By: Vincent J. Curtis
Date: 2 Dec 10
Dateline: Forward Operating Base Sharana, Afghanistan
Airport terminals are a good place for people watching. All manner of people come and go through airports, and things happen there you would never see anywhere else. While waiting for a flight, people-watching is an interesting pastime.
As you fly east from Buffalo and get closer to the Middle East, the people and the happenings get stranger and stranger. Frankfort airport in Germany was the first stop on my trip to Afghanistan. Frankfort is one of the busiest airports in Europe, and when we arrived a light snow was falling.
The snow lay a half inch on the ground, wet and slushy. Buffalo would be embarrassed to be inconvenienced by it in winter. But in Frankfort, air operations were reduced to chaos, and many flights were cancelled. The German reputation for efficiency absorbed a serious blow.
In the lounge next to my departure gate, a well-dressed man of Middle Eastern descent was sitting alone, minding his own business. Two German gendarmes appeared, a man and a woman. The man carried an MP5 submachine gun slung casually across his chest in the ready position. The gendarmes sauntered into the departure lounge and walked directly to the Middle-Eastern man. They evidently asked him for his passport and travel documents, which he gave them. They walked over to a counter where a telephone was and called someone. After some back and forth over the phone, they hung up and the gendarmes huddled in discussion. After a few more minutes, they sauntered back to the man, returned his papers, and as casually as they entered sauntered out of the lounge looking at no one else. That was the only time I saw gendarmes in the airport.
Because of the back up of flights, my flight to Dubai from Frankfort had to be dispatched from a different gate. Everyone was shuffled to the new gate, but when we got there the airport officials could not get in. They swiped their access cards to no effect. Eventually a janitor appeared and used to key to by-pass the security system and open the doors to the gate. So much for security. Another blow to the German reputation.
Not enough weeds
Flights to Dubai attract a some characters. The characters I have in mind have a certain look which they think helps them blend in to the crowd. They try to look non-descript. The clothes they wear are subdued in color, and look just a little sloven. But they look well groomed, are lean, and wear their clothes tight-fitting. They have an expression on their faces that has a seriousness to it, grim and determined. They are all about their work. They travel alone, never with a woman or children. They are in their 30’s 40’s or 50’s. With only one or two of these in a crowd, they would not be noticed.
However, when a departure lounge has thirty or forty of these characters together a pattern begins to emerge. That pattern becomes more noticeable when the characters start to stand together and chat. With so many together, these characters start running out of weeds to hide in. There just aren’t enough old couples, young families, and skiers going to Dubai to hide among.
The Arabian Princess
We boarded the flight to Dubai at 2:30 in the afternoon, and had to wait eight hours in the plane on the tarmac for the wings to be deiced prior to take-off. (German reputation…!) But the wait was not altogether boring. A few seats ahead of me sat a raven haired woman, in her late twenties, not especially good looking but nicely figured and with long legs. She wore a wide leather belt around her waist that had the effect of a bustier. Va-voom!
Her luggage was in the overhead bin immediately in front of me. When this woman wanted to get something from her luggage she would reach and stretch wayyyy up high, higher in fact than her shirt would allow. The shirt would rise up with her arms to reveal a large colorful tattoo of a butterfly located quite low on her back. Over the eight hour wait on the tarmac, she did this often enough that I began to wonder whether she was doing this for her own amusement or for mine. She would also occasionally stretch her legs, also to good effect.
When we arrived in Dubai, I saw her again in the terminal. I was shocked. Her body was well covered with a wrap-around shawl and her hair was covered in a large dark veil. That she was of Arab descent suddenly stood out. She revealed herself to be the daughter of a wealthy man, and she dressed for the occasion whether it be Europe or the Middle East!
Dubai Terminal
Dubai is a kind of crossroads in the Middle East. Westerners, Far Easterners, and Middle Easterners all mix together. Men in classical white Arabian dress walk and talk with men in the best business suits; and jeans interact with business casual. The airport is clean, well designed, and thoroughly modern.
A few minutes observation reveals the absence of things you would expect to see. Not a single woman with a face-covering veil was there. Women were well covered with flowing dresses, and voluminous veils covered their hair, but no burqua-clad women or naqibs with eye-slitted face veils were to be seen. Not during the time I was there, anyway.
Women took up most of the receptionist jobs. These women wore long-sleeved blue pant suits with hair veils. Their photo ID badges showed the woman with her full face and hair. If a veil was in the picture, it was pushed well back on the head to show her hair plainly. In America, some are fighting to permit photo ID of women wearing face veils, with nothing but eyes showing. Full face and hair is how they it in Arabia.
The Primitive
Nothing contrasted more with the modernity of Dubai airport than an Afghani fellow. He looked like a Taliban: white brimless woven hat, brown sleeveless sweater, flowing white shirt and pants, brown sandals and brown socks. He did not so much sit in a seat as he squatted on it. He was an Afghan primitive. He looked lost and bewildered.
Then, his sleeve pulled back to reveal a thick gold watch. A cell phone appeared and he called someone. When he got up from his seat, he took a bag of duty-free with him. Even a strict-living primitive can enjoy the fruits of modern technology!
-30-
Next: Into Afghanistan
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