On the plane
Trip Start
Mar 23, 2008
1
4
Trip End
Mar 2008
Iraq,
Iraq
Sunday, March 23, 2008
I have kept a diary for nearly every overseas assignment, sadly in the knowledge that it will remain a largely private affair between myself, and the written but unread word (unread that is by all but those who love me enough to pour through the tedium). Unless I seek clearance from the Foreign Office, so it will remain. A few months ago, my attentions were drawn unwittingly to the world of blogging. Now free from the restrictions of a Crown Servant, I am inspired to record some of my new experiences (careful to say "new" there, big brother). In doing so I hope to develop my capacity to put pen to paper, so I am bracing myself for constructive feedback.
I am on board flight EY20 to Abu Dhabi, scribbling this entry illegibly into my moleskin notebook (craptop has died). I am aware that the fact that I may potentially have an audience for my travel ramblings (even if it is only that sadweb guy alone in his flat), it will still make a difference to how I write. My main fear is that I become bland and self conscious - so please tell me (whoever you are) if that happens.
* * * * * * * * *
The journey thus far is uneventful. A bizarre Easter Sunday if ever I've known one (well, that one in Singapore WAS a bit odd, to be fair). My youngest woke me early, thrilled at the Easter Bunny's foresight to chuck chocolate all around the rented 1970's bungalow we live in, instead of hiding it in the snow filled garden (he is, like the rabbit, a sensible lad). Eggs were collected at dawn, and quickly cast aside in favour of snowman construction with his brother (his brother, not the rabbit's brother). I was left to pack. I was sort of hoping that the continuing heavy snow fall would challenge the Landrover a bit more on the ride to the airport, but sadly I am yet to justify the purchase. By the time we hit the M25 all that remained of the lovely stuff was a few damp patches and passing flurries of white powder from speeding rooftops.
There is something very cool about checking in a bag. Sending it on it's way down the rollered pathway - like sending a reconnaissance scout to check out....erm...enemy positions? No, that's too strong, but there is certainly a feeling of "Off you go, my son!" as it disappears off into an imagined black and white Esher-like world of conveyor belts and suitcase friends. And once it's gone, with boarding pass in hand, you feel like you are REALLY on your way. Like you have left England (or wherever) and are about to enter the no-man's land. Sadly my fantasy no-man's land involves crows (maybe vultures), tumble weed and blazing sun. All you will find in Terminal 3 is a melting pot of nations gathering to worship in transition the wonderful world of Starbucks (other similar brands can be used to similar effect).
The great thing about travelling with two kids is that you get three lots of hand luggage allowance. The pisser is that you end up carrying it all.
BTW, I haven't forgotten one of my children. The third one is skiing in France, like the uber cool rock 'n roll chick that she is. And probably blogging about it too - on Mebo or Beatbox, or whatever it is called. I digress.
I spoke to the kids some more about the UAE......Remember Dubai? I said....er, no mum....Kuwait? Cool, yes, they remembered Kuwait. The little one even remembered the desert, the heat, a splattering of Arabic from school, a swimming pool and Pizza Hut. I sigh to myself and flick the in-flight entertainment on for them (to their joy). Have I really dragged my kids around the world with me for the past 13 years for them to remember that Kuwait has a Pizza Hut? (Not that I have EVER eaten there. No. Not on your Nelly. Which is possibly why it holds such charm for my kids).
The thing is, I don't much like the Gulf states, with their American food chains, flashy cars and ill gotten gains. With their underpaid working class from the Asian sub continent and brash European ex-pats. So why is this the family holiday?
I blame working from home and the cabin fever it creates. Any travelling I do now (outside of work) will tend to be focussed on the individuals who's time I enjoy sharing. My fiend in the UAE is one such. A cynical serial ex-pat with a dry wit and wonderful British way of looking down her nose at everyone, whilst at the same time being utterly self deprecating. She and I produced a collection of photographs we took in Sri Lanka and made them into a book (The writing it contains is embarrassingly amateur, so please don't be tempted to look it up). We've been friends since, through marriage (hers) and divorce (mine).
So I am not at all drawn to Abu Dhabi by the shopping festival, nor the sanitised water front (although the concept of letting the sun warm the bits of me permitted to be on show does entice me somewhat) - the main reason for going is to see my friend.
If you don't mind I am going to tuck into my book now (the Bonfiglioli classic) and I may even watch Burung Burung Kertas (not because I am showing off, but because I have never seen an Indonesian movie - I will tell you if it's crap). I will write some more travellers tales when I next feel the need.
