Upon arrival, I worked my way up to the long hall where all passengers check both themselves and their bags into their flights. For most international airports, no single airline has a dedicated and branded check-in/service desk area (the exception at JNB was South African Airways - the flag carrier of SA). Instead, all the monitors are dynamically assigned, allowing for capacity control as needed. For example, even though I didn't use Delta's desk (I checked in via kiosk since I had only carry on bags), I'm sure that since they only have a single flight daily, they probably only use 3 (one for elites and business class, natch) desks for a few hours. Air France and Lufthansa, on the other hand, both were running A380s to Europe that night. I'm guessing they used a boat load of desks given the passenger loads needing processing.
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| Towing the A380 Whale to the Gate |
There were likely 30-40 stations in all stretching down the long hall. Many working open flights were well known brands - British Airways, Swiss Air, KLM, Qantas. There were also a large number of regional international carriers I've never encountered with flights to Kenya, Zimbabwe, Rhodesia, Nigeria, etc. Only later did I discover that even Africa has its own low fare carriers (like Ryan Air in Europe), each with a noxious livery advertising the merits of the carrier - everything but the toll free number.
After heading through security...
Allow me to share one of my flying related compulsions. I hate getting buzzed when walking through the metal detector. Before entering the security line, I empty my pockets of any items that could possibly set off the alarm. My watch, keys wallet I put into a specific laptop bag pocket, coins I bag up and put into another. Gum and my Carmex I put in my bag as well. I always wear slipon shoes to save time after going through security. What I do keep in my pockets are any small non-metallic objects that I may otherwise lose. A tube of hand creme beyond the 3.5 allowed ounces, my little bottle of Purell, my pepcid I always carry for heartburn that comes regularly. I have my laptop out, my bag of toiletries ready to pull out. Once I hit the line, I'm ready. And I always take off my belt. That is very hit and miss, depending on the metal detector. Now, I've decided to take it off every time.
Why do I do this? Why does the alarm of the metal detector make me anxious? I always think that I appear guilty of something when I set it off, triggering more anxiety related to this completely baseless belief.
So, I cleared security, immigration/customs was a breeze, and I then entered a long hall filled with 'duty free' shops. I use the term loosely because in many countries (SA being one of them, I'm guessing), it would be cheaper to buy, for example, a carton of cigarettes on the street and bring them in to the USA as the allowed duty free quantity of cigarettes. Duty free is mostly a big scam, depending on the location. In Hong Kong, for example, cigarette prices were actually pretty good. In Manzanillo, Mexico, it was half the price to buy cigs at the local bodega. However, JNB featured the only duty free store offering Myer's Dark Jamaican rum. I have not found that in Europe or Asia. I'm not sure why it is so hard to find. For sure, scotch is king at duty free. Vodka, tequila and rum are available, but not in the variety seen with the whiskeys (which I can't stand).
After buying some souvenirs for the kids and wife, with the need to fit them in my already fully packed carry-on bag, I located my gate, then walked around some more, fully understanding that I will be sitting for 18+ hours on an airplane. I opted for not one, but two airport massages. These are the kind where one sits for the back and neck massage. I enjoyed it so much that I returned for a foot massage. There's nothing more sensual and pleasurable short of sexual activity.
I still had a few Rand leftover. I bought some snacks. They sold beef jerky complete with a toothpick! What a grand idea - that stuff just lodges itself in between the teeth (unfortunately, later on the plane I was using it to clean out an especially beef filled gap in my teeth when something snapped - it was a little chunk of tooth or crown, not much bigger than a peppercorn. I'm off to the dentist next week to figure out what happened).
After arriving at the gate early, I learned that the flight was so full, the glorious row 30 was already pre-assigned. Fortunately, I was happy with my fallback seat, 44B - emergency exit row action. Once onboard, with my carry on bags comfortably stored away, I loitered near my seat, happy to stretch my legs while I can. A few minutes later, a couple who were seated on opposites sides of row 44 asked if I'd swap my middle exit row seat for the exact one on the other side (44B for 44J). There was still enough room in the overhead compartments on the other aisle to move my stuff. I'm always happy to accommodate moves as long as I'm not asked to trade down seat quality. My wife and I have been on the other end of that request, and others have been kind enough to give up their seats.
However, I was asked again. Yes, a double swap. I actually improved my seat slightly by getting 44A (outboard seat). My legroom was a bit restricted due to the exit slide/raft protruding into the exit aisle from the door, but I was able to lean against the outboard hull (no window though) which is much better than being stuck between two fatties, indeed.
At that point, I had to leave my bags in the overheads on the starboard aisle. A small inconvenience, but again, karma works both ways.
At the published departure time, the captain came on the intercom and informed the passengers that due to a combination of high gross aircraft weight (note that this is a variable, not a constant), high elevation (more than a mile high) and a warm evening. The combination of the latter two resulted in air density that simply could not support the safe take off of our heavy 777. Dispatch (every airline has this function - they are responsible for, among other duties, making the calculations that will inform the amount of fuel needed for the flight given the forecast winds, distance, weight, etc. The flight crew is given this data, and most likely runs through the math in order to validate the conclusions. The captain always has the final say in major decisions - fuel, weight, etc.). Dispatch estimated an delay of 50 minutes, after which the ambient temperature will drop enough to 'thicken' the air for takeoff.
After 55 minutes, the captain came on the intercom and announced that while the conditions hadn't changed, our flight had 9000lbs of cargo (in addition to baggage and passengers). The captain announced that the cargo would be offloaded, pulling the aircraft back into the performance envelope needed to depart. I was a bit pissed because dispatch clearly was willing to risk missing passenger connections in Atlanta in order to book the high margin cargo revenue. Whether dispatch conceded the point, or the captain fought on behalf of his passengers, we were able to leave only 70 minutes late.
Now, I know that even by offloading the necessary cargo (I doubt all of it was taken away), the 777's engines will still need to pump out massive thrust in order to allow the airfoils to get enough lift in the 14,000 feet of available runway. The airport had shifted to northerly departures, which will save some time enroute since the big turn towards the Atlantic will take less time.
As the 777 awaited permission to take off, I was wondering just how much of the runway we'd need.
There they go. Brakes held. 40% thrust. Seconds tick by. Thurst pushed past 80% close to maximum. The flight crew releases the brakes and the aircraft begins its roll out, and I'm immediately pressed back into my seat. The acceleration continues for what seems like 30 seconds, but then the acceleration stopped and the plane seemed to be zooming down the runway at a constant speed. Why aren't we airborne? Looking out the window just behind and to my left, I see the terminal zoom by....and still no change. Finally, the wings bite deep enough into the thin air to leave the runway. But it's simply flying along the runway at only a few dozen feet off the ground. C'mon! Pull back!
Finally...finally! Up she goes, and ten seconds later the threshold passes out of view below me. Holy shit, we used 85-90% of the runway!
Three movies and seven hours of uninterrupted sleep later, we landed uneventlyfully in Atlanta an hour late, at 7:20am. My flight to Seattle was on-time, scheduled to depart at 8:20. My first stroke of good fortune was a short line at immigration. Since our flight was an hour late, we missed the morning rush of flights arriving from Europe and the Middle East and hit a lull. My second stroke of luck was a quick interview with the immigration official. I figured that having been in South Africa for a day, with only hand luggage with me, the chances of being pulled aside for a longer interview seemed likely. Nope. I welcomed back to the USA with a smile.
The third 'Yes!' moment came as I strolled by the baggage claim, trotted through customs and made it through the TSA security check quickly and without a pat down. I took a step back when I discovered my gate was in the A concourse (I was starting in the E concourse).
My final luck came when my gate was the first one in the concourse (not at the end of a long walk as usually seems to be the case), and boarding had just started!
Six hours later, I'm home and very tired. As a follow up, I needed a full three days to recover from the trip. My body was hammered. My ass was sore and chaffed from sitting for forty hours.
A week later, the miles posted and I hit my status, my objective completed.
Would I do this again? No way. Not unless I was in business or first class.
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