OR Tambo – aka Johannesburg Airport – has quietly become one of my favourite airports. Not a top-tier favourite like Harry Potter, Galaxy chocolate, or me (not my brother), but more like one of those nostalgic films that’s always on at Christmas.
Not groundbreaking, not that glamorous, but comforting. A bit like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang or Mary Poppins.

You didn’t plan to be into it, but here we are.

✈️ My OR Tambo Airport Rituals

I’ve got my routine down.

If I land in the morning, I head straight to Mug & Bean for the “low-carb breakfast” – poached eggs, spinach, tomato, halloumi (and yes, I always order two extra eggs and sourdough toast, because I am who I am). Flat white with almond milk. It’s my usual.

Afternoon flights? Sushi at Ocean Basket, or I head to the pub at the end of the terminal where they have plug sockets and no issue with me sitting there for four hours like a squatter.

The only thing I can’t figure out is which way international departures is. Every time, without fail, I walk up the wrong ramp like it’s my first time here. But domestic departures? That’s my happy place. Mostly because of the Vida Café and their 4-cheese savoury muffin.

Warm, gooey, elite.

If you’re considering moving to South Africa, honestly – that muffin is reason enough.

But my muffin journey hasn’t been smooth.

🧁 Muffin Drama: A Tragedy in Two Acts

1. The Carrot Cake Incident
Bought my muffin, saved it for the plane like a civilised grown-up. Sat down, opened the bag… carrot cake.
Cake is not for vegetables. Please keep your carrots, courgettes, and beetroot out of my baked goods. I don’t care how “moist” it is.

If you’re going to give me the wrong muffin, at least make it chocolate. But carrot cake? Diabolical.

2. The Great Muffin Heist
Different flight, same muffin. I put it safely in the seat pocket, took a nap, woke up – and it was gone.
Not a crumb in sight.
I still don’t know who stole it. I hope they enjoyed every bite, and I hope they feel guilt. Forever.

🛍️ Why Woolies is Dangerous (and Stroopwafels are Life)

Aside from the muffin chaos, OR Tambo has a Woolies, which is always a win.
But dangerous – because I have an addictive personality and no self-control.
Past obsessions: hot cheese puff pastries, mini eggs, mini BBQ chicken pancakes (they got banned after one weird-tasting incident).

Current fixation: Stroopwafels from Spar. Or stroopies, as I call them.
They’re wildly overpriced, and I will buy them anyway. They only ever stock like ten packs at a time, which triggers my panic-buy mode. Is this what toilet paper hoarders felt like?

🎒 Backpack Regrets: Immediate No

This trip, I only brought hand luggage.
I left South Africa with a small case and a tote, feeling smug. But thanks to multiple Gymshark orders and a couple of Dr Libby Weaver books, I needed more space on the way back.
Options were:

• Check my small case and use a backpack as hand luggage
• Or take a bigger case I didn’t need just for the return leg

Went with the backpack. Immediate regret. I hate carrying it. My shoulders are sore and I feel personally attacked by its straps.

Also — my skin is so dry after 11 hours on a plane. Can’t wait to get home to my red light mask and actual skincare routine. I didn’t bring any of it because… hand luggage. Proud of myself for packing light, but I feel like a raisin in leggings.

✨ Random Airport Thoughts

Currently back at Mug & Bean. My waiter is fabulous – makeup on point, service incredible. I’d hire him as a junior stew in a heartbeat.
Had a flat white with almond milk (and far too many sweeteners). No regrets, but my pancreas might disagree.

Something’s leaked in my toiletries bag. Pretty sure it’s the mini bottles I decanted my hair oil and leave-in into. Love that for me. Everything now smells like coconut and minor defeat.

The American lady who sat next to me on the flight is a few tables over. She’s with her team from the protein shake company. I googled it after the flight — definitely a pyramid scheme.
But honestly, they’re all so sweet. She said she’d never been abroad before and was so excited to visit South Africa. I really hope she has the best time. I mean that.

Walked past the airport bookshop and nearly got sucked in. I don’t know what kind of gravitational pull bookstores have, but I fall for it every time.
I didn’t go in today, which is growth. I buy books and never read them. I use the Kindle app, I hoard courses I don’t finish, and unless it’s Harry Potter fan fiction, I’m probably not getting to the end. It’s a hobby, really – collecting intentions.

Need to book a taxi from the airport. Last time, the driver called two hours early and asked if I could be ready 30 minutes sooner than I’d booked.
No. I cannot. I booked that time for a reason. I do not wish to sit at the world’s smallest airport for an extra hour just for fun.

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Gate D8.
That’s what the check-in lady said. It was on my boarding pass. On the board.
So I schlepped all the way down to the furthest gate at the end of the airport and sat down, quietly minding my business.
Then I get a text from the airline:
“Your flight is now boarding from Gate E3.”
Of course it is. Opposite end of the airport, down the stairs, onto a bus. In the rain. Stunning.

Speaking of airport buses – I still remember this holiday to Turkey with my parents and brother years ago. We waited forever to get off the plane, only to be herded onto a bus that drove us, I swear, about 50 metres to the terminal. I could’ve moonwalked there faster.

We went to a waterpark that had absolutely zero health and safety regulations and yet we had the best time. Highlights included:

• Trampolines with no padding – just springs and actual rocks. One kid fell straight through.

• The park was built on a hill, the tiles were slippery when wet (so, always), and everyone was falling over. Also, the tiles were scorching hot.

• And the final moment: I’d just come off a slide and was getting out of the pool when a man came flying down after me on an inflatable. He skimmed across the water and slammed into me, pinning me against the steps — which were, obviously, razor sharp. RIP to the skin on my shins.

Was it horrendous? Kind of.
Did we love it? Absolutely.
Family holiday chaos: 10/10.

Honestly though? I feel good.
Left my parents’ house 24 hours ago and I’m surprisingly rested. Calm. Ready to be home.

Tired-ish, slightly sticky from leaked coconut oil, and carrying a backpack full of poor decisions.
But we’re getting there.

👑 Women Flying the Plane = Queens

Boarding update:

Can confirm no one on Earth knows how to board a plane like a normal person.

I’m in the aisle seat. An older couple arrive – they’re in the window and middle. Before I can even stand up, the woman starts climbing over me.

Excuse me ma’am.

This isn’t Cirque du Soleil. Give me one second to stand up and let you in.

Meanwhile, people behind us are trying to squeeze past while others are still putting their bags in the overheads – because apparently, personal space is optional now.

Please wait.

The plane isn’t about to leave without you.

Also – bonus point for this flight: it’s an all-female crew.

Pilot, officer, cabin crew – all women.

Love that.

Just a group of absolute queens flying us across South Africa with a slick bun and no nonsense. Get it, girls.

And that concludes today’s episode of ✈️ “Why Am I Like This?”

For more travel chaos, soft girl nonsense, and mild airport philosophy, read my Travel Essentials guide here — or just subscribe below so you never miss the drama. 💅🏼