The First Leg by Hylda McNair
‘Jumper off!’ shouted the small, male passport controller at the nervous traveller as she shook in her shoes in the crowded Dubai Airport.
I was that traveller!
I hate flying and only do so if I feel compelled to go on a journey which offers no real alternative. I, however, had read the 91st Psalm, before travelling, which reassured me, but was already testing my faith!
The journey started in a very wet and stormy Glasgow. I felt like Mary Poppins as I struggled under the umbrella and tried to keep my feet on the ground as I made my way down from the open air rooftop car park at Glasgow Airport. However, my spirits were not dampened as the anticipation of the whole trip to Botswana and the prospect of warm sunshine without the rain we were leaving behind compensated for a little discomfort in Glasgow.
I was tingling with excitement as we joined the queue to check in at the Dubai desk. Mixed with the excitement was the worry of my luggage being overweight! My friends in Botswana were looking forward to bottled water from Campsie Glen and Tunnocks Caramel Wafers was another treat for them. Thankfully, I didn’t have to decide what I might leave behind if I were put to the test. So far, so good.
Although I had been very particular in packing, keeping a constant eye on the instructions for travellers - hairspray in my case, paracetemol in my bag, etc. I was a bit anxious until I passed that hurdle. The wait for the call was pretty uneventful; have a coffee, wander round the duty free, discuss your travelling companions, have a coffee, wander round etc. until the thrill of your flight being called.
The plane was huge, the travellers were multicultural, the flight staff were so elegant in their uniforms and we were so at the back of the plane, against the wall! I never take a window seat (I look ahead all the time or have my nose in a book) so my friend sat in the inside and on the aisle seat sat a very amiable and interesting young man on his way to a plumbing job in India.
Almost from the moment we boarded the plane we were pampered and seemed to eat non-stop throughout the journey. The food was great - not the usually plastic meals passed around on planes. (I’m not sure if I’m allowed to say we travelled with Emirates) but they’d get my vote every time.
Sticking close to my friend Christine, when we alighted at Dubai, we made our way to the terminal knowing that there were certain rituals to be observed. Being, as I thought, a pretty harmless creature, I did not anticipate upsetting anyone, especially in a foreign land, so imagine how I felt when a finger was pointed at me and I was told to remove the upper part of my clothing.
What should I do? I asked myself. Strip off in full view of everyone or challenge his authority?
‘Excuse me?’ I squeaked.
‘Off!’ he shouted.
‘You expect me to take this off?’ I asked, indicating the shirt I was wearing.
‘Yes’, he barked.
By this time I was terrified, thinking if I disobeyed him I might get locked up in this strange land with strange customs. Perhaps seeing my hesitation caused him to think about what he was telling me to do, causing him to hesitate, for he suddenly called a female to escort me to a private room. Now I was really worried and my mind was running riot as I followed her. However, I’m pleased to say she ‘frisked’ me in the usual way with no sign of hostility, and then let me go for a much-needed shot of caffeine and a fairly lengthy wait for the next leg of my journey which was to Johannesburg where our flight was delayed due to faulty windscreen wipers (IT WAS RAINING) but that’s another story.
