emirates

When I moved to South Africa we started really racking up frequent flyer miles.  With every airline we had an account; they all knew us as a number and treated us with the same mutual disdain they treated all their economy class clients. 

Emirates was the exception and quickly became my favorite airline.  Their planes were the and amenities were similar to all of the other airlines we travelled, but there was one special something about their service.  The food was better onboard; the flight attendants were wonderful and the greatest attraction - airport lounges – shone like diamonds, especially in Dubai.

I started booking Emirates flights each time, eventually becoming a “Silver Rewards Member”.  With Silver status I was awarded the Silver lounge on our Dubai layovers; food, cocktails and internet hook-ups included with the bathrooms and showers.  Ahhhh!!!

This is where I need to tell you that I have slowly fallen out of love with Emirates; the same way that one slowly falls out of love with a mate that is not the best match for them.  My main complaint, as I write tonight is they have too many times treated me badly in Dubai. 

It has been my experience that my Silver membership in the Skywards club (frequent flier) is not worth as much as it used to be.  The last three times I have flown Emirates their Silver lounge was “under construction” and I was “compensated” with miles in my account.  

This is not a fair trade at all; the points are miniscule in comparison with the airport lounge conveniences.

Tonight, Mario (sick with food poisoning) and I arrived in Dubai after spending quite a few frequent flier miles on an upgrade to business class.  We loved the flight, but when we tried to enter the Emirates Airport lounge a young receptionist denied us.  Our business class upgrade was a thing of the past and we were now “only economy passengers” (her words).  I was told I could use the lounge but Mario (not a Silver member) would have to wait outside in the airport. 

I asked politely (citing Mario’s weakened condition), even offered to pay for an upgrade but the girl stood firm, suggesting that we try the lounge above the Burger King – about a ten minute walk away.   We complied, realizing we were getting nowhere... she told us if I were a gold member I could bring Mario in with me.  As a lowly silver....not a chance.

At the next lounge the young man recited the same mantra: “You are only a Silver Member...If you were Gold he could come in with you.”

“What if he upgraded to business class?” I asked him.

“I can’t do that here,” he smiled.  Mario had to use the bathroom and so we went downstairs again to find one.  By now Mario was tired, but I was not giving up.

“Is there a way Mario can upgrade to Business class?” I asked.  The young man shook his head. 

“If you want to do that you must o to the next lounge that way,” he said, pointing us even further. 

“I called before we made the flight yesterday morning,” I told him.  “They told me I would have no problem bringing Mario into the Silver lounge.”

“Who said this?”  He asked, scrunching up his nose.

“This was Emirate customer service in South Africa,” I said.  Why does it matter?

“That’s not true,” he said.  He continued checking in the important business class members.

“You know what is sad?” I finally said.  “I have flown Emirates for years and lately it is not worth it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.  He didn’t seem too awfully sorry.  “You can’t stay here because you have an unusually long layover and it gets really busy.”

At the next Emirates airport lounge (another 10 minute walk away – schlepping luggage) could possibly help us upgrade, he said. 

When we got there Mario could not go any further; too weak.  The woman behind the counter at least knew what we were talking about and helped us into the right line.

“You can try over here,” she said, leading us to the Skywards counter.  “This is where they will see if this is possible.”

The woman behind the Skywards counter was as unsympathetic as all of the other receptionists...barely making eye contact with us.  While I was asking if Mario could use the lounge another man was asking if he could upgrade.  The girl helping him was giving rote answers in a condescending manner.

As we waited for the receptionist to upgrade Mario, it hit me: Emirates had become just like every other airline.  All of the normal cheap habits that airlines have, Emirates now adopted just to make a profit. 

What has happened to us, Emirates?  You once had a reputation with us as a wonderful, caring airline that took care of us; now you have lost that lovin feeling!

Tonight was the nail in the coffin- while customer service has been slowly slipping; the condescension is inexcusable.  They will us will lose us as customers. 

This was not the best way to leave out of South Africa... next time I’ll fly another airline.  

To see more customer complaints click here

lines

Our Cottage Last Year in the Snow
August 2012

My heart is so full today... I am watching our cottage be packed up.  I had to breathe deeply as I did, the contents of our small cottage hardly fit in the 20 foot container and we did have to leave a lot behind.

I looked over the surrounding fields, the soft beautiful place that has been our home for the last five and a half years...and I grieved.  I can't write much tonight, but I have revisited a dearly beloved poem - one that I share as a gift with you on my last evening in South Africa.

The poem was written by a man named William Wordsworth in a place in England overlooking a place he had visited five years before, Tintern Abbey.  Its full title, as given in Lyrical Ballads, is "Lines written a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the banks of the Wye during a tour, July 13, 1798" - is as long as the thing - but I remembered it today for this reason:

Some places are the same as when we first saw them... We are the ones who have changed five years later.  Nature's beauty - the love, the hope and the unexplained lift we get viewing it will always be our inheritance.

I have loved South Africa.   

Five years have past; five summers, with the length

      Of five long winters! and again I hear

      These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs

      With a soft inland murmur.--Once again

      Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,

      That on a wild secluded scene impress

      Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect

      The landscape with the quiet of the sky.

      The day is come when I again repose

      Here, under this dark sycamore, and view                        10

      These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,

      Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,

      Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves

      'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see

      These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines

      Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,

      Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke

      Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!

      With some uncertain notice, as might seem

      Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,                     20

      Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire

      The Hermit sits alone.

                              These beauteous forms,

      Through a long absence, have not been to me

      As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:

      But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din

      Of towns and cities, I have owed to them

      In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,

      Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;

      And passing even into my purer mind,

      With tranquil restoration:--feelings too                        30

      Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,

      As have no slight or trivial influence

      On that best portion of a good man's life,

      His little, nameless, unremembered, acts

      Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,

      To them I may have owed another gift,

      Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,

      In which the burthen of the mystery,

      In which the heavy and the weary weight

      Of all this unintelligible world,                               40

      Is lightened:--that serene and blessed mood,

      In which the affections gently lead us on,--

      Until, the breath of this corporeal frame

      And even the motion of our human blood

      Almost suspended, we are laid asleep

      In body, and become a living soul:

      While with an eye made quiet by the power

      Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,

      We see into the life of things.

                                       If this

      Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft--                        50

      In darkness and amid the many shapes

      Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir

      Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,

      Have hung upon the beatings of my heart--

      How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,

      O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,

      How often has my spirit turned to thee!

        And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,

      With many recognitions dim and faint,

      And somewhat of a sad perplexity,                               60

      The picture of the mind revives again:

      While here I stand, not only with the sense

      Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts

      That in this moment there is life and food

      For future years. And so I dare to hope,

      Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first

      I came among these hills; when like a roe

      I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides

      Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,

      Wherever nature led: more like a man                            70

      Flying from something that he dreads, than one

      Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then

      (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,

      And their glad animal movements all gone by)

      To me was all in all.--I cannot paint

      What then I was. The sounding cataract

      Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,

      The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,

      Their colours and their forms, were then to me

      An appetite; a feeling and a love,                              80

      That had no need of a remoter charm,

      By thought supplied, nor any interest

      Unborrowed from the eye.--That time is past,

      And all its aching joys are now no more,

      And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this

      Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts

      Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,

      Abundant recompence. For I have learned

      To look on nature, not as in the hour

      Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes                    90

      The still, sad music of humanity,

      Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power

      To chasten and subdue. And I have felt

      A presence that disturbs me with the joy

      Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime

      Of something far more deeply interfused,

      Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,

      And the round ocean and the living air,

      And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;

      A motion and a spirit, that impels                             100

      All thinking things, all objects of all thought,

      And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still

      A lover of the meadows and the woods,

      And mountains; and of all that we behold

      From this green earth; of all the mighty world

      Of eye, and ear,--both what they half create,

      And what perceive; well pleased to recognise

      In nature and the language of the sense,

      The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,

      The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul                  110

      Of all my moral being.

                              Nor perchance,

      If I were not thus taught, should I the more

      Suffer my genial spirits to decay:

      For thou art with me here upon the banks

      Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,

      My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch

      The language of my former heart, and read

      My former pleasures in the shooting lights

      Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while

      May I behold in thee what I was once,                          120

      My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,

      Knowing that Nature never did betray

      The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,

      Through all the years of this our life, to lead

      From joy to joy: for she can so inform

      The mind that is within us, so impress

      With quietness and beauty, and so feed

      With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,

      Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,

      Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all                    130

      The dreary intercourse of daily life,

      Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb

      Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold

      Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon

      Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;

      And let the misty mountain-winds be free

      To blow against thee: and, in after years,

      When these wild ecstasies shall be matured

      Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind

      Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,                       140

      Thy memory be as a dwelling-place

      For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,

      If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,

      Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts

      Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,

      And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance--

      If I should be where I no more can hear

      Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams

      Of past existence--wilt thou then forget

      That on the banks of this delightful stream                    150

      We stood together; and that I, so long

      A worshipper of Nature, hither came

      Unwearied in that service: rather say

      With warmer love--oh! with far deeper zeal

      Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,

      That after many wanderings, many years

      Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,

      And this green pastoral landscape, were to me

      More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!

                                           William Wordsworth 1798

Dumisani

Dumi and Mario

Last night we delivered the Toyota Camry we have been driving for the past six years to its new owner: Dumisani.

It was after a day (a week - a month) filled with non-stop activity of saying goodbye before we leave South Africa.

Mario and I are staying with the Wiggills (Terry and Bonnie) before we board a plane on Wednesday; our house is a mass of boxes and crates, a state of disarray that is unlivable.
Back to last night - we had arranged to drop off the car with Dumisani so Terry lent us his bakkie (pickup)  to do it.

Dumisani, Dumisani, Dumisani!  That's how I greeted him for years.  His name means "Praise" - specifically to God.  His mother, when he was born praised God for a fine young boy to carry on the family name, his life became a praise to God.

We met him and his wife Monica when we first got here.  Monica and I clicked, fought,  feasted and hung like real gal-pals; hailing from different cultures that made us always love but never fully understand one another.

Dumi and Mario had a steady, Men-of-God relationship.  When it was time for us to have a service in Diepsloot, Dumi and Mario teamed to reach the community with the Gospel; the full Gospel. We worked side-by-side, strategized and hosted many events together.   For all who have built a church, you understand the day-to-day bonding that becomes teamwork and friendship at the same time.  Prayer takes on a new level; faith is a shared something.

Six years of close friendship; not just obligation, but friendship that endured the highs and lows that all friendships go through. When Monica died last year, we all grieved deeply together....

Last night we said goodbye.

We handed off the keys to the car and insisted we would be back; he would come to us; this was just "see you later"...etc, etc, etc.

I kissed the top of the kids heads and made my way back out to the car.

"Are you leaving this week?" Timna, Dumi's five year old daughter asked me.

"Yes, honey," I smiled.  I have learned how to smile during goodbyes.

"Will you come back?" Lebongo asked.

"Definitely this year," I said.  God willing....

Dumi walked us out to the car, his figure lit up by the street lamp in front of his house.  I turned back to say goodbye, lifting my hand to wave.  I saw him - in my mind's eye I still see him - lit up and waving.

We drove back to the house, wordless.  Tears on our faces.

These goodbyes are killing me.

walk

There is a saying in the USA – “March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.”  The weather in the Northern Hemisphere is stormy, wild and windy at the beginning of March – a lion.  By the time the month is ending, there are flowers appearing in trees, bulbs emerging from the ground and sun peeking through the clouds – a soft lamb signifying the beginning of spring.

I live in Africa.

I woke up this morning in a sweat.   My room has a ceiling fan and no air conditioning.  March (in Africa) comes in like hovering sun with sunglasses on and goes out the same way.  The summer here never knows when it’s time to leave.

As soon as I rose I showered, drank a cup of coffee and put my dogs, Zuzu and Peaches on their leashes.  They flipped out.  Normally their walk is after lunch or in the early evening (depending on how hot it is).  

We walked a familiar path, one I’ve grown accustomed to living here in Northriding.  It is 3.7 kilometers and it circles the property where we stay.  It is breathtakingly beautiful. 

I’ll show you. 

As you exit our gate there is a wide open field with tall grass in the summer.  It’s where moles and ferrets hide and the dogs love to dart out and see if anyone is there.  It’s a wild place that is fun to run around in.  Once a large jackrabbit bounded off, scaring our dogs, the first time they haven’t chased something.

We turn the corner and walk downhill, toward the blessing tree.  Mario and I believe that every bird you see is like God saying “Look, here’s how much I love you.  This is what I created for you!”  The blessing of seeing birds reminds us that everywhere are God’s blessings, small and large.   

The blessing tree is a large willow, situated happily over a pond.  It is filled with the nests of LARGE birds – the cranes, egrets and waterfowl nest there.  Some have nests in the branches, some at the base.  There is squawking and crying coming from its branches and in the summer I stop and look at them.  How come some places are FILLED with God’s blessings like this? 

Turn the corner again and there is a creek at the bottom of the hill.  It is overgrown and wild, framed by trees that don’t belong in South Africa.  The creek sometimes has things in it like bottles or bags.  That makes me sad, but it is a shady spot and we stop and watch for frogs or lizards or something.

From there we begin a slow incline, no shade, only sun.  The dogs start to pant and move slower.  I guess I do too.  Some paths in our lives are a climb and have no shade, but they are necessary to walk through if you want to get home. 

The top of the hill is where we turn again, by the stables.  The horses are all gorgeous, and many times dressage practice is held there.  It is spectacular to watch, even though I know I’ll never be a part of that world. 

Halfway up the road are the homes to all of the ferocious dogs in Northriding.  They are big and scary looking and they get Z and P all stirred up, but I try to remain calm.  They are all fenced in and can’t hurt me. 

As I crest the hill, there is an idyllic portrait of Northriding.  It looks like a folk art painting, hills rising and falling, all in different shades of green.  It is a mountaintop moment, if the weather is good the view is stellar; if the weather is bad the view is stellar.  I pause here each time.

Our last turn takes us back to  Valley Road.   The first part is lined with gum trees and the wind (when there is one) ruffles the leaves and refreshes me.  It is shaded and easy. 

Next is the bridge with a creek that runs under it- the same creek that was wild and overgrown with shade (and sometimes polluted). 

My dogs love this side of the creek.  Freshwater crabs are just below the surface and Zuzu and Peaches growl at them.  If they ever did surface, the dogs would back away.  The crabs have nipped them before and they won’t make that mistake again.

The hill rises slowly and we approach our house.  Our neighbors have playful watch dogs and love to run up and down the fence line pretending to be disturbed by us.  They are the Mastiffs, gorgeous and playful.  I love this stretch. 

Our gate means we get to rest.  There is nothing as beautiful as coming home.  Today I fed them both a very nice meal early – their regular food mixed with good stuff that made them gobble it down.  They lap up water and look at me – they are suspicious why their treats all came before linch.  The answer pulls up to our gate in the form of a van driven by a man bearing a bill of lading. 

“Are they ready to go?” he asks me.  Why the hell is he smiling? 

Zuzu and Peaches will make the trip before us.  We packed them into little wooden boxes like they were going around the corner.  Instead they will fly over the Atlantic and arrive tomorrow in Atlanta to be poked and prodded by examiners making sure they have no fleas or worms. 

From there they will fly to Kansas City where my friend Denise and her daughter Gabrielle (good friends who Looooove our dogs) will keep them until we find a place in the USA.  Then we will “send for them” and Denise will come and deliver them to their new home. 

Theirs and ours. 

It was our last walk together today.  Our walking course has been a place for prayer, reminders of His promises and a time to think in a busy world.  I will miss it- I will miss the dogs desperately until I see them.

I put them into those crates today and said goodbye for at least a month.  They looked betrayed, as if they couldn't believe I was doing this to them.  Someone they trusted, someone they lived with closely now closing them into a tight space where they feel confined. 

It’s terrible to be put in a box you’re too big for.