World Cup Tickets

The whole country is supporting their team. I wonder how long it took them to pain this 30 feet.
The South African flag painted on a driveway gate.

I just walked down to the Brooklyn Mall to pick up my World Cup tickets. The walk to the mall was amazing. There were people driving around blowing their vuvuzelas as they rode down the street, flags fluttering in the wind, and a feeling of goodwill and excitement in the air.

Excited for the game and their picture.

It took two hours to get my tickets, but I finally have them! I'm going to two games: South Africa vs. Uruguay at Loftus in Pretoria next Wednesday, and Ghana vs. Australia in Rustenberg next Saturday.

Tonight, the owner of the B&B invited me to go with her to he friend's house in Waterkloof to watch the game. I don't have any plans and it would be more fun watching the game with other people than by myself, so that's where I am going tonight. I hope to have some good stories to tell you about tomorrow.

GO SOUTH AFRICA!

Where to Watch World Cup Games

I can't sleep right now. I think I'm catching World Cup fever! It's been known to be highly contagious and spreading rapidly. Symptoms include dreaming about soccer, hearing someone scream GGGOOOOOAAAALLLL! when no one really is, taking wadded up clothes and kicking them around your room like they're soccer balls, constantly blowing your vuvuzela (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vuvuzela), reading nothing but scouting and injury reports, having a closet full of your team's jerseys (or in severe cases wearing the same unwashed jersey every day), and bi-polar disorder - severe depression when your team loses and extreme highs when your team wins. The symptoms are said to grow worse over time, but, in most cases, it should subside by July 12th.

If you're interested, the following are a few links on some of the best places to watch World Cup games outside of South Africa. Just over 10 hours until the first match!

http://www.lonelyplanet.com/usa/travel-tips-and-articles/42/58596

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/37594781/ns/travel-destinations/

Also, if you are a fantasy sports freak, ESPN has a few World Cup related contests you can enter:

A soccer "pick 'em" where you pick the winners by round: http://games.espn.go.com/soccerpickem/en-us/frontpage

A March Madness style bracket: http://games.espn.go.com/bpredictor/en-us/frontpage

And a group bracket, where you don't pick teams, but you pick Group #1s and #2s: http://games.espn.go.com/knockout/en-us/frontpage

Go Bafana, Bafana!

Tickets to games seem to be opening up slowly every day. I had a chance to buy a USA vs. England ticket for this Saturday, but Rustenburg is 2 hours away and the game doesn't start until 8:30, so I probably wouldn't get home until really late.

However, I was able to buy a ticket to go see South Africa vs. Uruguay on June 16th at Loftus in Pretoria. WOOHOO! I may go to 1 other match, possibly a USA match, but we'll see. Two games may be enough. Maybe I won't get scuba certified or cage dive with a shark (World Cup tickets can be my excuse for being a chicken, but I would love to photograph them!) because I went to these games. I'll figure it out. Things are starting to happen very fast around here.

The Kindness of Strangers

I've been struggling for about an hour on what to call this entry. I chose "The Kindness of Strangers" but it could have easily been called any of the following:

Statistics

Big Mistake

Just Desserts

Good Day?/Bad Day?

WTF Was I Thinking?

I Broke Rule #1 and Paid For It (Literally)

It's All Fun & Games...Until You Get Mugged

You Are An Idiot!

Today was my first full day in South Africa, so I decided to go for a walk. I wasn't just walking for the sake of walking though; my goal for the day was to find out how to get to the SALRC and in doing that get my bearings for Pretoria. I had received an email from the woman coordinating the internship that Commission was located on the corner of X and Y Streets. So, given this information and the wonders of Google Maps, I was off to the Commission to finally meet the woman I had been corresponding with for the past two months and figure out where I would need to go the next week.

It's a little hard to tell from this small picture, but this was my route. C marks the place whre I am staying and B is where the SALRC is located. In total, I walked 15.3km, which is just over 9.5 miles. I wasn't planning on walking there and back - my original plan was to take the bus - but things often have a funny way of not working out the way they are planned.

Here I am, excited to explore my new city. Oh how naive I was.

As you can tell from the map, the lower route to the Commission was quite simple. I merely followed one street the whole way and made one or two turns at the end and I would arrive at my destination. I set out on my journey with a backpack containing my D-SLR camera, some medication - just in case - and some water, a wallet with about R300 (about $40), my compact digital camera. and some sunglasses.

One of the first things I saw, about half a mile down the road from me, was the University of Pretoria. The University of Pretoria is the premiere research university in South Africa and also one of its largest universities with over 39,000 students.

A bit farther down the road is Loftus Versfeld Stadium, where some of the World Cup matches will be held. Loftus is actually a rugby stadium and the home of the champion Pretoria Blue Bulls, the best provincial rugby team in South Africa. Since 1946, they have won the championship 20 times! I don't know anything about rugby, but I would love to see them play before I leave Pretoria.

These were the only two pictures that I was able to take of Loftus. As I was switching to my D-SLR to take better pictures of the stadium, the man in the center of the picture told me that I was not allowed to take photographs of the stadium. I've never heard of not being able to take a picture of a stadium, but the day was young and I wasn't going to argue over such a trivial thing. I continued down the road to the Commission.

If you were able to zoom in on the map, you would see a place called Jubilee Square, a large open area in the middle of Sunnyside. I thought it was a somewhat funny name for the Square since their were, at least as far as I could tell, scores of homeless people basking in the warm sun with all of their Earthly possessions nearby.

Two blocks west from Jubilee Square, I soon found myself in a precarious position...

Becoming A Statistic

I've always prided myself on never being the victim of a crime. I have traveled to some of the major cities in the United States - San Francisco New York, Boston, Memphis, Nashville, and Little Rock - and lived in Sacramento, Washington DC/Baltimore, and Los Angeles and I have never been held-up, car-jacked, mugged, pick-pocketed, had my car broken into, or suffered any other crime that so frequently happens in the States. There have been times where I have though I was pick-pocketed, like when I went to the Empire State Building in New York City and forgot that I had put my wallet in the breast pocket of my jacket. I remember reaching into my back pocket and freaking out because it wasn't where it usually is. I called my best friend to tell her that it finally happened - I finally became the typical foolish tourist that people read about in guidebooks that was the victim of a pickpocket. But luckily, while I was on the phone with her, I felt my wallet in my breast pocket and was able to relax. This time I was not as lucky.

Part of my pride comes from the extensive research I do before I go somewhere. Whether it is neighborhoods to stay in, good places to eat, or things that I need to pack "just-in-case," I always know what I am getting in for. Even before going to South Africa, I purchased "The Rough Guide to South Africa" to help with my pre-trip research. I chose this book because it was the most up-to-date and was specifically updated with the World Cup in mind.

Like all good guidebooks, this one has a detailed section on safety. It mentions places to avoid (be cautious about going above Church Street around Church Square) and things to keep a cautious eye towards. One thing that the guidebook mentions is to be wary of groups of young men, as they are typically the ones who mug tourists.

For about 30 minutes my walk was going swimmingly. It was a bright, warm day and I had already seen the University and Loftus, and then I got two blocks past Jubilee Square and the beautiful red carpet the city had laid out to welcome me was ripped out from beneath me.

As I was crossing the street - a larger than average sea of asphalt that I had to traverse - I noticed 3 young men walking towards me. At first I thought nothing of it, but then they stopped. When I was strolling through the middle of the intersection they stopped on the other side. I was trapped. Either I could turn around and go back the way I came, turning my back on potential danger, or I could continue and hope that they were just waiting to cross in the other direction. I chose the former - it's never a good idea to turn your back on potential danger - and quickened my pace in an effort to fly through the rest of the intersection and put some distance between the young men and myself, but my efforts proved fruitless.

The moment my left foot struck the concrete on the opposite bank of the asphalt sea I knew I was about to be mugged.

"Welcome to Sunnyside, mon," was how I was greeted by the young, gangly 6'2" black man draping himself around the stoplight pole. The two men with him were on either side of the sidewalk, one now leaning up against a small rot-iron fence and the other standing in the crosswalk still appearing ready to cross when the light changed.

Hoping that my initial gut reaction was wrong, I squeeked out an uneasy, "Hello," and maintained my steady pace - any faster and I may have appeared to be jogging.

The neighborhood greeter unhinged himself from the pole and came alongside my left side, continuing his monologue as we sped down the sidewalk. "Let me tell you something bruddah. This is Sunnyside. This is a dangerous place, mon. People get killed here all the time."

At this point I realized my gut reaction had been correct. As if his words weren't telling enough, I noticed his two cohorts struggling to keep up on either side behind us.

"You see these two men behind me?" He asked rhetorically. He knew I had seen them. "These two men are very dangerous. They have killed people. You are going to have to give them something to make them go away. I don't want you to get hurt...just give them something...they will shed blood and not even think twice."

I reached into my back pocket where I kept my wallet and cupped it in my right hand. I knew that I was carrying quite a bit, at least in terms of ZAR, and I didn't want to give them more than I had to. Using my same hand, I pulled out R100 (about $13) and slyly slid it to my "protector" like I was trying to tip a bouncer to get into an overpriced, trendy Hollywood nightclub or the host of fancy restaurant after showing up with no reservations. As I did this, I noticed a large group of 10 or so young male and female black South Africans.

Looking at my tithing, my protector was not pleased. "Oh fuck no," he said without raising his voice or changing his tone. Apparently he was also telepathic because as he said this the two men who had been trailing behind us chimed in like a chorus, "I'm going to cut you, mon. Oh he better...ooooooh."

I was approaching another intersection - it felt like we had been walking for an eternity. The large group was still another 3/4 of a block away - too far to provide any protection.

"Stop here" the ring leader said.

I kept walking.

"Woah! Woah! Woah! Stop here!" He said.

Still clutching my wallet in my hand, I stopped.

"Let's see what you have in there."

I pulled back the protective leather folds surrounding my money. Thumbing through my wallet, my protector got as close as he would to touching me.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"I'm going to my first day of work. I have to get to City Centre and then I have to take the bus home," I replied, trying not to let my voice tremble.

"You need to give these guys more than that. They will shed blood and not even thing twice. If you do not give them more, they will cut you and then take the whole wallet - with all of your plastique." (I'm not sure if they call credit cards plastique here or if he just chose to call it that.)

Still thumbing through my wallet, taking stock of its inventory, he pulled out most of its supply. "Alright mon. This should take care of these guys."

Peering into the deep, dark abyss that my wallet had become, I surveyed the damage - he had taken all but R20. Not really thinking I blurted out, "Oh come on! That's not enough. I am not going to be able to get home on R20. I have a long way to go to get back home." In reality I didn't have the slightest damned clue what I was saying. I had no idea how much the bus cost, but my mouth took over without giving my brain any time to fathom what had just happened.

"Alright, mon. How much do you need to get back home?" My wallet's liberator inquired.

"I don't know," I replied honestly.

Looking at the spoils of his effort he pulled out another R20 and said, "This should get you home."

In obvious shock about what had just happened, all I could manage was a mumbled, "Thank you," before pointing my visibly pale face back towards my destination and continuing on my journey. I never looked back to see where they went - it's not like it would have mattered anyway, since I don't yet have a cell phone that can be used to call the police.

As I walked, I quickly returned my wallet to its original position and let my eyes sink towards the ground - there was nothing worth seeing in this neighborhood. Half a block from where I was mugged, I crossed paths with the large group I had seen earlier, but that had been too slow to be my salvation. My eyes returned to a horizontal position and met eyes with members of the group. I hadn't noticed them even talking as they approached, but as we passed each other on the sidewalk, the group was laughing. It is possible that they were laughing at a joke that I had missed or something else, but in my mind they were laughing at me.

As you can imagine, this put me in a pretty foul mood. I think I was more mad about the getting laughed at than I was about getting mugged. I mean, it's one thing to see a crime happen and just stand idly by and do nothing, but its an entirely different thing to see the crime happen and then laugh at the victim. I couldn't believe that had just happened.

Continuing On

I didn't say anything to them as I passed - I was still upset and in shock that I had just been mugged. After another 15 minutes I was at the corner where I was told the Commission was. Well, turns out there was no flashing neon sign that said "Law Commission Here" like I was expecting. Instead, I was greeted by a restaurant on one corner, a mall on another, an ABSA bank, and an office building. I walked up and down all 4 sides, going a block in each direction, looking for my flashing sign, but to no avail. After awhile, I went to the restaurant and asked them - they had no idea. They hadn't even heard of the SALRC - not a good sign. Next, I saw I sign for another government office and went in there - they also had no clue what I was talking about. Finally, I went to a small convenient store and asked the security guard - she too had no idea what the heck I was talking about, but directed me toward the ABSA and told me they would be able to direct me.

At this point I was growing ever more frustrated. Why was I not given a specific address, building, and floor to go to? How the hell is there a department within the government, that is in charge of reforming the laws, and not a single person has heard of it? This is ridiculous. Either I was about to work for some shadow organization, the government does a really poor job of advertising the SALRC and they should get a new agent, or these people were just ignorant/ill-informed.

I walked into the bank and made a line towards the security guard. He was difficult to understand - he spoke English, quite well actually, but his accent was so incredibly thick that I couldn't understand. I don't think he really understood me either though - he too had never heard of the SALRC, but when I told him it was a branch of the justice department, he offered to take me to the building.

Considering I just got mugged, maybe I was a bit too trusting in following this guy to God knows where, but I did it anyway - what other option did I have.

We went into a mall - why the hell the Commission would be in a mall, I don't know - and he took me to the security desk. When my guide informed the guard what we were looking for, he told us that we were in the wrong building. Back across the street we went, checking in with the security guard there - who informed us that we were indeed finally in the right spot - and up to the 12th floor. As the elevator doors opened, I was greeted with a glorious sight - the SALRC's logo. I thanked my generous guide for his help and we departed.

One Leg Ends, Another Begins

My time at the Commission was short. I received a tour from my coordinator and saw my office - a nice corner office on the 13th floor. (Yes, there is actually a 13th floor. Apparently, South African's don't share America's superstition about that number.) I met the staff and talked to them - all of them seemed extremely nice and were happy to finally have interns. They did a lot to make me feel welcome. After meeting the staff and the researchers I would be working with, I had the highlight of my day.

One of the last people I met was former South African Constitutional Court Justice, Justice Mokgoro, who was introduced to me as "Judge." I knew she looked familiar because I had done extensive research on the South African Constitutional Court for my paper this past semester and I read several of her opinions. To understand why this was such a big deal, allow me to reframe this in terms that Americans can understand. The South African Constitutional Court is the equivalent of the Supreme Court and meeting Justice Mokgoro is the equivalent of meeting Sandra Day O'Connor, David Souter, or soon to be retired John Paul Stevens. It's not every day that you get to meet a legal badass. (She really is. If you don't believe me, read her bio: http://www.constitutionalcourt.org.za/site/judges/justiceyvonnemokgoro/index1.html) Justice Mokgoro was very kind and welcoming and she told me that I must root for Bafana, Bafana and that while I am here I am a South African. Her kindness definitely erase some of my feelings of misery about the day.

After meeting everyone it was time to head out. Despite my coordinator offering to take care of bus stuff if I come back tomorrow, I decided to find the ticket office for the buses on my own. I didn't want to have to make the same trip tomorrow and risk getting mugged or worse.

I thought I knew where the ticket office for the bus was, but I was wrong. I had my trusty Rough Guide with me and snuck a look at it before leaving the building. (I didn't want to read it out in the open and feel like even more of a target...being a victim once today was more than enough. I'm sure I looked pretty weird squatting in a corner sneaking looks at my book.) I was confident that I could find it. Well, I was wrong. It was not where it was supposed to be according to my map. This was frustrating. Either I just don't know how to read a map or the map was not very well drawn in the first place, but either way the journey home was starting off as poorly as my earlier adventure. I could probably have asked someone, but I didn't want people to know that I was a tourist - I already felt like an easy target being a foreign, white guy walking around the city alone.

Now before you jump on my case about being worried that I am a white guy, there is a part of the story that hasn't been appropriate to tell until now. In South Africa, whites are the minority, but they also, as a whole, tend to be better off than black South Africans. On my walk to the Commission, with the exception of the people that mugged me and the group that laughed at me right afterwards, every black man or woman that I passed looked at me as if to say, "What the hell is he doing walking around here?" And it's not just in my head. It must have looked very strange to them, me walking around. On the entire 1 hour walk to the SALRC, I did not pass a single white person besides 3 mounted police officers on patrol around Loftus. Not a single one. This is very different from America. In the United States, unless you live in WASPville, chances are that if you walk for an hour you'll see people from a whole array of different races. That simply isn't the case here.

So, that being said, I didn't want to appear to be an easy target, so I didn't ask for directions. I did see a group of young children dancing around in Church Square, where the ticket office was supposed to be, but after a brief dance, I left to walk home. (Yes. I do realize that this was equally as dumb as walking to the Commission in the first place, but I didn't know how the buses worked and had already been mugged once. I was hoping that lightening wouldn't strike twice, at least not in the same day.) So looking at the northern route, that is the path I took home. This wasn't the best area to be walking through either, but the streets I used to walk home were much busier and there were many other people walking around.

As I approached Loftus again, I stopped to take these pictures:

As I took a picture of the "Welcome" sign, a man walking in the direction I had just come from stopped by me and said, "You like that, eh?"

I told him that I did and I've never seen people be so excited about something before. He continued to walk and since he was walking in the direction I needed to go, I decided to tag along. Again, this likely could have proven to be a bad move, since I didn't know this guy at all, but I decided to take my chances anyway in hopes of having a walking buddy.

As we walked, I learned about my new compatriot. I had just met Carlos, who was working as a translator for Fifa throughout the World Cup. Carlos was quite the interesting person. He was born in Angola, but had lived in South Africa since 1989 when his parents, who were serving in the Angolan military, were stationed in South Africa. He had recently returned from Iraq, where he was working as a driver for foreign diplomats. Surprisingly he said that he missed being in Iraq. This shocked me.

"You miss being there? How can that be? Weren't you worried about getting killed?"

"Yeah. I liked being there. Being a Christian, it was nice to travel around the area that you read about in the Bible. It's not an opportunity that I would otherwise have had, so I enjoyed seeing those things. I never felt unsafe. The locals there used to joke with me that I was 'OK' because I don't eat pork. They would say 'You no eat pork? You OK. We no attack you'."

Hearing that would have made me want to go home right away.

As we walked, Carlos gave me a mini tour of the street we were walking on, which was surrounded by bars and clubs. The neighborhood was Hatfield, which was only several blocks above where I lived, but I don't think that I will be able to make it there while I am working and while I don't have a car. I've already taken my chances and gotten mugged; I'm not about to take more unnecessary risks.

Eventually we reached Carlos' destination - a football field where the Argentinean team was putting on an exhibition/practice. There were a few dozen fans in Argentina jerseys and holding up signs or banners.

A Bite w/ A Soccer Fanatic

From there I began backtracking (I walked several blocks too far while I was conversing) towards the major street I needed to be on to walk back to my place. On my way I saw this small pizzeria called "Bravo Pizzeria," and since I was starving after not eating since breakfast, I decided to grab a bite to eat and hope that my R40 that I had left over from my mugging would cover my meal. Luckily, that was just barely enough to cover a drink and small pizza.

If anyone would have seen me drink my Powerade and eat my pizza, they would've though that I had just walked days through the desert without food or water. It could of been the fact that it was the first time I had all day to relax, the exhaustion, or the length of time since I had last eaten, but I can't remember the last time I have had a meal that tasted so great.

While I was eating, I saw a heavyset, bearded man in an Argentina jersey pick up his camera and take my picture. Apparently a white guy eating a pizza in South Africa is not a common sight? Or at least one that needs to be memorialized for all time in a photograph.

I turned to look at him and we started talking. He had just come in from Argentina that morning and went straight to the exhibition from the airport. I told him that I had not been here that long either and that I was staying for several weeks for work. He told me that he was staying as long as Argentina was in the World Cup, but only had tickets to the first three games. He also told me that this wasn't the first time he had travelled to the World Cup, but it was the first time that he was able to go to a game. In 2006 he had sold his car so that he could travel from Argentina to Germany for the World Cup, but that he was not able to get a ticket once he arrived in Germany. I was shocked that he sold his car - that's what you call a soccer fanatic. I told him that he shouldn't have any problem getting tickets for Brazil, since it is much closer, but he laughed at this. "No. It will definitely be much harder to get a ticket for Brazil 2014. There will be people all over South America that will bike to Brazil to go to a game. So it will definitely be more difficult."

Selling your car to go to a game? Potentially biking across a country (0r countries) to get to a sporting event? I've never met such crazy fans. Soccer fans truly are diehard fanatics.

We exchanged a few more words after this before several black school children came to the Pizzeria and began playing foosball behind me. He got out his camera and began snapping more photos, I finished my pizza, and walked the several remaining blocks home.

The day started off poorly, eased up a bit, got poor again, and then ended well with my conversation with Carlos, pizza, and meeting a soccer fanatic. I could've been hurt when I was mugged, the security guard didn't have to help me find the office, my coworkers didn't have to show me around, Carlos didn't have to walk with me or talk with me, and the soccer fanatic didn't have to talk with me either. I'm glad to be home and that the day is over, but I'm also thankful for the kindness of the strangers that I met today.

Opening Game

$500 for a ticket to the opening game - South Africa vs. Mexico. Oh so very tempting. If it was 100% that President Mandela would show up, I'd definitely be there!

As a side note: Courtesy of the LA Times:

Argentines deported

Ten Argentine hooligans who were refused entry to South Africa because of their known criminal records Monday were put on a plane back to Buenos Aires after spending two days in detention because they had drunk so much they were in no condition to fly.

This was also on the national news last night. And in today's paper a Greek Orthodox priest was admonished for hooliganism - a priest! Soccer fever is definitely amping up - I'm not even a soccer fan (do I have to start referring to it as football? Maybe I should have read Soccernomics before I came - when I get back) and I am excited about it.

People are probably wondering why I'm not trying to go to the USA/England fixture on Saturday instead of contemplating going to the opening game. I would love to, but the game is in Rustenburg and doesn't start until 8:30PM here, which means I wouldn't get back to Pretorial until 1AM at the earliest. Everything I've read says it isn't really safe to be driving around late at night, so I don't think that is a risk worth taking. There's also the possibility of taking the train - I read that the country's rail system is offering free intercity travel to and from matches for Cup ticket holders - but even then, I wouldn't get back until really late, since the trains supposedly a very slow way to travel.

I'll figure this out by tomorrow and post what I decide.

First Morning In A New World

I slept great last night! I got a full 8 hours of sleep! I don't even get to do that at home. My bed is a little hard and the room was a little cold, but I just created a warm, soft cocoon with all of my blankets and slept like a baby. I spent my pre-breakfast morning unpacking and putting things in their proper places. I'm now officially moved in to my new home. Although, I seem to be missing a bunch of t-shirts. I'm not sure where they are right now - I'll worry about that when I need them. I had a continental breakfast this morning - toast, hot tea, orange juice, seasonal fruit (apples, tangerines, pineapples), and a breakfast croissant. I wasn't very hungry, but it was a good way to start the morning.

I'm not quite sure what I am going to do today. I need to spend the morning exploring the internet tracking down a bus schedule and deciding whether or not I am going to have to rent a car. The bus schedule has proven to be quite elusive, but I need to test that out before I rent a car - a car would be safer and more reliable, but it is also going to be way more expensive to have...I'm not sure I can afford to have one for the duration of my stay. We'll see what happens and re-evaluate it tomorrow. In addition to figuring out how to get around, I also need to get a local cell phone for emergencies, a map, and read my policy document for work next week. Expect some back dated pictures and possibly a video tour of my pre-unpacked room at some point today. Also, I haven't had the opportunity to write any comments back yet, so expect those to come today as well.

Sidebar: If you see the entries time stamped, that time reflects PST, so add the time accordingly to figure out when I'm posting these. For the most part the entry itself should give you an idea of what time of day it is.

World Cup Fever!

Look for me in the crowd at the Ghana vs. Australia fixture on Saturday, June 19!

I just booked my ticket to a World Cup match. I was disappointed that when I went online to see if there was anything still available in Pretoria, that there was nothing left. Fifa seems to be opening up new ticket sales every day, but the crowds have been insane, so I do no know if I want to brave that - I also have no idea how I would get to where they are selling tickets or even where that is exactly. But I am excited that I will be able to catch one game. The closest World Cup city to me is Jo'burg, but the tickets still available for fixtures there are all on days that I have work.

As far as I know, finals tickets haven't gone on sale yet, so everyone keep their eyes and ears peeled for that. That would be fun to go to.

So the Ghana/Australia match is in Rustenburg, which is about 2 hours away. I'll have to figure out how to get there now, but at least I have a ticket. The rest will take care of itself. Go Australia!

Grocery Shopping

Before I take a much needed nap, I wanted to tell everyone about my shopping experience. The proprietor of the B&B I am staying at told me to go to Woolworth's. For those who have never heard of it, think Whole Foods, but the size of Trader Joes and without the selection of either. I was able to pick up some Granny Smith apples, rice cakes, bread, biltong, and peanut butter, but not much else. The Woolworth's is in a shopping center just down the road from where I am staying and in the same center is a Pick N Pay. This is what most of us would consider the traditional supermarket and it had the rest of what I needed - some jelly, Diet Coke (although they call it "Coca-Cola Light" here and it tastes nothing like Diet Coke in the US), apple juice, and some lemon poppyseed muffins.

EDIT: 10:30 SAST

I woke up from my "nap" a little while ago. What I had planned on being a 2 hour nap turned into just over 4 hours. I was apparently more exhausted than I thought I would be. For dinner tonight I am having some biltong, a rice cake, and an apple with peanut butter. You've all probably had all of those except for the biltong. Biltong may be one of the best things I have ever had. How do I describe it?

Imagine the best piece of steak that you've ever had (but not filet mignon). Recall how tender it was; how it made your mouth water and how it melted in your mouth. That's what biltong is. It's small, bite sized pieces of top cut, traditionally made from beef (although I did see some ostrich biltong in Woolworth's) that are air dried. My biltong came in a small 50g sealed bag, similar to what you would find Jack Links in, only without the ability to reseal the bag. There are some shops around here that sell biltong and I'll work on getting pictures of what it looks like there - these shops have the biltong air drying on strings hanging from the ceiling, similar to how a butcher might have meat hanging in his store. This allows a person to walk up to the counter and tell the butcher (for lack of knowing what to call a biltong shop owner) and say exactly what cut of biltong they want and how much. He then cuts it up and packages it for you. I wish I could bring some home for everyone to try - I'll look into customs rules and see if that's possible.

2 Continents Down, 5 More To Go

As of 8:30 SAST (South African Standard Time - +9PST, +6EST, +1GMT if that helps) I have officially set foot on two different continents. I have arrived safely at my wonderful new home, but am thoroughly exhausted. I have showered and dumped my carry on, now I am off to the store to go buy stuff for lunch and breakfast and to get a 9V battery for my alarm clock.

After that, exhaustion will probably set in and I intend on taking a 3-4 hour nap after which I will update everyone on the rest of my trip and backdate the post about checking in my baggage in LAX.

EDIT: 22:30 SAST (10:30PM here, they use military time though)

My first day in South Africa is over. Rather than backdating my entry, I've just decided to pick up Heathrow to Jo'burg here and fill you all in on the rest of my day as well in one spot.

The flight from London to Jo'burg was also a pleasant experience. I was able to sleep a bit more, probably around 4-4.5 hours and was able to watch two movies this time. First, I watched "The Lovely Bones" - it's about a little girl who has been murdered and she is watching events in the lives of her family and friends unfold from the afterlife - it was pretty good and I'd recommend it to anyone, although it does have a slow pace so be prepared for that. After that, I slept, but I watched "The Tooth Fairy" when I woke up. It looked like the dumbest movie ever when I saw previews for it, and like Jennifer's Body, I would never pay to go see it, but it was actually very entertaining. It is one of those movies that you can watch with your kids and still enjoy it. I also tried watching "The Informant" but gave up on it about half way through - it just wasn't for me - maybe I'll try again when I'm not so exhausted.

The meals on this flight to Jo'burg were not as enjoyable as the one en route to London. For dinner I had chicken and rice (the other option was sausage and mash - like I said earlier, calling it mash doesn't make me want to eat it!) with a roll, carrots, and a raspberry and chocolate pudding (which was quite good). It was good, but it definitely tasted like airplane food. The best part was the pudding and the fact that they gave you complimentary wine with dinner. The wine was terrible - it came from a screw top bottle, but tasted like it came from a box - but the fact that it was free made it hard to refuse.

Breakfast was, as the stewardess call it, "a proper English breakfast," which sounds hard to refuse when said with a British accent. I opted to be proper instead of vegetarian, so unwrapping my morning breakfast mystery meal brought with it some trepidation - who knows what could be lurking inside? Turns out a proper English breakfast was potatoes, scrambled eggs, spinach, bacon, tea & milk, and yogurt. Again, it tasted like airplane food, but I was hungry and didn't really care.

Part of the reason for not watching more movies was I was sitting to a little Chatter Box on the flight. I'm not complaining, I had some interesting conversations with C.B., who was quite a sweetheart.

C.B. initiated the conversation with me prior to takeoff by asking me what movie I was going to watch first during our long journey. I told her that I wasn't sure because there were just so many options to choose from, but probably nothing too serious to start with. We both shared a laugh at the fact that the airline was showing "2012," an end of the world disaster movie. I'm not sure that movies about the end of the world are the best to be offering, although I suppose it's better than showing "Final Destination."

After our shared laughter, she asked me if I was going to South Africa to see the World Cup. I told her that I hoped to catch a game or two, but I was actually going for work and I told her about the Commission. She told me that she was only heading to Jo'burg to catch a connecting flight to her home in Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe. She told me that she was in London visiting her boyfriend and taking a cooking class - "to try something different."

Now, I hate flying, especially the takeoffs and landings, which I've already told you about, but my hatred/fear of this part of traveling parallels to C.B.'s. The poor thing told me that she was scared of flying and I could see by the look on her face that she was not kidding. When the plane's engines began to roar signaling the impending hurdling down the runway and launch into the atmosphere, C.B.'s face transformed from pale to bleach white. Already possessing a fair complexion, one might have thought I was sitting next to Casper during takeoff.

Sitting next to the window, slightly behind the left wing's dual jet engines, did not do anything to ease her fears. She began to clutch her saffron shawl, rolling it between her fingers and gripping it into tight balls. It crossed my mind to give her my hand to squeeze, but I feared that she might treat it like a woman attempting to have a natural birth, regretting her decision and taking her animosity out on the father's hand. Not wanting to suffer broken bones at the beginning of an eleven hour flight, I opted not to be so kind. Although not offering up my fragile hands as a sacrifice to alleviate her fears, I did my best to keep her talking throughout the takeoff.

From the pre-takeoff, engine warm-up until we reached cruising altitude around 33,000ft, our conversation consisted mostly of discussing our respective countries. I told her that I was from California, but went to school in Maryland. She didn't know where Maryland was, but telling her that it was close to Washington, DC helped place it within the United States. Like many people who have never been to California, C.B.'s image of California, especially Los Angeles, was colored by what she saw on television. Ten years ago, she probably would have asked if LA was like it appeared on 90210 (I know that the CW has resurrected the show, but for people of my generation, there can only be one 90210). Instead, the 20-year-old Zimbabwe native asked me if LA was like what she saw on "The Hills." I couldn't help but think, "Dear God! Spencer and Heidi are Los Angeles's global ambassadors!" I laughed and told her that Los Angeles wasn't anything like what she sees on TV, at least not the real LA that most people experience on a daily basis. I told her about the negatives that TV fails to show - the crime, poverty, and traffic - and also about the daily activities of most residents - the commute to work, the 9-5, and university life - things that a scripted show cannot adequately display because it isn't "sexy" and wouldn't make for "good TV." I also told her about LA's great location - the fact that you can experience the beaches in the morning and drive 3 hours to the snow, the great weather, and the variety of recreational and entertainment options available to its residents.

She asked me about President Obama and what I thought of him. Always eager to talk politics, I told her the things that I liked - he got health care reform through and he's very deliberate in what he does, and also the things that I do not like - his over-deliberative nature (say what you want about Bush, but for the most part he made a decision and things got done, although not always with the best results) which causes things to move slowly, such as the BP oil spill, the lack of environmental legislation, and the slow movement of things that he has promised to do like closing Guantanamo Bay and ending "Don't Ask, Don't Tell." C.B. had never heard of this discriminatory policy in our military. When I explained it to her, she had an almost childlike conclusion (I don't say this in a bad way, but rather her conclusion was so elementary it behooves me why "experts" fail to see the issue the same way) about the policy:

C.B.: That doesn't make sense at all. They don't let you serve in the military because you're gay/lesbian? Why does that matter? It doesn't change your ability to serve.

Me: I don't understand it either. Some believe that allowing them to serve openly might effect "troop morale."

Both of us then agreed that if we were serving and being shot at, we wouldn't care if the person next to us was gay or lesbian, but rather whether they were a good soldier.

She told me about elections in Zimbabwe. In Zimbabwe most of the people do not vote. Those that do vote have their pinky fingers dipped in pink dye that stains their finger. So in lieu of voting, many residents simply dye their finger pink. I was surprised by this, as I thought people were threatened and harassed or worse if they did vote. Apparently, it is just the opposite - people that do not vote are harassed, threatened, and beaten because they did not vote. This is largely state sanctioned violence ordered by Zimbabwe President Robert Mugabe's administration. Last year, Zimbabwe had a hotly contested election where opposition leader and current Prime Minister, Morgan Tsvangirai, was believed to have won the election. A second election was set to be held, but Mr. Tsvangirai withdrew due to his belief that the elections would not be free and fair because of widespread violence and intimidation. A power-sharing deal was brokered that kept Mugabe in power (he's been in power since 1987) as president, with Tsvangirai serving as his Prime Minister. C.B. told me that this power sharing deal was really a sham, as Mr. Tsvangirai has no real power. Mugabe and his trusted officials are still the ones running the country. She expressed doubt that Mugabe would ever step down regardless of any elections and was confident that one of his cronies would seize power once he died.

In telling C.B. about the oil spill, she told me about energy in Zimbabwe. She told me that they get their oil from nearby Nigeria and that the electrical grid there is very unreliable. Because Zimbabwe regularly experiences blackouts that last upwards of 10 hours, it is necessary to have a generator there to keep lights and/or refrigerators running.

Despite all of the problems Zimbabwe has that would soon be hers to share again, C.B. was still excited to be returning home to her family before moving to Cape Town in two months to "try something different." Between moving to Cape Town to try something new and moving to London to see her boyfriend and take a cooking class, I definitely got the feeling that C.B. was a free spirit.

I'm constantly amazed at the things people tell strangers. Case in point, about an hour into our conversation C.B. and I had the following exchange:

C.B.: You're going to be a lawyer, right?

Me: Yes, after another year of school and passing the bar exam.

C.B.: Do you know about legal issues with housing or landlords?

Me: Some, but what I know would be confined to the United States, so I don't know how much help I will be.

C.B.: OK. Well here's what happened. I was staying in my boyfriend's flat while he was off at class and I was sleeping in the bed in just a towel. When I woke up, his landlord was standing at the foot of the bed just staring at me. He told me some people were going to come see the flat so 'I'd best get dressed.' I was really creeped out. I mean, he has a key, but it he allowed to do that?

Me: Well, I don't know about how things work in the UK, but in the United States they generally have to give you advanced notice before they show your place and can't just walk in.

C.B.: That's what I thought. I mean I can't do anything about it now, but it just made me uncomfortable.

I'm sure it made her as uncomfortable as it made me hearing this story on the plane about an hour after just meeting you. I don't even know your name and you don't know mine, yet you are telling me a story about laying in a towel on your boyfriend's bed? Why would you tell a complete stranger this story? I mean, this sorted detail could easily have been left out and I could have still understood the problem. Think about times that you've done this. I've been in cabs with friends that talk about their doctor's appointments or people they've slept with, normally conversations that you would have in private, but somehow the fact that there is a thick pane of bulletproof glass separating you and your intimate conversation from the man driving you around town makes it OK to have that conversation. I can just imagine cabbies getting off work and sitting around a bar going: "I had this one guy today. He was fighting with his girlfriend about why he won't pop the question." "Oh yeah. I had this one girl who was riding with her girlfriend talking about this guy she slept with and whether or not she is going to keep the baby." It's like a game of "one-up" to play over drinks. The person with the most outrageous story gets a free drink out of it. Some things should just be kept unsaid, yet people seem to feel comfortable telling strangers things or discussing intimate topics around strangers, because they don't know them or who they are talking about. I thought it was weird to do on a plane, but perhaps it is more common than I know.

Upon landing in South Africa, I was able to quickly go through customs. The woman at the customs desk was very pleasant and helpful in guiding me to my bags, which allowed me to quickly gather my garment and duffel bags. One of the nice things about O.R. Tambo International Airport was that the carts you use to push your bags around the airport are free, unlike LAX, which charges $3 the last time I checked.

I was told to meet my driver Nikoum (I'm not really sure how to spell his name, but it sounds like Knee-coom (oom as in broom)) under the large soccer ball in the terminal. This is the first thing you see after you leave customs. Nikoum was early, so I did not have to wait to head to the B&B for very long. Nikoum took my cart and we headed to the car.

The drive to Pretoria from Jo'burg only takes about 30-40 minutes. I can't say that it shows off the beauty of the country - it doesn't in the least bit. Think about driving from LAX to downtown Los Angeles, that is the equivalent of the scenery that I saw. There was smog and plenty of it, no traffic on either side, people collecting trash on the side of the road, and the occasional hitchhiker. The drive started off silent, but I broke the ice and began talking to Nikoum about South Africa. Nicoum had lived all over the country - in Johannesburg and Cape Town before finally settling in Pretoria in 1987. He was not originally from South Africa, but I can't remember exactly where he was from - it was either Botswana, Mozambique, or Zambia - I wish I could remember.

I asked him how much the country has changed. This was a silly question on my part - I know how much it has changed since the fall of apartheid, but I meant to ask how much has it changed for the World Cup. Nikoum told me that the country had changed very much. Beginning in 1992 with the release of Nelson Mandela from Robben Island, the country changed "overnight." It especially changed in 1994 with the election of President Mandela. The current President of South Africa is Jacob Zuma, who is actually the 4th President (I thought he was the third, but Nikoum corrected me). After President Mandela came President Thabo Mbeki who resigned from office after 9 years. (Presidents are elected to 5 year terms). Kgalema Motlanthe served as the acting president for the remainder of the term and is currently the Deputy President under President Zuma. Clarifying my question, he said that the country has changed a lot for the World Cup - in terms of infrastructure and improved security and beautification of the cities.

As we approached Pretoria, Nikoum pointed out some of the sights we were passing. There was the University of South Africa, the largest distance learning university in the world with over 200,000 students. Although it was difficult for blacks to get a formal education during apartheid, Nikoum told me that, for those who were able to afford an education, the University of South Africa was the most likely place they received it. Nikoum also pointed out a location as we first entered the city where blacks used to go to get clean water - the only place in the city that they could do so. It is also where they would go to water their oxen - again, the name escapes me, Nikoum was pointing out so many things. It turns out Nikoum was actually trained to be a tour guide at one point. I was definitely glad to have him driving me to my B&B, as I was able to learn quite a bit.

That pretty much brings this post up to date. Below is a little tour of my room. I'll post more as I can.

Greetings From Heathrow International Airport

Hello from Heathrow. I'm in the midst of my 4.5+ hour layover in London right now. The first leg of the trip went quite well. I must say, I have become a big fan of Virgin Airlines - the seats are roomy, there is plenty of leg room, the food isn't half bad (considering that it is airplane food), and the inflight entertainment is great. But first, let me tell you about packing...

Let no one ever accuse me of packing light. I don't know how to do it and I will probably never learn. (Thanks Mom!) My mom taught me how to pack (she's going to love this) when I was little. She'll deny this of course - and she'll probably say I don't know how to pack too - but it's true. When my brother and I were little we had Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle suitcases that went with us everywhere (until the handles ripped off, but by the time that happened I think we were ready for "big boy" suitcases). Most of our trips consisted of going down to San Diego to visit my grandparents, so it was only a 2 hour drive from home - what I would basically consider a day trip now. If we were going for 3 days she's always tell us to pack for 5 "just in case something happens." Looking back, I don't know what on Earth could have happened that driving home couldn't have fixed (maybe an earthquake, but even then, is it going to take me 2 days to get home? Probably not). But these early lessons in packing have not been helpful, especially when trying to plan on living in a different country for 9 weeks. One of my friend did the math and that's like packing for 6 months in Dustin-packing-time.

So upon arrival at the airport, I checked my bags in - but before I could do that this woman that worked for Virgin Airlines made me weigh my carry on. WHO WEIGHS CARRY ONS?! This was the first time I ever had to do this. She told me that it needed to be no more than 13lbs. Well, in my mind I was laughing and saying "Well shit! There is no way this bag of rocks is going to be anywhere near that." Sure enough, my bag weighed in at an amazing, wait for it, 25lbs. Now before you start wracking your brain trying to figure out what I could possibly have had in my bag that weighed 25lbs, let me finish the story. The exchange went something like this:

Woman: What's in the bag?

Me: A laptop.

Woman: A laptop doesn't weigh 10lbs.

Me: Oh it does! And I have some books too.

Woman: It needs to be 13lbs.

At which point she shoos me away and tells me to come back when it meets the weight requirement. At this point, I still had my duffel bag and garment bag with all of my business clothes for working at the Commission. So, with a duffel bag strapped to my back, with a garment bag in one hand and my inappropriately weighted carry on, I waddled over to a nearby bench and began to unpack my carryon. I took out things that I knew I'd have to take out for security - my laptop and liquids - and the books I brought for the trip (Tom Friedman's Hot, Flat & Crowded & Rachel Carson's Silent Spring, my travel book, 1 pocket sized crossword book, 1 pocket sized brain games, 4 dollar store crossword books). So now, with a duffel bag on my back, a garment bag slung over one shoulder and my half emptied carry on slung over the other, and an armful of books and my laptop, I shuffled back to the carry on Gestapo for another weigh in.

This time, my bag came in still slightly over weight at 14.4lbs...

Time for next flight to Jo'burg. I'm going to backdate the rest of this post and then have a current update when I get settled in at the B&B, so check back later to find out what happened.

EDIT: 8:30PM SAST 6/7/10

So where was I...the bag was still overweight at 14.4lbs. She looked at me and said that was OK. (OK?! What kind of rule is that?! You said 13lbs before and now you are telling me 1.4lbs is OK. Let's start putting things back in there until you tell me to stop. I thought it was OK at 25lbs myself.) At which point the following exchange takes place:

Woman: OK. The bag is OK.

Me: OK. Good.

Woman: (Looking at my laptop clutched in my right hand and my stack of books cradled under my left arm.) What are you going to do with those?

Thinking to myself: Um, putting them back in my bag the way I intended them to be the second you walk away?

Me: Taking them on the plane. (What the hell else did she expect me to say? Oh, my bag isn't 13lbs, I think I will just leave all of these things here with you. Not going to happen.) (I don't think she appreciated my determination to get these items on the plane. She looked at my items and gave me a very dirty look, to which I responded.) The website says that I can take suitable reading material on the plane with me. (How that included my laptop and a stack of books, I'm not really sure, but I wasn't giving up.)

Woman: (I could tell on her face that in the span of 3 minutes I had already made her job so much harder and she was fed up with me.) Wait here! (And she scurries off through a "Authorized Personnel Door" and suddenly pops up behind the ticket counter before scrambling back to me.) Here. Put those in here. (As she hands me a flimsy black cloth Virgin Atlantic tote.)

So I put my stuff in there and waited my turn in line to check my duffel bag and garment bag. Now, I may not have packed light, but I did pack lighter than some (hard to believe I know). As I inched closer to the ticket counter, I noticed a group of 3 young women unpacking about 20 bags. Some of the contents were being dumped into a large brown cardboard "Public Storage" box, probably a 24x24in box - it was pretty big. I was amazed by what I saw coming out of these bags - an X Box 360, X Box games, a Nintendo DS with games, piles of clothes, and some DVDs. My only guess is that they recently robbed a Toys R Us and were attempting to flee the country. Although, it probably would have been quicker to head for Mexico or even Canada with how slowly the line was moving at the point.

Finally, I reached the ticket counter, had to pay an extra $60 for my garment bag (by far the most I've ever spent on a second bag. Who prices this space anyway? Can I offset the cost by putting advertisements on my luggage so it can serve as a constant message for everyone in the terminal when my baggage is finally being unloaded and awaiting pick-up? If nothing else, it would make my bag easier to see and harder to steal. "Hey! Stop that guy with the Coca-Cola ad! That's my bag!" Alas, for now that isn't a possibility.)

From there it was off to the security line. I've never had a problem going through security. Don't get me wrong, I have seen ridiculously long lines there before, but relatively speaking it all moves fairly fast. Having flown more times in the past 2 years, I had the system down cold. Take off the jacket, stuff it inside your carry on before you get to the front, have your bag of liquids ready to go, and be ready to put your laptop in a separate container. Since all of this was still in my gift from the bag Gestapo, it was no problem. I got to the front of the line threw everything into bins and walked confidently through the metal detector like the old pro I felt like.

TSA Officer: Sir, can you take off your shoes please?

(DAMN! Rookie mistake.) I sheepishly scurried back to the conveyer belt, kicked off my Rainbow sandals, and wedged them between my bag that was being examined and the bag behind me, hoping that they would magically reappear on the other side of the machine and did not disappear into x-ray oblivion never to be seen again.

Once through, I went through my usual airport routine - go to the nearest magazine shop and buy a bottled water, then wait patiently for my plane to start boarding. Once we start boarding, it's time to go to the bathroom one last time, or in my case one last time and then 5 more last times. I'd go, check the progress of the boarding line (oh, not my turn yet?), and then walk back and repeat the process again until I was one of the last groups to board. I attribute this to several things. Like most things, I think part of it can be blamed on my parents. There isn't a kid in the world who has had to go to the bathroom and hasn't been yelled at by a frustrated parent that they "should have gone before you left the house!" We know that! But that doesn't change the fact that I need to go right now! At least with a car, it doesn't matter where you are - you can always pull over and water the local flora and fauna. You can't really do that in an airplane. Those stewards and stewardesses are quite adamant about that fasten seatbelt sign. They get pretty mad when you don't follow the rules.

Also, there is no telling when that light will go off and you'll be able to go again. Or, in today's age, what if I get stuck on the tarmac for hours and the fasten seatbelt is on. What if the plane has a bumpy landing? All of those things do not bode well for an already full bladder on an airplane.

And my final justification is, why would I want to be one of the first people on the plane - it's not going to make me get off the plane any faster and no matter what, I'm going to have to wait for that one jackass who likes to be the last one on the plane because he has to go to the bathroom so many times before he can get on. I prefer that jackass to be me. People may be mad that I'm the last one, but at least I will be prepared to battle that fasten seatbelt sign for a few hours if need be.

The flight to London was very smooth. The captain told us that they were going to be able to do it in 9.5 hours. I'm going to call "BS" on that one captain! My itinerary says 10.5 hours. Now I know we're going through 9 time zones and most of us will be sleeping throughout the flight, so we won't know what the heck just happened, but don't try to pull a fast one on me. I know what time we're getting there, I can do the math, and quite frankly it scares me if you can't. I ignore the captain's dubious addition efforts and chalk it up to wanting to impress the passengers and crew with how fast his airplane can go.

For airplane food, Virgin Atlantic isn't half bad. For dinner I had beef stew with mash (which is British for mash potatoes. Somehow just calling it mash doesn't make it that appealing), a dinner roll, bread pudding, salad with Chinese dressing, and a water. It was quite good. I did not think I would like the bread pudding (it looks quite funny, almost like its trying to scream "Don't eat me!"), but it was pretty good.

Virgin has an extensive inflight entertainment system, which I did not really take advantage of. After dinner I watched "Jennifer's Body," an extremely hokey horror flick that was actually entertaining - I would never pay money to see it, but it provided some entertainment before I fell in and out of sleep for the rest of the night. I did not sleep very much - maybe 3 hours - so I don't know why I didn't watch more movies than that.

In the morning, the crew served bagels and what looked like breakfast croissants with ham, egg, and cheese. I've never been a big breakfast person, especially not at what feels like 7am when I haven't hardly slept, so I politely declined my meal and would opt for airport food instead (which turned out to be the most expensive meal at T.G.I. Friday's I've ever had - $17.50 for fries, an appetizer, and a diet Coke). Normally I watch out the window when a plane lands, but since I was in the middle row of the plane, I wasn't paying much attention to what was going out the window. Because of this, the landing definitely caught me off guard and I practically leapt out of my seat when I heard the thundering sound of the the wheels coming into contact with the tarmac. I definitely was not expecting it when it happened.

Upon landing, I had to go to Terminal 3 where my next flight would be leaving from. Despite never leaving the airport, they make you go through a security checkpoint again. Now, I think this is ridiculous - what could I have possibly acquired in the airport terminal that would not be allowed through security? Well, at the checkpoint my 1L bottle of water wasn't allowed through, so, like a freshman being hazed during his pledge semester, I pounded 2/3 of the bottle of water in one breath and upon coming up for air I told the security guy to toss the rest for me. Apparently the British hate American water, so they don't let it through. One thing I will say about British airport security though - they don't make you take your shoes off. I understand that the whole shoe bomber thing was a big deal in the United States, but really, how much bomb material can be packed into flip flops? I would venture to say none whatsoever. After making it through security, the waiting game began.

Not much else to say at this point about this leg of the trip except that I did not really like Heathrow - too many people and everything is way overpriced. 4.5 hours was more than enough to spend there. And that brings you up to date on that.