.

So eventually I take his word for it and do just that.

One foot inside the airport and the most extraordinary thing happens, I transform from hysterical mother to a mother washing my hands of all responsibilites.

It’s now just me and my suitcase. Free as a bird.

First stop, Cape Town to Johannesburg. All going very well indeed. Message Greg.

Through security, all good.

Message again.

Through passport control.

Then,

Boarding xxx

He messages back, safe travels xx

Arrive Johannesburg. Message Greg.

Arrived JHB!

Great he says.

I have booked my suitcases straight through to London. Remembering Greg’s words to relax and enjoy, I am slowly starting to embrace this idea. I’m worth it, right?

I’ve got myself through to the boarding gates, just waiting for an announcement on the gate number.

What does a girl like me do when she has some time to spare? Shmooze around the shops yes, but maybe I should sit down and treat myself to a drink?

Settling down in the bar lounge, a waitress smiles and comes over to me with a drinks and snack menu. Thank you, I say feeling like a lady with purpose. I pour over the selection of drinks.

Beer, wine, g&t?

No I mustn’t have anything alcoholic. I must remain focussed.

Coke, no, sparkling water, I always have that, ahhhh milkshake.

Maybe I’ll have a milkshake. I never have a milkshake. What does Greg usually have. Lime. That’s what I’ll have. A lime milkshake.

The waitress takes my order, she comes back soon after.

Look at me, I say. Taking a photo of my lime milkshake, I send it off to Greg, the family group, my parents, Nicola, Ian, Althea. Everyone who is championing me on this solo trip.

Here I am at the airport lounge bar, taking it easy at last, starting my break with this.

A lime milkshake.

Replies come in have fun, you deserve it, I haven’t heard of a lime milkshake, enjoy.

Smiling to myself and feeling the love from all around, I purposefully don’t gulp my drink down, I take my time. Enjoying the moment. Ahhhhh, why haven’t I done this sooner. A mom needs a break every now and again. An overseas trip no less.

I look at the time, I see people gathering at a boarding gate. It’s a BA flight to London, this must be me. I gather my belongings and waltz on down to the long queue of passengers waiting at the gate. Just me and my wheelie. Yes I’m a wife and a mother, but I’m an individual in my own right. I’ve important things to do, I've a wedding to go to.

Something, call it a sixth sense, makes me second guess myself. I look around, find somebody official walking by, is this flight BA0058 to London, I ask.

What comes next feels like a movie in slow motion.

Oh no, she says, this isn’t flight BA0058 to London, you need to be boarding at gate 8, it’s quite far away, you’d better start running, it’s at the other end of the airport.  I think they have just made their last call.

Life as I knew it for one whole hour and a half, tranquility, a woman who confidently ordered herself a lime milkshake at the lounge bar is now running like a banshee from one side of the airport to the other. Dodging, sweating, scooting past crowds of people down to gate 8 BA0058. I arrive to a steward and stewardess packing up papework, gathering their belongings.

I’m so sorry!!!! I know I’m late, I got the gate wrong, I’m so sorry!!

Dead pan, calm as a cucumber, not relinquishing one bit they say, yes you’re late, we are in the process of taking your bag out of the hold.

But please!!! You don’t understand!!

Why would they, who am I to them anyway.

I’m going to my sister’s wedding, it’s the first time I have flown in a long time!! I’ve never done this before, please, I carry on.

No amount of snivelling and pleading will deter them. The rules are the rules Mrs Walton. They didn’t say this, but in the back of my mind I recognised this unforgiving position before. There are consequences to your actions.

Sally has to face the music once again.

They tell me to go through passport control, collect my luggage from a holding area of the airport and buy another ticket. The long walk of shame.

I phone Greg and tell him the story. I am crying and snivelling on the other end of the phone. Lucky for me, he doesn’t say told you so, how the hell did you miss your flight, what are you going to do now, we don’t have money for another ticket.

One of Gregory Walton’s many strengths is he is calm under pressure. He becomes clear headed and methodical. Thank the lord, because I sure ain’t.

He tells me to leave it with him, he will call me back in a short while.

All I can think of is that I have ruined it for everyone. Ian has lost his money, Greg has too because he’s about to buy me a new ticket, my newfound status of a woman with purpose has just imploded, my father will also lose money because he pays for a single ticket back from London to Cape Town. A huge wad of money poof gone.

You’ve just got yourself to blame Sally, ringing in my ears.

Greg calls back. I must go to the Emirates desk at the airport and buy another ticket. But first he will need to transfer money into my account so that I can use my credit card.

Just go and stay there he says.

This time I do as I’m told. There’s a long queue, I tag on the end. An Emirates lady in the booth is looking flustered. I’m sure she is sweating under that hat and scarf I think to myself. She keeps her composure, she is loading about 20 different Mohammads onto one flight, this could easily go wrong for her.

I wait. Mohammad somebody she calls, Mohammad somebody else, she's doing a great job, they each in turn take their ticket. I edge closer. At last my turn, Greg is on the other end of the phone.

There’s a flight leaving soon to London, you need to get on that flight. If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss it.

Sweating profusely, heart beating so loud it feels like it’s coming out of my chest, I pay for the flight and make a run for it, go through check in, run, through security, run, through passport control (hello me again), run, through last call for flight Emirates and on to the plane. I’m going through Dubai.

I do not rest. I do not sleep. The remainder is a blur.

But I arrive. In time.

Say no.

Special thanks go out to Ian, Greg and Daddy who bought flights, lost money, forgave and moved on.