JOHN AND ROSE
Chapter Nineteen

July 2, 1927
Luanda, Angola

The ship docked in Luanda, Angola, at noon on July second. John and Rose had both been packed and ready to disembark since early morning, both eager to be on solid ground again, though neither would admit it.

It had been John who had chosen Angola for a destination, selecting it for its relatively mild winter climate, even inland in July, and the reports he had read by big game hunters about the wildlife, which both he and Rose wanted to see. Neither was interested in hunting, but there was a company that took tourists on safaris, allowing them to see the country in a safe manner.

Rose looked around in fascination as they left the ship and looked for some kind of transportation to their hotel. In spite of the poverty of the Portuguese-owned country, the city was teeming with people of all races and social classes. The docks were a cacophony of voices speaking in over a dozen different languages, with workers loading and unloading ships, while foremen snapped orders and directed the workers. Other people, some unemployed, some taking breaks, and some looking for whatever opportunities they might find, hung around watching. In addition, there were numerous tourists like them, many of whom had disembarked at the same time, from the same ship.

After several unsuccessful attempts, John and Rose finally managed to find transportation for themselves and their luggage to the hotel they would be staying in before joining the group headed out onto the savanna.

The problem came largely from their inability to speak any of the local languages. Both spoke English, and Rose spoke passable French and a little Spanish, but few people around the docks who might provide transportation spoke any of those languages. Portuguese was the official language of Angola, and Rose could understand a few words if they were spoken to her very slowly, because of the language’s similarity to Spanish, but she wasn’t fluent, and neither were most people in the vicinity. In spite of Portuguese being the official language, it was most commonly spoken by the well-educated–and not many well-educated people hung around the docks. French was still the most common trade language, but again, not many people near the docks spoke it with any fluency.

They were beginning to think that walking was a better idea–and many people seemed to be in agreement–but they didn’t know where the hotel was located, and they were none too eager to wander around an unfamiliar city where they didn’t understand the language. To be sure, that was part of the adventure of seeing new places in foreign lands, but it could also be dangerous, and they didn’t want their honeymoon turning into a disaster.

Rose was consulting a map, trying to figure out which way to go, when a dark-skinned man missing several teeth approached them.

"Need ride?" he asked, in broken, heavily accented English.

Rose was relieved. At last, here was someone who spoke at least a little of their language. Still, caution came first. "Uh...maybe."

"You English?" he inquired, gesturing to both of them.

John nodded. It was close enough, and as far as he knew, there was no reason for anyone here to hold any particular grudge against the English.

"I..." He searched for the right word. "Taxi driver."

"A taxi driver?" John looked around, wondering where this taxi was supposed to be. He saw a few vehicles, though none that really resembled a taxi. Still, it was a different country, so it was altogether possible that the taxis were also different. "Where is this taxi?"

"Here." The man gestured to a rickety-looking wagon.

John and Rose looked at it in dismay. Was this the best they could do? They had expected that in Angola’s capital, things would be more advanced, but then, in many ways it wasn’t any worse than impoverished areas of their own country. Indeed, in many ways it resembled parts of the American cities they had lived in, and docks anywhere weren’t noted for being high class.

Rose shrugged. Going on a safari wasn’t likely to be a comfortable trip, and roughing it was part of the adventure, even part of the charm.

"How much?" she asked, looking at the wagon and the tired-looking animal hitched to it.

The man gave her a questioning look, not understanding her words.

"What price? How much money?" she elaborated.

He nodded, understanding this time. "Three dollars." He held up three fingers to elaborate.

John gave him a confused look, wondering why he didn’t ask for the local currency, or, if he thought they were English, for pounds. On the other hand, the driver was undoubtedly just as capable of exchanging American currency for the local currency as they were, and might find it less confusing, and the dollar was quickly becoming well-known throughout the world.

Rose thought the price was higher than it should be, but since the only alternative seemed to be walking around an unfamiliar city, she was willing to pay it–provided that the man actually took them where they were supposed to go.

She nodded to John, indicating her willingness to accept the man’s offer. The driver, catching the gesture, called something to an adolescent boy nearby. The boy hurried over to them, efficiently collecting their luggage and carrying it toward the wagon. They followed, John helping Rose into the back of the wagon before climbing up himself.

The driver came up to them, checking to make sure they were securely seated in the back of the wagon. "Where you go?" he asked.

John pulled out the address of their destination and gave it to him. "This hotel."

The man looked at it, then at John, obviously not knowing how to read. John sounded out the unfamiliar words, nodding when the man corrected him on pronunciation.

The driver hurried around to the front of the wagon and climbed into the seat beside the boy, snapping the reins. The wagon lurched down the street, bouncing over potholes and pieces of trash.

The Calverts looked around as the wagon jolted along the streets, enjoying themselves in spite of the inconvenience. Rose was particularly fascinated. Over the years, she had been many interesting places, but this was the first time she had ever been to Africa. When she had been younger, and still a member of the upper class, she had wanted to travel more, and see more of the world, but her mother wouldn’t hear of it. Despite the fact that there was plenty of money for traveling, people of their status did not go off to the wilds of Africa, or to China, or even to the less well-known parts of Europe.

For her engagement trip, Rose had suggested that they go to Egypt, then growing very popular amongst people of their society, but both Ruth and Cal had been against it. They had changed their tune once they had learned that the Astors were in Egypt, but by that time they were on a grand tour of Europe, and it was too late to change their plans.

In retrospect, however, Rose wasn’t really sorry that they had gone to Europe for that trip. It had enabled them to set sail on the Titanic, even though Cal had waited until the last minute to buy their tickets–something that wouldn’t have been possible had they gone to Egypt as she had requested. Had they not sailed on the Titanic, she would never have met Jack, never have broken free from the life that was slowly suffocating her, never have given birth to Christopher, or met John.

No, she couldn’t be sorry about the past, but she had spent every day of her life since the Titanic trying to make it count, and this honeymoon was no exception. She was glad to be here now, glad for the adventure, and was even more happy to be with the man she loved. Had Jack lived, she was certain they would have stayed together, but he hadn’t, and she had been fortunate enough to meet another good man.

She reached for John’s hand, holding tightly to the wagon with the other as it hit a particularly deep pothole. They bounced up, almost sliding from the wagon, but they were both laughing by the time they’d righted themselves.

Rose looked with fascination at the city around them. She had once seen a moving picture about Africa, but the director hadn’t been very concerned with research, and the picture couldn’t compare to the reality. The city was bustling, crowded in places, with people speaking and shouting amongst themselves. Street vendors displayed their wares, competing amongst themselves for the money of both locals and visitors. Buildings, some in better condition than others, lined the streets, which went off in various directions. Most of the buildings were short, few more than two or three stories.

The attire of the people in the city varied from traditional clothing and jewelry to clothes more like those worn in Europe and America–and sometimes a mixture of those styles. In spite of the poverty, the coastal city of Luanda was very much cosmopolitan, with the people reflecting the various cultures and world events that affected them.

They finally arrived at the hotel, a slightly dilapidated two-story structure on one of the broader streets of the city. John and Rose got down from the wagon, allowing the boy to retrieve their luggage and bring it into the hotel. While John paid the driver, Rose searched through her purse for some money to give to the boy. Unsure of what amount would be appropriate, she finally handed him twenty-five cents, which he placed in a small bag hanging from his waist before running back to the wagon.

Rose smiled, the boy’s energy and enthusiasm reminding her of Christopher, though there was otherwise very little resemblance between them. John joined her beside their luggage, walking with her into the hotel.

After they had checked in and found their room, they relaxed, looking out the window at the street below.

"Enjoying yourself?" John asked, watching Rose’s animated face and sparkling eyes.

"Oh, yes. Very much so. This is quite an adventure."

"That wagon ride was definitely an adventure," John remarked ruefully, rubbing his backside. He definitely wasn’t used to bouncing wagons.

Rose just laughed and hugged him. "I’ll make it better," she told him, giving him a smile and looking at him meaningfully.

He chuckled. "Thanks."

"Where do you suppose that driver learned English?" Rose asked him, looking out the window a moment longer. "It doesn’t seem to be a very common language around here, except amongst tourists."

John shrugged. "Probably from tourists. If he’s making his money charging outrageous prices for bumpy rides in his wagon, tourists are probably the only ones who can really afford it–and a few businessmen, who probably have their own transportation."

"Well, he was waiting at the docks, looking for people needing rides. I guess it makes sense that if you’re going to provide a service, you need to be able to communicate with the people using that service, at least a little."

They stepped back from the window, letting the curtains fall over it. Rose sat down on the end of the bed, kicking off her shoes. John reached into one of his bags, suddenly remembering something.

"I have a gift for you, something that I picked up in the United States."

Rose’s eyes lighted with interest. "What is it?"

"Open it and find out."

Rose pulled the wrapping paper off, opening the box to reveal a new camera and several extra rolls of film.

"Oh, this is perfect!" she exclaimed, examining the camera. Finding that there was already film in it, she gestured to John to stand by the window, quickly taking two pictures of him. Once he had returned the favor, she packed it back into the box and tucked it safely into one of her bags.

"I thought you’d like that," he told her. "You seem to have a liking for photographs."

"I like to remember everywhere I’ve been, and all the things I’ve done. I have a camera, but not as nice as this one. I’ll probably use them both, with so many new things to see and remember."

She flopped down on the bed, listening to the springs squeak under her weight. "Now, you needed a little attention?" she whispered suggestively, grinning as she pulled him down on the bed beside her.

"Let’s see how much noise this bed really makes," John responded, laughing, as Rose blushed a little and laughed with him.

Chapter Twenty
Stories