Carol’s Column

The land of milk and honey ... but no biltong

The thing about flying into the US these days is that it can be risky business. "Bring in biltong," said somebody knowledgeable about these things, "and you can be stopped, knee-capped, or worse, incarcerated for 20 years."

I couldn't believe it. What? Fly somewhere where you know there are South Africans and not take a present of biltong? This was not possible.

So I asked the authorities.

"Yes," said a charming suitably official sounding somebody (I think she may have been the receptionist), "of course you can take biltong to America as long as it is vacuum packed and sealed."

So I took myself off to a well-known vacuum-packed sealed biltong-buying emporium and purchased 30 packets of biltong due to the fact that in Miami and surrounds, to where I was flying for a conference, there are several biltong-deprived South Africans presently living.

I took the largest suitcase I own as I also had to include the regular staples such as Mrs Ball's chutney, dried mango (also vacuum packed and sealed), buttermilk rusks and Marmite.

Once a year, the Travel Industry of America hosts Pow Wow, one of the world's top travel shows – their version of our Indaba held in Durban last week.

So on board this particular SAA flight speeding effortlessly through the heavens was the South African travel delegation and approximately 60kg of vacuum-packed sealed biltong.

We landed and with customary efficiency were met by smiling and extremely jacked-up Pow Wow officials and effortlessly guided through immigration.

"So how're y'all doing?" said the immigration officials. "You're here for Pow Wow? Enjoy your stay."

I think I was the fourth person through immigration. Grabbing a trolley, I waited for my suitcase to be spewed forth onto the luggage belt. Case after case appeared – but not mine. As the wait grew, I imagined it behind the curtains, surrounded by 35 sniffer dogs, wagging their tails and growling in anticipation.

"You're probably going to be arrested," said one of my cheerful travelling colleagues. "We'll bring you food."

"Look at it positively," said another. "At least your accommodation will be free."

An official approached and my heart dropped to my knees. "Ma'am, do you own a very large black and white checkered suitcase with a bright red ribbon?"

The blood drained from my Adam's apple and I felt faint. "Yes," I murmured. "It's mine." He smiled, the thrill of capture obviously uppermost in his mind. "Good," he said. "The ribbon got caught, which delayed your suitcase. I'm so sorry about that."

And so I emerged from Miami Airport unscathed, the 30 packets of vacuum-packed sealed biltong safe among my underwear, takkies and khaki Out-of-Africa bush outfit for an afternoon excursion to the Everglades.

Here, presently in Miami, are thousands of delegates from the US and the world. As delegates registered, they were whipped off to attend a series of preconference activities.

In two days I have seen an Orca whale dance the tango accompanied by three dolphins, gone whizzing on an airboat across the Everglades (lost my pith helmet in an alligator infested swamp), visited an Indian reservation and learnt of the problems of land reclamation.

But it's the people that fascinate me.

Last night I met a woman who directs horses in a show called Arabian Nights. "You cannot imagine it," she enthused, "one horse actually has five roles in the play using 60 horses. He's brilliant."

When I woke up, I looked out of the hotel window and saw a man walking past with a huge pink snake wrapped around his neck. So on reflection. Yes, why shouldn't one horse take five roles in a play? This is, after all, America.

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