Air Travel

 I hear people complaining about air travel recently – and probably with good reason – but I often find it hard to relate. Traveling in the United States and traveling outside of it are two entirely different animals. Standards for safety I have encountered abroad range from that time I was felt up so thoroughly by a security guard at Ferenc Liszt airport in Budapest I felt like she owed me dinner, to that time in Egypt, where, despite the prevalence of x-rays and metal detectors, they legitimately don't give a crap.

I can't count how many TSA violations I have gotten away with in my short life. Pretty much anywhere besides America will let you bring a bottle of water on the plane (this has happened to me in Egypt, the Kingdom, even Hungary) and a couple times I have forgotten something like a razor in my backpack and not gotten it confiscated.

Compare this to the one time my mother and I were traveling to Peru and they looked through her entire carry on for about twenty minutes until they found a nail file. Which they confiscated. Or the time, in Japan, everything was removed from my bag and x-rayed separately  I spent a long time standing awkwardly while they went through my things, feeling like I should be explaining why I'm bringing a bag of cheetos into the country (they were for a friend!)

In the Kingdom, there is separate security for women and for men. The men go through the metal detector like normal, and the women are diverted into this little hut off to the side. Inside, you have to pull aside not one, but two sets of heavy, light-blocking curtains to reach the inner sanctum.There, bored female guards will half-heartedly wand you over in case you are keeping a switchblade in your knickers. Incidentally, if I was keeping a switchblade in my knickers, they probably wouldn't have found it.

I have walked in several times to find the guards either cheerfully chatting with each other, sitting back and relaxing, having lunch, or, most recently, listening to their ipods (HARAM!)

No one can come and check on them because their bosses are all male. These ladies have figured out a pretty sweet racket.

These airports also have x-ray machines as you come in the door (not that they ever stop anybody from bringing in anything) and “family sections” which is where it's okay for women to be. There are also “single” sections which are for single men. To be fair, men are only allowed in the 'family' section if they are actually with their families.

As a lone female traveler, or really as a female in the Kingdom in general, I have to be careful where I sit, even in the 'family' section. Sitting by myself is always an option, though not as good as sitting relatively near other women. It should go without saying that sitting next to a man is not even an option.

On the plane, before take off, they recite a prayer that the Prophet Muhammad used to say before he traveled. There is, of course, no alcohol on any Kingdom Airline flights.

This in-depth description is in honor of my vacation I am taking for the rest of the month of October. I worked a grueling five days this month and I deserve a vacation!

I'm starting to feel like I take vacations professionally. Paid vacations.

All sarcasm aside, the last week has been hell on earth. Sometime since I left everyone has decided to start hating each other. When I arrived back, I was immediately treated to a dozen side conversations about one person or another. I felt bad even listening to people tear into each other but I hadn't been there so I had no idea if it was justified or not.

Tempers flared the other day on the bus and there was snarling all the way home. It was so vicious that my mp3 player couldn't drown it out and I had to distract myself by trying to learn the Arabic numbers using licence plates.

I know them perfectly now, in case you were wondering.

I got my own dose of annoyance when the job of editing and producing the bi-weekly newsletter fell entirely to me. Typically, we have a team to work on it, but they were all too busy this week.

I didn't mind at first and I was kind of looking forward to it. It may have even been out on time if anyone had sent me anything they were supposed to. On Wednesday COB (the newsletter should have been out already) I was still missing the main article that my supervisor said she would send me at 9 am. Plus, I designed all the banners and titles myself in illustrator and my supervisor takes one look at them and crinkles her nose, asks me if we can do something about the ugly colors.

After a week of this crap I was done and so glad someone had talked me into leaving for the vacation instead of staying in town and... I don't know, screaming at the ceiling?  

Zen and the Art of Traveling

            I was drastically unprepared for my flight yesterday. Usually I have all the stuff I will need for the actual flight – toothbrush, books, eye mask, sleeping pills, mp3 player, etc. - in my purse while the rest of the stuff I'm carrying on – like a change of clothes, etc – is in the overhead bin.

            But for this flight, I had about 24 hours notice, and for most of those 24 hours, I was freaking out about the fact that my real name was not on the ticket . When I called the travel agent his response was – I kid you not - “but, does it really matter?” And this wasn't even the travel agent who bought the ticket in the first place, that guy was on the Umrah, or pilgrimage to Mecca. All I could think when I found that out was 'really? This weekend?'

            After hysterically emailing everyone and their mother in the Kingdom, I finally got an email saying they changed the name. I felt like this email was also saying 'would you chill?'

            On the plane I got my first taste of what being in the Kingdom would be like when the movies on the plane were weirdly censored. This includes blurring out necklines, and omitting a vast array of words such as 'pig', 'kiss', and 'tiller' as in, 'firm hand on the tiller'. No, I don't know why either. Also cut out were scenes where male and female characters were touching. This made even the most obvious plot line a little bit avant garde.

            I wasn't as stressed about this flight as I have been about others. There was a time when an overnight flight would cause me untold amounts of anxiety because I can't sleep on planes. It came to a point, in Turkey, where I made myself so sick I actually threw up because I hadn't slept and I was so anxious.

            Eventually, I realized that the anxiety was making it worse and that not sleeping wasn't the end of the world. So, this time around I had this kind of calm going on and I actually did manage to catch some shut-eye during the flight from D.C. (11 hrs). There was a kind of bliss spill-over when we landed in City1 and had to switch planes for reasons that I'm sure are clear to no one. I was still kind of zen about the whole thing where, in the past, I would be panicking.

            As I looked around, I could easily tell the difference between the people who had traveled a lot and the people who hadn't. The people who had traveled a lot seemed to have this resigned look about them. They knew they would eventually get there and there was no way to speed the process. One pair of travelers very much illustrated two different ways of handling the same problem. As one of them was serenely messing with his smart phone, the other was twitchy and asking a billion questions that no one could possibly have an answer to: 'how long will they make us wait?', 'why did we have to switch planes?', 'where are the other people on the plane? I don't see the other people that were with us!', etc. It was like watching former me badgering future me for information.

            By the time we got to the Capital, I was beyond caring. Even when there was no one there to pick me up (called it) I didn't panic as I usually would. Of course, I panicked a little. It always sucks when you are expecting to be met and no one is there. Usually, I feel like bursting into tears. This time I was a little frazzled because, due to the quick notice of the plane flight, I didn't really have a plan B other than calling people. And they had no payphones at the airport.

            I was about to accost some poor person and ask them to let me use their cell phone, when I saw a guy carrying a sign with the name of the institution I am working for on it. I hadn't seen this when I walked in, and there is a good chance he hadn't been there. He'd been waiting for me for about four hours at that point so I don't really blame him.

            He took me to a place that I first thought was a hotel due to it's opulent lobby. I was kind of annoyed because I was beyond ready to get to my apartment, but as I went up to the third floor, the oddly festive nature of the decorations started to tip me off. There was a whiteboard on one wall with a meaningful 'Who let the dogs out?' penned in the middle. Most telling were the little shiny banners everywhere that, for some reason, said 'Surprise!'

            I got to my apartment and it's pretty nice. The living room is spacious (but has no furniture other than some tables) and the kitchen is at least bigger than the one I had in Seoul. The bathroom smells to high heaven and I can only say that it must be sewer gases coming up from the pipes because it's all clean. I have two wall unit air conditioners which sound like they are going to give out any minute. But so far so good.

            The second I put my stuff down (the literal second) one of my neighbors, who is apparently my supervisor? Invited me over to her place for tea. A quick walk down the hall and I was sipping hibiscus tea with Susan and several other women who live in the building. It was really nice and they were all very sweet. They mostly seem to be British and most of them have just arrived here as well.

            I am currently waiting for my first day of work to start. Waiting being the key word here. More on that later.