Arrival

I hate airports. I always have.

Not true.

As a kid, I remember once catching the bus (140 from South Harrow) to Heathrow and going on the old viewing deck and watching the planes taking off. I loved the bustle, the power of the machines and the smell of the aviation fuel which used to get into your hair and clothes.

But, since I started flying, I have learned to loathe airports.

Between 16^th and 17^th September, I guess I sat around in airports for over six hours. Heathrow T4, Bahrain and Dammam. In different ways they are all bleak, bleak places. They offer such hope and promise of adventure but deliver so little in themselves.

Nevermind. Eventually, I arrived.

The flights were on time, efficient, clean, friendly, hospitable (amazing chicken biriyani from Gulf Air). But they were bloody crowded. So – Mr Economy – had little sleep despite taking off at 22:05 local and arriving at 10:45 Saudi time.

A persons first entry into the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, I am led to believe, should always be by plane. They have specific channels for first time visitors at arrivals and you have a rigid paperwork process to follow. I’d been warned about this. It’s bureaucracy and all about control. 

In itself, the process is simple. You complete a form that mimics everything already set out on your visa and passport. An official reads it, stares at your face, stares at your face some more, then reads your visa, has a further stare, then reads your passport, feels a compulsion to stare at your face again, chucks the form in a pile (note… the pile is massive; it probably had 500+ forms in it but we were the first arrival of the day and I was second in the queue), stares at your face for a while, takes your photograph, stares at your face for a bit and finally takes your finger prints three times before staring at your face a further six times. Once he is done he stares at your face a final time. Eventually he nods you away. Throughout this process he does not talk. Communication is through a series of grunts and eye movements. Smiling is actively discouraged on both sides.

I’d heard that a colleague had to wait in line for close on 12 hours with no seat, food, water or toilet break to get through. A second colleague had a 2 hour experience only curtailed when a military guard went down the line and fast tracked all the white passengers from the endless queue (Saudi is that type of place). I had got myself ready for the long haul.

I was through in 10 minutes. 

I assume that it was the luck of being on the first plane out of Bahrain so there were only about six of us to go through three desks. Happy.

The other thing that I was warned about was the do’s/don’ts of bringing stuff in. A friend of a friend of a friend who I have been talking with suggested that I shouldn't worry too much and said that as you pop in and out of the kingdom you grow in confidence with what you can get away with. 

Everything about the process was pretty standard airport fare. Wide featureless concrete halls where time stands still and you park all traces of hope and optimism while you wait and wait and wait for your luggage. The usual border checks noted above.I thought I had escaped all attention when the drug dog didn't give a shit about me or my bags appearing to be utterly and gleefully distracted sniffing his handler’s crotch. But at customs, they check your bags through an X-ray machine before they let you out.

I got pulled.

I was the only one of the first time visitors to get pulled.

My bottom twitched like a little rabbit’s nose.

You see, I wasn't worried about any of my stuff per se. Except, I was aware that I had decided not to complete all of the paperwork associated with bringing in medication. I’d done my research and it was a ball ache. Copies of all prescriptions. Letters from an accredited GP explaining what my medical condition was, why it required medication and notes about dosages etc. I’d done all that. It took an age ‘cos it’s near impossible to see a GP back in Harrow and it had cost me some money, but I’d done it. But I had chosen not to complete the final step – a really long and intimidating form detailing all the above in Arabic that had to be sent ahead to the customs people in Dammam at least a week before my arrival. Bollocks to that I had thought sitting back on Northolt Road.

Oh. And I had decided to bring in a few more tablets than the rules allow for.

Saudi’s don’t like drugs. They don’t take prisoners. They execute people.

My life started to rush before me and the little rabbit at the door to my bottom twitched it’s nose like a little rabbit possessed.

In truth, my packing is legendarily poor. I had so much varied electronic equipment, cables, plugs etc that my bag probably looked explosive on the scanner. So it was inevitable that I was going to be stopped. But it wasn’t the wires that bothered them. They had a quick check of my camera and electronic stuff but I had a selection of DVDs that they really wanted to look at. I had to go through each disc with them and have each approved…

I’ve since discovered that they don’t like DVDs, CDs or Books. Apparently it is very common to have them confiscated without explanation and without recourse.

They were quite quizzical of my complete Prisoner box set – “What is it?”, “What’s it about?”… Yeah… “We want information… INFORMATION”.

They were confused by a Goldfrapp DVD… It’s pink, I know… You’d love Strict Machine!

They smirked at The Professionals… What? I like 1980’s cop shows. What of it!

Team America didn’t raise an eyebrow… Fuck yeah!

Then they pulled out “Christy Malry’s Own Double Entry”.

OK. Right. Gulp… Here we go. Where do I start if they ask?

“Err. Look. Listen. It’s not what you think. It’s about a guy who lives his life based on simple book keeping principles. Debits and credits… He’s a bit crazy. It ends badly and he kills many, many people... It’s really good… No roasting or butt plugs are involved. Honest. Err”.

The little rabbit’s nose stepped up a notch but everything was let through. No questions. I reckon they know that Luke Haines did the soundtrack, so - by default - know it is righteous.

…

…

…

And they never found the prescription stuff. 

My packing is so bad that they didn't have the heart to get me to take all my stuff out. The guy even folded some of my stuff up better than I had originally to put back in the case for me. I reckon that he’d have sat on the case for me to zip it closed if I’d have asked.

All sorted. 

I went on my way and the little rabbit’s nose became still.