Passing Ports

It's called passports because you need them to pass 'ports.

I'm a sucker for the romantics of traveling; luggage tags and stickers on bags, immigration stamps on passports. So that's why I was rather frustrated back in January when I was crossing borders in Europe. Apparently the European Union acts like a single country: you don't just enter Germany via Frankfurt, you enter Europe via Frankfurt.

Crossing from Germany into France doesn't quite feel like crossing into a different country, it feels like taking the train from KL to Ipoh (albeit much much faster of course). Crossing into Spain from France on the other hand, is much more scary, with the border police taking our passports away for checks and asking as questions after questions, all while keeping the train and everyone else on the platform.

So through the end of the trip, I only have one stamp for Europe; in via Frankfurt, out via Frankfurt.

A few years back while I was stamping out of Jakarta, the immigration guy asked me, "Mas, ada uang kopi ngak?", apparently hoping that I deposit him with my last few rupiahs.

Too bad I still have that keeping foreign money hobby.

In Bangkok, my friends told me that they were passing free condoms to everyone going out of the terminal, which I somehow missed. Back when you are 16, these things interest you much isn't it?

The flight on the other hand was quite interesting though, albeit a tad queer with the plane conductors, oh I mean, stewards.. stewards doing a quiz show to some hundred tired, bored and suffocating passengers.

On Lufthansa en route from Doha to Frankfurt, a German steward (yes, steward) was nice enough to give me a rather personal attention like feeding me with sandwiches every 15 minutes, asking me if everything was good and such. All because I said "Danke schön" when he passed me the headphones. He asked me back "Ihnen sprachen deutsch" or something as such. "Nien", I said. He smiled as he walked away and boom, came the sandwiches!

For a few brief moments, high above Saudi Arabia's Rub-al-Khali, I felt thankful that I learnt that phrase from a Dutch chemical engineer a few years back on that KLM back home from Jakarta.

"Ah, you learned that from your friend ya?", said that stunning Dutch stewardess, all smiling and glowing to us both. Somehow that does happen when you hearing bit and pieces of your language spoken by a foreign tongue, like when I was browsing through the bundles in Bangkok and one of the shop owners walked to me and said, "Hok ni buleh kure lagi be".

Dank u wel, meneer.

That prompted me to go ballistic when on the Qatar en route to KLIA, the snobbish (Malaysian, thank you very much) crew somehow 'forgot' to send refreshment to my entire row, then not responding when I clicked on the stick figure with a cup button, again and again, only to act panic when one hungry Arab guy got up, walked to the back and scolded them.

Which is nice actually since prior to the flight they announced over the PA that "We at Qatar are dedicated to provide you the best service. If you have anything to complain, please do ask for our Customer Satisfaction card". Oh, of course I did.

"You have the better plane, the seat smells new, the buttons all works, your music library is epic and that funky neon lights are cool. Yet, I had more fun on Lufthansa".

Oh I don't care if they tore up the card. I feel good. Somehow my Kelantan genes are hard at work that day, if you know what I mean.

But then again, I do miss holding hands with the Malaysia Airlines stewardess as she walked me all the way from the terminal to my seat. She too gave me undivided attention on my short flight from Alor Setar to KL.

Maybe because back then I was a young passenger traveling alone. Heh.

Chuck Palahniuk in Fight Club wrote about single serving friends. Those people you know from the small talks on flights. Thinking about that I guess I don't mind having single serving friends, and being one myself. Our memories of them are pure, simply based on that few hours that we know each other. And then it's over. You remember the deeds, not the faces, not the names. Sometimes you would wonder more about them; who they are, what they actually do. But how are you to know? They then become a mystery and that makes it all more beautiful.

Just like the night when Ted Mosby met Victoria over at Claudia's wedding. Before he ruined it all.