Lost in Transit

All good travel blogs have a remarkable, perceptive and movingly witty section about the various vignettes that go fleeting by in the modern reincarnation of limbo- the airport. Obviously, as long as I decided to do this (blog), so I might as well do it well.

It is a three flight saga, to get to Kigali from Seoul. Spending roughly 20 hours in awkward silence and transit, in and out of airplanes and airports, I have had my share of colorful personalities. Here are some examples:

The Cameroon Footballer: A handsome, cocky young guy sitting behind me, who introduced himself as “Karen”(Caren?) and a “footballer originally from Cameroon, who now plays for Maldives” Do you know about Maldives? Are you Taiwanese? (Well, yes, it was a nice little isle of luxury resorts that got demolished by the tsunami, but they play football?) (No, try again)

Yellow Shirt: The man who tried to take my seat, but politely apologized when I fumbled in my atrocious French, “C’est miene!” We had a delightfully awkward conversation in French, which he thought (at first) I was fluent in – my response was mostly limited to “Oui”, “Ah, bon” “Genial”, and the obligatory “Non, je ne parle pas bien francais..mais je peux parler bien anglais.” The man fell asleep promptly after our painfully awkward encounter, only to reappear somehow in a full suit when I woke up from my slumber. I gather he is from Angola, or somewhere near there.

The (Rich) Lone Businessman: There are tons of this kind at the Kenyatta International Airport (where I am stuck for the next two and a half hours due to a flight delay). Quite impeccably dressed, always armed with a blackberry (or an occasional Samsung equivalent), these men are pros at striking up conversations with other Lone Businessmen in unimpressive coffee shops. Some wear their flags on their suit lapel. Unfortunately, most of them seem to be French speaking, and as my French usually limits myself to politely refusing the cup of coffee the Lone Businessmen offers (Non, merci) I was left sulking in the back of the café, writing this entry.

The Dubai Man: One of the Lone Businessmen who sat next to me, and one of the far most impressively dressed man in the airport – impeccable, very Saville Rowisque suit, crocodile dress shoes that Matt Bird will probably cry for, and red leather briefcase/luggage bag that I stared at unabashedly. This man spoke in a barely audible, low, beautiful French, introduced himself to be from Dubai, on his way to Congo. He became the instant center of the conversation, as other Lone Businessmen and Chic European Travelers started to ask his opinion on everything – starting from Portugese cuisine to African coffee. He left with the conclusion that there is nothing worth eating in Congo, although coffee is respectable, and indeed, Marseilles is quite charming.

The Korean Businessmen: Randomly met on the plane, all three of us rejoiced when we realized we are all headed to Kigali. Like a true Korean, these men started the conversation by asking where I live, where I study, and how old I was. Now that we have our stats all straight, I am now referred to as “Hey, student” or “Yo, kid” and am obligated to watch their stuff while they scurry off in search of a cigarette. (This airport is non-smoking). En route to Kigali on a business trip, these men are going to spread our true (secular) religion – WiFi. God bless WiFi (it’s actually called WiBro)(These men actually gave me a ride in a government sponsored 4wheeler, so I rode into my guesthouse with "I LOVE RWANDA" on my bumper. I got style)

The Chic European Traveler: Here, mostly French, Belgian or British (others did not speak up) many of these people are of African descent, and have a rather blasé outlook of their impending visit to x country. Yes, I am going to Uganda, and I have been there ten million times before. Yes, I am headed to Ethiopia, to visit a cousin. Many of them are sporting very tight jeans (especially those from Paris, etc) and often tight polos as well. Algerians (from France) have the tendency to announce their nationality by wearing their national football jersey. They are also very conversational, and offer me coffee after laughing at my French.

The (Chic European) Hippie Traveler: Usually in pairs (lovers?) or alone, these people tend to dress more “African” than anyone else at Kenyatta. Colorful beads? Check. ‘Fro or dreadlocks? Check. Multicolored shirt paired with some baggy pants? Check. One of the least conversational types at the coffeeshop, they eat their croissant and coffee, murmur amongst each other, and leave. Passport indicates Australian (so I guess not European, but hey), British, German, French, etc.

The Chinese Businessmen: They. Are. Everywhere. They also like to stare.

The Peacekeeper: I almost cried when I saw that blue hat.

Forgive how roughly I portrayed things here – but honestly, how much depth does one get from sharing a coffee table? Well then, what type am I? Perhaps I am the

(American) Student on (Spiritual/Adventurous/etc) Journey: There are a few of us here – our Americaness (well, not mine I guess) is made evident by the fact that we all carry our laptops (despite the fact that we are not businessmen) and often wear sweatshirts with our school name emblazoned on it. (Mind you, I am wearing a ZARA tshirt and a jersey shawl/jacket). We occupy corners of the coffeehouse etc, usually on our laptops (blogging?) or reading an occasional novel (Audacity of Hope by Obama pour moi). We also often carry nalgene bottles and LLBean bags. (I have neither. Just saying) We are very conversational if provoked, but won’t speak up if not spoken to.

So that is about it. Now I have moved to a random chair in the hall, as the owner of the coffee shop told me I can’t have the table for three straight hours, unless I actually buy something. I still have two hours left. I am bored out of my mind. Sigh. Talk you all again in Kigali.