“I’m sorry Sir, but you can’t board the plane,” so said the short (Tigger would say: “perpendicular lacking”), nicely groomed British Airways attendant, who spoke English with a heavy Scottish accent. “You see, you need a visa to pass through the UK,” reminding me of the fact I already knew! I had failed to get the visa the Friday before because the heavy traffic in Chicago had ensured that I got to the Queen’s Embassy, after they had closed!. Instead of delaying my trip, I thought I would use one of their loop-holes to get through, which was not to be. “The immigration officer at Heathrow says they won’t allow you to change planes if you come without the visa,” he added. I remember thinking, ‘his standard BA issue uniform fits him well.’
Failure to get on the plane was a welcome deal, because it gave me another day to spend in Chicago running around seeing the city. The only downside was that I had to carry my huge bags with me, to my temporary domicile and bring them back the following day. Two days before, I had spent my time in south Chicago, interesting place in that they was only ‘poor’ people, you know those who lived from pay-check to pay-check? I saw men sitting under trees, young men lounging by the street corners. Since it was a working day, I remember thinking that these people were unemployed. They was people, lots on the streets.
Denied a chance to board the plane, I rescheduled my flight, an easy thing to do given that the Boeing 777, flight number 298, and 2 something leave Chicago daily at 8:15pm and 9:15 respectively for Heathrow. I was in no hurry. Back in the old days, missing a plane would have had me going nuts, scared, heart pounding, perspiring etc. How things have changed! Since it was a Sunday, I killed time by driving through the city. Seeing Michigan Ave, I was reminded of how the city’s existence depended on the surrounding suburbs. Michigan Ave., north and south, my taxi driver (a guy from Nigeria, with two kids) had informed me that was the place where the rich come to shop, for all the designer shops, like Gucci and the like were located. Oprah called the Ritz Hotel her home. Talking of how the city is divided, like any other place in the US I had passed through Naperville a couple of days before. Whereas south Chicago, the inner city they was people on the street, men sitting under trees and the like, this wasn’t the case in Naperville. I remember thinking that if I ever make it in life, I wanna come and live right here in Naperville. It is a beautiful place, kids on their bikes playing by the road, police officers patrolling by, adverts for summer school for kids. While I was there, I saw my first ever “Human Billboard” you know, a man (visibly overweight) with posters strapped on his back and front. The poster read “50% off, closing down sale….”
“This was formerly a bog. One day, a man named George Streeter got his boat stuck in the mud, and instead of trying to un-beach his boat, he decided to start living there. Later, he declared the area around his boat, his own, outside the bounds of the city of Chicago authority, only to be answerable to the federal government. It remained his land till his death in 1921, at which point the city reclaimed the area, and named the place “Streeterville,” the captain of the boat (can’t remember name) explained as the tourists and I took a one hour cruise on Lake Michigan. A few minutes earlier, I had boarded the ship from the famous Navy Pier, around 10:00am. This had followed my journey to the Queen’s Embassy, and my unsuccessful attempt to fix my computer. (I found a repair dealer, the only obstacle being that he demanded $138 without even looking at the computer. An Indian guy in his mid-fifties, white hair, supine features. A warm, clear day. From the ship, I could see to the point where Lake Michigan’s waters touched the blue sky, and on the other side I could see the awesome city skyline. I took lots of pictures (being luck in that my SD card had 1GB of space).
“…and if you are from Sweden, I sympathize with you.” The Boeing 777 flight number 298 captain finished his address to the passengers as we taxied to our berth on Heathrow Airport. The same day, England was to play Sweden in a World Cup match out across the English Channel in Germany. The Captain (can’t remember name) assumed that England would beat Sweden. Leaving the plane, I told the captain “England is gonna lose,” and I left him laughing. The eight hour flight from Chicago had failed to uplift my spirits, for the day before I had ‘lost’ my digital camera, and two days earlier the computer had malfunctioned coz I had tipped a class of water on it by mistake. To make the situation worse, the immigration guys a Heathrow never checked to see if I had my transit visa! The night before, I had arrived for check in late (I left my residence at 3pm, only to get to O’Hare at 7pm), and because I had six bags the guys at check in had said, “You are only allowed to check in two bags. For the extra one, you have to pay $200!” They didn’t care if the third bad was tiny. I had declined to check the extra bad, hopping I would take it as a carry. On trying to board, on of the hostess had said “Stop! You can’t have four carry-ons! You have to check in the other two bags!” These became the two bags I lost, only to be re-united with them a week after I got to Africa. The good thing? I didn’t pay the $400 for the extra luggage. Next time you travel, try it.
In re-schedulling my flight, the BA attendant had asked me if I wanted to sit on the window or not. In the old days, I would have said yes right away. On this occasion, I declined the offer, and that’s is how I ended up sitting by an Indian lady with her 4 year-old son. I never spoke to her, only I was impressed by the fact that at that age, the boy was already bi-lingual, understanding both English and Hindu. Remarkable fit. If ever you decide to fly, take South African instead of British Airways, they have better service etc.