Touchdown in Africa

It took 2 long flights.  The first was under 3 hours, but was spent trapped between a window and a broad-shouldered, stumbly man with bloodshot eyes.  His clammy hands and swollen fingers gave way to unwashed clothes, a few days without a shave, and an oily face.  His dead stares told me he knew he smelled of stale beer, he knew he was a wreck, and he was sorry.  It didn't make the flight any easier for me, however.  The flight from Atlanta to Johannesburg was nothing short of jubilant, with cheers upon takeoff and landing, and soccer jerseys and sombreros in abundance.  yes, sombreros.  most of the fans were Mexicans, heading to see the opening match friday against the host country. 

My face paint made it through, despite being 4 liquid ounces.  My one checked bag - my large backpack - is still in Atlanta.  Ugh.  So here I am, at an internet cafe in joburg, unbathed, wearing the same clothes i put on tuesday morning, teeth unbrushed, wondering when i will start emitting an odor similar to the guy next to me from msp to atl. 

world cup fever is everywhere.  i can't wait to shower.  cheers.