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In 1976 my first leg of my big trip overseas saw my
British Airways flight land in Hong Kong.
Off we tumbled, after nine hours of flying,
into the Hong Kong Airport duty-free department store
where my eye was taken by a
delicate coral-like carving housed in glass.
British Airways departing Heathrow.
The girl behind the counter became excited when
I showed some interest in making a purchase.
My interest was taken as a sale, by her.
As I pondered whether or not to purchase,
said souvenir was being wrapped up.
‘No’ appeared to be lost in translation, so to speak.
All I could see was my souvenir becoming a broken mess
after three or four months of travel.
As I began to walk away the sales girl was having a meltdown
and all I could think of was the heavily armed guards/soldiers
protecting the terminal.
This could not have been her first meltdown
because I am still here to tell the story.
South Africa’s O. R. Tambo Airport, Johannesburg
Leaving Hong Kong our next leg was south,
keeping well away from Vietnamese air-space,
across the Bay of Bengal to New Delhi, where,
from memory, I did not irritate any of the duty-free employees.
However, I also made sure that I did not show any real interest
in their wares either, which may have helped.
Time came to board for the third leg of my flight to London.
As I made my way through security checkpoints to board,
my way was blocked by a seven-foot-tall (to the top of his turban), uniformed Indian.
He and his right armed block me from continuing to the plane
while his left arm was clearly directing me to a cubicle
a few paces off the preferred track.
Once inside the cubicle, with non-verbal communication,
I was directed to raise my arms prior to a frisk search.
In my left pocket was a small metal container
in which I was carrying some medication I was/am required to take.
As the frisk progressed and reached that area of my body,
the container was given a firm, but gentle squeeze,
and I was then allowed to board.
There was not one utterance of verbal communication between us.
South Africa’s O. R. Tambo Airport, Johannesburg
Upon arriving in Rome I was delighted to know that there
would be no way I could upset any Italian duty-free employees.
Why?
We were not allowed to disembark and spent 90 minutes
sitting in our respective seats while refuelling took place,
after which we were London bound.
Our final leg had arrived.
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