My choice was between three episodes of Hannah Montana or The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2. Each was on an endless loop for 12 hours. I decided to sleep instead and when I woke up it was early evening and the sun was setting into the haze over the Persian Gulf. The water was dotted with dozens of oil tankers waiting to fill up at the pumping facilities scattered along the shore. Each facility was easy to spot by the fire plume burning the excess natural gas up into the sky.
After landing I walked downstairs to passport control and stood in the line for ‘Other Nationality.’ Next to me a line of women draped in black waited for their identification check in a private room by a female inspection agent. It’s hard to verify someone’s identity when you can’t see their face.
I’m travelling with a guy who can only be described as a shorter, fatter, balder version of Mr. Magoo. When I see him in line behind me, I notice that he’s managed to get some sort of stains on the front of his shirt during the flight. Once we collect his bags he immediately shuffles off towards the KFC counter, leaving his luggage unattended in the middle of the busy airport terminal. “Magoo!” I shout, “You’re bags!” He turns and looks sheepishly back at me. “Sorry Adam, I forgot I had them.”
We make it through customs and on to the hotel. We’ll stay here for a few hours and then head on to our next transit point further out in the desert.