Eat, Pray, Love - Tiff style

I always wanted to travel the world- when I was single and before I turned 30. So after a pretty sore break up in May and some healing time, I sat thinking “I’m single and I’m almost 28..... It’s now or never”. And after spending the last 8 years in relationships, I thought I would do my own Eat, Pray, Love and set off on an adventure to find myself and have some fun. And so the story begins...

After running around like a blue-arsed fly the weekend before my trip, doing admin that should have been spread over 2 weeks (Tiffany Hutton AKA last minute.com), I said my goodbyes and was surprisingly impressed with myself that i didn’t shed one tear (not even when i said goodbye to Snoopy and Waffles or when my mum cried at the airport) and excitedly boarded my BA flight to JHB. 

On arriving in JHB and taking a leisurely stroll from Terminal B Terminal A, stopping at the pharmacy to get some prescription seasickness meds and going via the Vodacom shop to ensure my international roaming was sorted, I got a sick feeling in my stomach when I arrived at the Etihad check-in counter only to see it in complete darkness with not a soul in site. There must be some mistake I thought, maybe there’s another check-in counter? I mean I didn't exactly check my e-ticket (well how could I, I’d left it at home) but I was pretty sure I would have more than 20mins to get from one Terminal to another. So I made a frantic walk to the ticket desk making a million promises to God If he would only let me get on that plane. 

I was informed by a bored and very unsympathetic sales lady that there was no way I was getting on that flight and after throwing a tantrum, begging and then crying, I admitted defeat and paid the R820 flight change fee. So after phoning my dad in tears (as you do at the age of 27 when anything goes wrong), who insensitively pointed out that this was my fault for “faffing” and not getting to the gate on time, I called a friend in JHB who thankfully agreed to fetch me and put me up for the night. My dad suggested I “sleep on a bench in the airport somewhere” but I haughtily informed him that Constantia girls wouldn’t be seen dead sleeping in an airport and I wouldn’t lower my standards to that level (unless I was drunk and accidentally passed out or something, which knowing me, could have easily been a possibility).

I arrived super early this morning to ensure I didn't royally screw up again, but I was nervous, as my hand luggage weighed a bomb (at least 10kg and the max is 7) so in case that became an issue, I devised a cunning plan (as Baldrick would say “A plan so cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel”). My cunning plan was that if I was told my hand luggage was too heavy, I would go to the nearest shop and buy a giant handbag (as you know women are allowed to take handbags as well as hand luggage and handbags are never weighed) and decant all my heaviest objects in there. My cleverness amazes even me at times. 

The plane turned out to be half empty and I spied a row of 4 middle seats with no one sitting in them, so just before the plane took off I grabbed my belongings and made a b-line for them and spent the next few hours stretched out in full with my goose down travel pillow comfortably under my head. 

I had a rather laborious 8hr day flight to Abu Dhabi and then had a 7hr wait in the airport. So after 4 hazelnut lattes and Skyping and Facebooking everyone I could think of, I decided to take my hand luggage for a walk and do some “window shopping”. After perusing the shops for some time, I ended up in the perfumery, happily sniffing and spraying some delectable scents all over myself. I must have looked like an easy target for the salesman who casually approached me and praised and swooned over the scents I had chosen and then ushered me over to try the new Marc Jacobs. Call it good salesmanship, gullibility, boredom or retail therapy, but I left with a 100ml bottle of Dot, by Marc Jacobs and the salesman with a $110 towards his commission. At least we both left happy.