EXCESS baggage

Sometimes the joys of life come with their own set of issues, says Wicus Pretorius.

LLots of things make me very happy. My dog, for one – especially when he starts running around the kitchen island like a prancing pony, which only happens when he’s done something naughty. Too cute for words, that bouncy-gallop of his. But you can be sure: the destruction he has wrought is just around the corner. If dogs played poker, mine would be as poor as a church mouse...

Packing my dishwasher also gives me great pleasure.

Dirty dishes in, clean dishes out. Magical! Every single time.

Travel gives me just as much joy. It’s like a makeover for your soul. Your house may get an open-plan kitchen; you become open to new possibilities. New people, new experiences, new places, new food. And last but not least, the chance to visit stores we don’t have here in South Africa.

Like the furniture store Ikea. My absolute favourite when I travel. And I’m not the only one with an unhealthy relationship with the shop. In China, a visit to Ikea is like a visit to an amusement park. The Chinese go there to eat in the showrooms, to socialise and even to sleep – it’s the honest truth, Google it.

While in Amsterdam recently, I followed my usual ritual in the store: first a browse through, then lunch in the cafeteria (always the meatballs), and then it was time to buy. I spotted a plain olive-green side table and knew exactly where it would go – right next to the Art Deco chair I’ve just had reupholstered in sunshine-yellow velvet. Without a moment’s hesitation, I loaded the flat-pack box into my trolley.

But Amsterdam was just the start of my journey. The next stop was Barcelona, and the airline refused to allow the side table into the luggage hold.

“Hand luggage, yes, but you have to stand in another queue so that they can scan the box. My machine is too small,” said the woman behind the counter. At the “oversized items” counter, the metal table set off flashing red lights, of course.

But, eventually, I boarded the plane. The table only just fitting into the overhead compartment.

In the streets of Barcelona, I got lost looking for my hotel.

It was as hot as Hades, the whole of Europe in the clutches of an oppressive heatwave. The side table was by now slung over my

shoulder in an Ikea bag because my hands were full: overnight bag in one, cellphone in the other. At a café – my T-shirt drenched, my shoulder aching – I tossed the whole lot down on the counter and went in search of water.

In Portugal, we rented a car and the table went straight into the boot. Each morning as we left for a new destination, it had to be taken out of the boot before we could load our bags. In Lisbon, I spotted the box in the rear-view mirror – as we drove off!

On a flight to Athens, the table was actually loaded into the luggage hold, but when the suitcase carousel in the arrivals hall ground to a halt, my travel companion was nowhere to be seen. I was secretly relieved – until I saw the infernal box on the carousel next door. A forlorn sight to behold. How it got there, I have no clue. I picked it up, clutching it under one arm.

And so we journeyed together. Planes, ferries, trains, taxis.

By the time the last week rolled around, the box looked like a kitchen cabinet with water damage, so much so that the airline staff had to “renovate” it with broad strips of box tape.

Eventually, it came time for my final flight after a long trip. But at this stage I was a pro. I no longer bashed into people in the aisle of the plane, and I knew by then that the box fitted neatly into the overhead compartment – provided it was the first item in there and it could lie flat at the bottom.

But on the flight to Cape Town the overhead compartments were full. At that moment, a flight attendant walked past and I took the gap.

“Can you help, please? I’m not allowed to check this box in and now there’s no space for it.”

“Certainly,” she said. “I’ll put it in the cabin crew’s storage cabinet.”

The flight home was long. And when we landed in Cape Town late that night, I was exhausted albeit excited by the prospect of sleeping in my own bed, of seeing my dog’s bouncy-gallop.

I poured a glass of wine, sat in my lovely yellow chair. And as I stretched to put my glass of wine down, I remembered why I wanted that side table. That beautiful olive-green table. Which was still in the cabin crew’s storage cabinet. Probably on its way back to Amsterdam at that precise moment...