What a flight!

Miss World Contestants 1993

Frans Ellis, The Hague

Meintjeskop Courier Volum2 2, 1993

When I saw Steve Kruis's photograph of him handing a visa to Miss Poland to attend the Miss World Contest at the Lost City, in the Meintjeskop I thought, "Steve, if I could have clutched your neck between my fingers 'that' night..." However, it got me thinking of a better way to get back at my fellow 'visa handlers'. I would tell them about a special night and the consequences of their visa presentations, a night I would not forget for a while.

It started with a phone call from South Africa. I had to leave for Pretoria as soon as possible and made my "very short notice" arrangements. Rushed to the airport, said good-bye to mother and the kids and checked in. I was tired, it was day's end, and 10 hours of narrowness, bumps and cramps awaited me. It was also pouring with rain and a "stormkragt 9" wind was blowing across the tarmac at Schipol airport. I was hoping the dykes would keep until we were in the air. The airport is at least 5 meters under sea level.

At the check-in counter I asked "could you please put me in a very quiet spot". Reply - "helaas meneer, dat kan niet meer, de vlugt is vol". I had to take what I could get. While waiting at the exit before boarding, I noticed the SAA manager and walked up to say hello. "Frans, what a lucky man, your flight has been diverted via London. You are picking up some special people there". Oh no, an extra two hours flight. I never bothered to ask why or who these people were. Boarding, I noticed that the entire plane was opened and sections (First, Gold and economy class) were ignored. Only twelve people boarded and I couldn't believe my luck. I would have a whole centre section to sleep the flight out. Ha!

We bumped out of Holland with a surge of power that made me think those pilots knew something that I didn't. It was the softest landing I had ever experienced by SAA when we sat down in London and I was now sure that the pilots knew something and were practising their skills for something special. "May I bring you some juice sir? No thank you, I'd rather have a Castle Lager, and how long will we be sitting here?" "Not long, the girls will be boarding in about five minutes". Girls?

I sipped at the beer and watched in amazement as about sixty-odd of the world's most beautiful girls started filling the plane. Then it hit me. We are picking up the Miss World missies and it was just my luck to be on the same plane. It seemed like a never ending story of sheer beauty and here I was, never having been as near as this to such an activity, sitting in a dazed, almost stunned silence.

Well, they just poured in. The girls, their chaperons, the organizers and would you believe, some South African rugby spectators on their way home after the Boks' last game in England. We thought I had left rough seas in Holland, but this was much ... for want of a perfect word I'll leave the space open. On my left sat Miss Denmark and my right sat Miss Gibraltar. In front of me Miss Venezuela, Miss Canada and Miss Italy. Behind me, another totally shocked lonely American tourist, on his first ever visit to South Africa, sat between two more lovely ladies and the rest of the cabin was besieged by contestants. Then it began ... "Flight terrible".

Before take-off the girls were briefed about the night program. Water drinking, special eating rules,sleep, dressing, passports, personal customs administration, etc etc. Each girl had with her a togglebag (with chocolates, denims, tekkies and walkman), a vanity case (with paints and polishes, powders and perfumes), another kitbag (with who knows what and why) and the special "arriving" dress. The plane was not equipped for this sort of load and all this had to be kept on the floor and on laps. My worry - only seven toilets - and the beer had already started its work.

We took off with the passengers holding all or most of their bags on their laps. Yes of course a few bags landed on my lap as well, the perfect gentleman you know. It took about two hours for the girls to settle into their nests for the night and dinner could be served by the crew. "Is there much sun in South Africa? Have you found the Lost City yet? Do you want a chocolate?" While answering Miss Denmark's questions, Miss Gibraltar falls asleep on my shoulder with her "lost luggage" on my lap. Hey, wake up, its dinner time. No thank you, I only have chocolate and water. ZZZZ.'

00h30 and what should have been dinner, more like a desperate lucky dip exercise trying to get some food past all the luggage to your mouth, was over. Cabin crew were locked in a constant battle with "passengers" in the walkways trying to get food trolleys back to the lockers. Chaperons were shouting orders about the necessity of water drinking and the dangers of overindulging in chocolates. Now, whatever had been taken in was starting to pressure people in the direction of the toilets.

01hOO and "duty free" time. One elderly looking steward glanced once at the chaos around him and signalled a "NO GO" to the stewardesses who had the impossible task of pulling the duty free trolleys through the passageways. They quietly put the trolleys back. Rugby supporters, sitting in the front of the plane, were now steadily moving backwards in an attempt to catch a glimpse of what the plane eld in its middle and rear sections. I thought, ha, lucky me! Postcards started travelling from the front, down my side of the plane and back up to the front via the other side. Girls' autographs - those rugby supporters again.

02hOO the movie came on and lights went out. No stopping these girls, except Miss Gibraltar, who was still dozing away as if nothing was happening. The night progressed painfully slowly. But this time a different noise. A sort of rising shattery hoarse rumbly sound made by sharp pulling in of breath and shocking expressions of "what" "No!" and the like. Yes, you are right. The water was finished. The entire water supply of the plane, except for the toilets, was finished. Thank you to the chaperons for warnings that the girls should drink as much water as possible. Now I and the American behind me, who hadn't even had a chance to go to the toilet, let alone move in our seats, would have to go without water - "Steward, is the Castle Lager finished though?" -"sir, we have a ton of rugby supporters in the front of the plane, would you like to know more?"

03hOO and the lights went on again. Chaperons started handing out customs declaration forms. Sleep? whassat? Miss Gibraltar's pen was tucked away in the togglebag we managed to prop up under the seat. However to get to it again was a good test of human indulgence, patience, and persistence. My lap once again conveniently became ''that packing space". The rugby people in the front, never wanting to miss a chance, started moving backwards again in a desperate attempt to "chat-up" some or other beauty. No luck with chaperons and cabin crew, on whose faces slight traces of the effects of psychological and physical torture were now starting to appear. I thought again, "maybe I'm lucky".

04hOO en die bier het erg begin druk. 

Die wens om toilet toe te gaan was groot maar die werklike situasie was veel erger. Na die rondgemaal met die invul van doeanevorms en die bymekaarmaak van paspoorte deur die begeleiers het die toue weer toegeneem voor die toilette. Die Amerikaner agter my het erg begin woel en so nou en dan 'n kreun uitgelaat. Die kajuitpersoneel was nou duidelik moeg en het hulle uit die spore gemaak. Om die water probleem op te los, na hewige woorde van die organiseerders se kant, het die kajuitpersoneel die heIe voorraad sodawater (blikkies) op 'n punt neergesit en gese "help julleself". Dit was die laaste sien van die personeel. Nog geen slaap nie en die bagasie sit nog steeds op die skote en onder die sitvlakke.

O5hOO en ek begin beplan aan my strategie oor hoe om by die toilet uit te kom en hoe om dan toegang te verkry. 'Jy moet roekeloos wees, maak of jy siek is - met die duur rokke wat oor elkeen se stoel hang sal jy gou jou pad deur kry'. Ha, "dat het niet gelukt hoor". Tot my verbasing sien ek die meisies begin nou kalmeer en stiller word in hulle sitplekke en die toue na die toilette raak yler. Ek dag toe, 'ek knip 'n ogie en teen so sesuur behoort hulle almal aan die slap te wees en kry ek my kans'. Ek doen toe ook maar so en val vasberade in 'n bedrukte ongemaklike slapie vas.

07hOO en 'n stem van baie ver vra om verby te kom. Ek skrik wakker en dis Mej Gibraltar wat eindelik wakkergeskrik het en op pad is na die ... natuurlik. Ek merk op dat sy haar "vanity case" en rok in die hand het. Nou moet ek spring, anders word die ander ook wakker en kry ek nie my vyf minute in die son nie. Dit was asof Goliat met sy groot hand my koppie net so terugdruk in my sitplek toe ek opstaan en my aanloop begin, want daar voor my van agter in die vliegtuig tot by elke toiletingang, staan meer as veertig meisies bankvas met bekommerde slaperige gesiggies en wag op ‘n kans om te gaan "titivate". Ek dag by myself 'vriend, hulle is darem mooi' en sak stilletjies terug in my sitplek terwyl die Amerikaner agter my liggies kreun, "not a chance man".

Van toe at was dit chaos. Die rugbymanne voor wil 'n laaste kykie inkry. Die meisies moet voor landing "opgedolly" wees en die laaste "briefings" moet nog gehou word. Tyd loop en die toue raak langer. Die ontbyt moet nog bedien word en die kaptein en sy bemanning het hulleself in die pilote- kajuit toegesluit, angstig om die voel veilig ten gronde te bring. Die watervoorraad vir die toilette raak op en nou breek daar paniek uit. Wat van my en die Amerikaner? Dit is ons demokratiese reg om vrylik na die toilet te kan gaan, en water tot ons beskikking te kan he.' Ek begin vuiste bal en dink, 'hulle is mooi, maar mooi pas duidelik nie meer in hierdie noodsituasie nie' "no more mister nice guy". Ja, probeer jy maar 'n beeldskone dame voor 'n toilet, wasbak en spleet wegdruk as sy binne 'n uur voor die pers by 'n groot ontvangs moet verskyn. Soos die Hollanders sou se "ja dag ... "

Van uithou was daar tonne. Die mens is 'n wonderlike ding. Toe ons daardie linksdraai bo Johannesburg vat, loop my oog oor die paar meisies wat nog struikelend in die tou staan vir die toilette. Die kajuitpersoneel skreeu nou al "please sit down", maar dit val op dowe ore. Meisies wat dit nie kon maak na die toue trek sommer nou op hulle sitplekke aan. Ek sit met twee oop "vanity cases" op my skoot terwyl Mej Denemarke en Mej Gibraltar die laaste strepe trek. Maar soos "jaws" in die fliek, wag ek my kans af en toe die vliegtuig sy laaste buiging na links gemaak het en neus laat sak, spring ek op en nael vir die toilet. 

Ek dag ek hoor 'n ligte, verdrinkende sug van verdriet en wanhoop van die Amerikaner agter my, maar my aandag is op my missie. Verby die laaste meisies, die vlugkelner tot by die "wonderlike" toiletdeur. "You really have to go and sit down now" sis ek deur my tande na die rneisie tussen my en die deur en sy laat spaander. EK IS IN!' Ons land al maar EK IS IN. Ek was die laaste staande persoon toe die wiele grond vat. Op my gemaklike terugstap na my sitplek dink ek by myself, 'man maar hulle is mooi' en toe sien ek die Amerikaner .....

Die vliegtuig is na 'n plek geneem waar die meisies 'n spesiale ontvangs gekry het. Ons passasiers moes eerste afklim en die vraag kom by my op 'te laat om nou eerste aan die beurt te wees?'  

Met 'n terugkykie wuif ek na Denemarke en Gibraltar en se "may the best man win". "Man?" Ai Frans, dag ek in die bus, jy het dan die hele nag geoefen vir daardie laaste woorde ...

Buite ontvang die familie my. Het jy lekker gevlieg? Jy Iyk moeg. Hoe antwoord jy hulle in een kort sin dat so 'n wonderlike ervaring die moeilikste in jou lewe kan wees??

Dankie Steve.