Wellington in the Zimbabwean Highlands

A Norwegian Air plane was taking off from the airport. It ascended for a while, then sharply dropped downwards and did a loop-de-loop, managing to avoid the mountains nearby. Passengers were live-tweeting the event. It turned out that all planes had to do the same manoeuvre at this particular airport, and our flight was next.

The plane had floor to ceiling glass windows, and this included the front, so we had a great view of the terrifying take off, and all the cockpit controls. The runway was far too short, and soon we were in the air, then dropping suddenly.

“I can see individual leaves”, I remarked to Renja. It felt way too close, but the pilot was extremely skilled and landed us at a nearby airport moments later, in a tiny town called Wellington in the Zimbabwe highlands. He was the only pilot in the world with the necessary skill to take off from that runway.

We waited around for a few moments amongst school children who had scattered to get out of the way of the plane. The runway doubled as a school playground. Way down below, I could see the bright green meadows of the lowlands.

We taxied along a really technical runway. At one point, we went through a tunnel with deep grooves in the side for the wings to fit. I had to steer for a while; it seemed incredibly difficult but then I noticed the plane was actually steering itself. We stopped at the end of the runway and everyone had to get out again.

A white Zimbabwean woman was selling postcards in the main square. There were only three postcards, and they had been written on already. She asked for me to make an offer. I reached for a 50p piece but accidentally pulled out a $5 note. I fumbled around for the 50p piece, and she gave me one card when I presented it to her.

There was a cottage for rent in the highlands. We decided to make an enquiry.