The journey back

I had a very cool flight back to SA from Washington.  It's an 18 hour flight - how is that possible? - it lands for a refuel (and + some, - other passengers) in Dakar (of Paris Dakar fame) in Senegal. It's an interesting place in geographic terms: the westmost point of all of Africa, and on the very edge of the great desert.  In the pic on the right you can see the haphazard gaggle of villages, tracks and dirt roads, and sweat the feel of the Sahara breathing down their collective necks.

What made the flight cool was the extraordinary quality of service of an old-time steward, whose name I regret not remembering.  It looked like he'd been working flights for a good couple of decades, but instead of finding that jading, had refined and polished his approach into one of vast warmth and expertise. I have the utmost respect for that approach to work, in particular work that the well heeled of our society might find demeaning despite being its primary beneficiaries.  It's the thankless stuff that great companies are built on, and in the absence of which many fail.  It also stood in stark contrast to the oceans of frustration that I was to experience later on at the hands of the good staff of the Airports Company of South Africa.  More about that later.

The illustrious Aeroport International Blaise Diagne.  All of it.  Not much going on in the breaking dawn.