I’m no means a jetsetter, but I’ve flown enough times to know what to do and how things work.
For instance, if it’s a short trip, I’d just bring along a carry-on instead of a check-in my luggage. It cuts down on the process and you eliminate the risk of your bags ending up in Ulan Bator, when you’re in Conakry.
Or wearing riding pants with built-in cinches, thus eliminating the need for a belt, and sandals, instead of ankle-length boots. No more fumbling to lace up your boots or putting on your belt after the security screening.
Leave your coins at home and only carry essentials, like housekeys and your wallet, in your pocket.
These little tips I’ve amassed over time, from personal experiences, and from watching people in front of me at security checkpoints suffering meltdowns, all because little Freddie decided to stuff his pockets with coins, keys, and metal breath mint containers, and insisted on wearing a belt with a buckle the size of Texas and his Red Wings boots with eight pairs of eyelets.
I learnt things the hard way. My first overseas assignment was in 1993, to cover the first International Defence Exhibition in Abu Dhabi, the United Arab Emirates.
This was after the first Gulf War. Iraq’s Saddam Hussein had invaded its southern neighbour, Kuwait. The United States and her allies drew a line in the sand, and in a blitzkrieg move called Operation Desert Storm, decimated the Iraqi war machine.
So, when I touched down in the UAE two years later, I was a ‘reporter’ with no visa, didn’t speak a word of Arabic, and carried only a ‘letter’ from the UAE Defence Ministry to confirm my story. What followed was an intense series of questioning, and three hours of sitting in a holding room, with two bearded guards outside, armed with 7.62mm Avtomat Kalashnikova AK-47s, before someone from the ministry finally showed up, who vouched for me.
My second overseas trip was in 1993 to Seattle, Washington, to cover the rollout of the then-new Boeing 777.
First time flying Business Class on a Boeing 747-400. Instead of a simple, flip-down, seatback tray table, the table on the 747 was mounted in the arm rest. You used your finger to hook it out of its housing, where a multi-joint system would extend and rotate it 90 degrees and then slide out the extension where you would flip out the other half of the table that was mounted on a simple hinge.
Against my better judgment, I decided to deploy my tray table. There was really no need to – we were still on the ground, the in-flight service was still hours away. But I did anyway.
So, when the time came to stow everything away, I just couldn’t get it to slide back in. No matter how hard I pushed, prodded, wiggled, tugged, pleaded, and cajoled, it refused to budge.
Right across the aisle was a Mat Salleh who looked like this was not his first rodeo. I decided to watch him stow his tray table and then repeat the process. I must have been practically leaning right out of my seat because he noticed this small, bespectacled Asian dude looking like him intently. Our eyes met and locked. And then, he uttered the words no heterosexual man wants to ever hear.
“Are you going to propose?”
“Eh… eh… where got,” I said, in the deepest baritone I could muster. My saviour came in the form of a lovely, kebaya-clad stewardess who asked me: “Can I stow your table for you, Encik Haris?”
“Oh my, dear God! Yes! Yes! Yes!! Thank God!”
The two years of movement restrictions as a result of the Covid-19 pandemic has dulled some of the travel experiences gleaned from the many air miles accrued over the years.
During a recent trip to Bangkok, I was next in line at passport control at Suvarnabhumi International Airport. The officer looked like she had spent eight hours too long at her station and would rather be somewhere else.
And then I came along. I handed her my passport and she held up four fingers and gestured to the biometric scanner in front of me. I dutifully placed the four fingers of my right hand, followed by the left.
She then held up both her thumbs.
Thinking that it was the universal sign that she was pleased that I had executed the task so flawlessly, I reciprocated by holding up both my thumbs while flashing her a stupid grin.
She shook her head slowly, the way a disappointed mother would her slightly dim child.
That’s one more for my travel tips.
