my brush with Senegal: 1/2

DEPARTURE, MSP 8:10am 08.30.09

ARRIVAL, DKR 5:55am 08.31.09

...and in between, Chicago with the moving walkway under the psychidelic light-show coming in first and Dulles with a 4-hour layover coming in for a close second (note sarcasm).

*The picture was taken at a Obama/White House store in the DC airport. Michelle looks a little under the weather but the rest of us are looking good!

*Note: Airbus 320-200 (or whatever is was), from Chicago to Dulles, had some rockin' first class seats. Never had I seen such comforts- quasi lay-Z-boys enclosed within individual pods, ensuring the least contact between one passenger and the next, offering touch screens offering everything from poker to Ice Age 3 ('cause it is simply outrageous to think that somehow could last a matter of a few hours without being entertained by the latest in technology - books? never heard of them). Sadly, the flight attendant was an unwilling participant in my plan to reap the luxuries of first class air travel without the hefty price tag.

*Note: The transatlantic flight was less than stellar in that: I got moved from a window (out of two seats between the wall and the aisle) to an aisle (middle section, out of 4 seats); My TV broke down less than a third into the flight. BUT was compensated by the two middle seats in my middle being vacant (although their TVs didn't work either, although the rest of plane seemed to be easily entertained by the likes of Harry Potter and Duplicity). Not to mention the fact that South African served an excellent dinner and provided travel toothbrush, toothpaste (disgusting flavor though), socks and (this is the best part!) eyemask.

><-><-><-><-><-><->< ><-><-><->< ><-><-><-><-><-><-><

DAY 1:

After the plane touched down in Dakar, Senegal, and after 19hours+ of travel from start to finish, I was any emotion I can name plus a few that were there but unidentifiable. Mostly I was just a bundle of untamed energy, confused at to whether to channel it towards nerves, excitement or good ol' fashioned sleep.

I and my fellow participants (or those who had chosen the group flight as well) walked in a daze towards the shuttle. Arriving at the arrivals building, we filled out forms to the best of our ability and approached the customs counters. I ran ten thousand or so scenarios in my mind, the various reasons I would be denied entry and what would I do then? - all in about ten seconds or so. Then, before the hyperventilating kicked in, I was called forward. Flip, flip, flip. Stamp, stamp. And I was let go.

At the baggage claim, all of us participants were constantly approached by men willing to take our bags to a taxi. It was my encounter with what will most likely be a common everyday occurrence for the next 9 months. Men, looking to carry your bags, show you the way, or drive you to your destination are constantly after your money. I have a feeling I will be re-mastering the art of "No" - anybody know a three year old willing to tutor?

To be continued...