I boarded the plane with some trepidation and was glad that the skies were blue. Except for a thick layer of dust that disappeared at about 500 feet, all looked clear and I figured I would at least see whether we were heading straight into a mountain. When the pilot did a right turn immediately after takeoff I let out a deep sigh of relief and knew I was in good hands. We spiraled up and then zigzagged between the lower ranges until we reached sufficient altitude to turn to our heading. A straight out departure, even on this calm and clear day seemed nearly impossible given the height of the mountain range.
The greeting by the captain was done in two languages but the messages were different. The English was the usual standard welcome on board message but the other was something else. I presume it was a reading from the Koran because I recognized more Arabic than I usually do when Dari is spoken and God was invoked more than once. That is the difference between travelling in this part of the world and elsewhere. Invocatus atque non deus aderit, was engraved at the entrance to Jung’s house in Swisterland, imeaning ‘Invoked or not, God is always there.’ Here they invoke, just to be on the safe side.
Getting onto the plane was no small feat. I counted 13 check points between our guesthouse and my seat on the plane. The first few were handled through the car window while I was still accompanied by an escort from the office, the rest I had to do on my own with various young boys carrying my suitcase for a few meters for which they expected to be paid one or more dollars.
All of the checking is done in a cursory way or not at all. The various officials are mostly just going through the motions. In the US it is called the TSA Theater – it’s no different here. Only dumb terrorist would be caught. My female checkers didn’t even take my scotch tape away as was done in 2002 – supposedly because I could wrap scotch tape around the pilot’s mouth and eyes and then do my evil deed.
The checkpoints do of course cause many long queues and for once it is advantageous to be a woman in this country because men cannot frisk women. You have to go through a separate entrance, hidden behind a ragged and dirty curtain where one or more female officials were shivering in the cold. I must not have looked the profile of a terrorist and was ushered through quickly each time; only once did I have to open my suitcase.
On the way to the airport we passed unimaginable amounts of rebar-reinforced concrete and razor wire – a good business to be in. Tucked in between all this was the World Philosophical and Mathematical Society. I wondered what they were calculating and contemplating in there and who its members and sponsors were – or maybe it was just a front for something that had to be disguised. A Google search came up empty.
The heat of Dubai was a welcome change from the cold in Kabul. It was my luck to have once again a driver who did not know where to go. I summoned all my Arabic but he turned out to be a Pakistani with a dead cell phone. Eventually we found the place. I checked in and took a taxi to the Dubai Museum. I had contemplated going to the ski slope or camel races, and the bell captain suggested racing around dunes in a SUV followed by belly dancing but that was not very appealing. The museum was crowded with loud Europeans and I got out of it quickly and found a nice restaurant on the Creek.
I had a yummy Lebanese mezze with a lemon-mint concoction that looked dangerous but was delicious while watching the frantic activity in and around the Creek with loud noises from any kind of motor one could imagine, cars, trucks, boats and planes.
I took a water taxi back to the other side where my hotel was and ended up walking all the way back because the taxi market is a seller’s one – they are in short supply and the few that stopped where not interested in my destination; either too close by or too much traffic. And now on to Holland.
Sylvia's Journal 
0 Responses to “Checking out”