5 July 2016 / leggypeggy

Australia’s election stalls and Poor John remains uncompromised at the Abuja Sheraton

African Trails, camping, Happy Hour, overland journey, Sheraton Hotel

Still no result for Australia’s federal election on Saturday. We may have an answer by the end of the week, but who knows. In the meantime, I thought you might enjoy a memory of a time when Poor John was almost comprised in Africa.

Our Sheraton campground

Over the years, I’ve had a lot of gripes about Sheraton Hotels. Don’t even ask about the night in 1977 when I tried to check in to an outlet near New York City’s JFK Airport (a freebie because of a delayed flight).

But the Abuja Sheraton changed my opinion forevermore—and in a positive way.

As we trundled through West Africa, we were repeatedly told that in Abuja, the capital of Nigeria, we would be able camp for free at the Sheraton Hotel. Yeah, right?

After 13 days of extremely remote overland travel with rough roads, no showers, little water, limited food and lots of bugs, it was hard for us to believe that the Sheraton in Abuja would let us stay. We were completely grubby and smelled even worse.

But welcome us they did. For many years, the Sheraton in Abuja has had a policy of letting overland trucks park ‘out the back’ and letting passengers camp in an area not seen by the paying public. I don’t know if this is still true, but I hope so.

Eighteen months before we arrived, camping ‘out the back’ at the Sheraton meant we’d stay where hotel vehicles were serviced and repaired. We saw that area and it was a real dump. Luckily, this time we were allowed to stay in the proper ‘backyard’.

Another smaller truck was there at the same time as us. They were a British family—mum, dad and three kids—travelling south down the west wide of Africa as far as they could go until it was time to return home for the school year. They were sleeping in and on top of their Bedford truck, which looked like a little brother to ours.

Bedford and Af Trails TruckBedford and Af Trails Truck

The Bedford to the left of our truck

Our actual camping spot for tents was well shielded and behind the toilet/shower block for the swimming pool. No paying guest would have found us unless they were completely bored (or drunk) and went on a complete inspection of the grounds.

So there we were—camping at the Sheraton—so surreal. A few people took up the offer to rent a room at half price, but $162 a night is not my idea of a bargain, so we stayed in our tent.

Those who camped had a lot of freedom. We could use the toilets and showers near the pool—cripes we could even use the pool. On the first day or two, some of our group hogged the pool recliners to the point that we were banned from using them at all. We could also mooch off our travelling companions who did rent rooms. I did a couple of loads of laundry in a bathtub.

The Elephant Bar was also open slather. Ah, the Elephant Bar. It was the main casual bar at the Sheraton. Every afternoon, Happy Hour was awash with cheap drinks, delicious nibbles and hordes of prostitutes.

I can still picture the spindly stilettos, ridiculously short skirts, plunging necklines, garish animal prints, liberal make-up and blatantly entertaining stalking techniques.

Even Poor John was in their sights. He told of the night that he headed out of the Elephant Bar on his way to our tent. A voluptuous prostitute clicked after him on her stilettoes.

His detour into the gents’ toilet by the pool didn’t put her off, and she waited patiently for him to re-emerge. But then, and I mean a big BUT THEN, he turned left out of the toilet and headed around to the tents.

‘Come back, sir,’ she sang out, ‘I am waiting for you.’

‘No,’ he replied, ‘I’m going to my tent.’

Tent life was never on her agenda. I can’t say ‘you should have seen the look of horror on her face’ because I didn’t see it either, but when Poor John tells the story he gets this sort of sheepish grin on his face that says it all. Mostly because he rescued himself.

But don’t ask me about the fellow who had a false eyelash stuck to his forehead the next morning.