A weekly ode to the joys of moaning about your holiday.
"Sir! Sir!" Please step back!" There's nothing like the loud voice of an American Customs official to make you feel guilty before being proven innocent. This was in Fort Lauderdale in Florida a couple of years ago, but the
truth is it's generally anytime I've been at an American airport. That level of volume; that attitude that seems to condemn travellers as a terrorists — it's really the least fun thing about holidaying in the States. But you go along with it because you have no choice. You're also — in my experience — not a terrorist, so ultimately you have little to worry about.
Other countries dial back the humourless airport officialdom shtick but often substitute it for something just as tiresome: way too many security checkpoints. On my recent trip to Sri Lanka we left Colombo's airport only after six instances of passport inspection and/or bag scans. Granted, this is a country that has endured civil war and the horror of bomb blasts (and come out the other side to be a hugely rewarding tourist destination), but what does checkpoint number six tell you that checkpoints one through five missed?
The staff were all perfectly friendly, but surely one belt and watchstrap removal is enough? At least I'm good at the belt removal. I can even do it with one hand as the other hand is invariably carrying a bag of my wife's holiday shopping. Like a cowboy cracking a whip, I one-handedly de-buckle and hurl my metal and leather strap into one of those grey trays. Then is the watchstrap, inevitably a two-handed affair. The phone comes out of the pocket, the laptop out of the backpack and we are good to go through the scanners without setting off a beep and an enforced pat-down.
Then wifey and I madly collect our trays and put ourselves back together, only to repeat the process a few minutes later. Colombo had us doing a checkpoint to enter the airport, a second to check-in, a third to go through to the departure area, a fourth once in the departure area, a fifth to enter the gate lounge and a sixth after the boarding call was made. The passports were shown at all six. Given we were en-route to Singapore via Kuala Lumpur with a collecting of bags and checking in again in KL, we'd notched up something like 15 security checkpoints in one day by the time we hopped into our taxi at Changi Airport.
Quick word on Changi though. Yes, this is a Travel Bugs column, but I can't mention this most glorious of all airports and the subject of checkpoints without drawing attention to the breath mints. Yes indeed, at Changi's security screenings, there are little baskets of courtesy mints for you right where you regather your belt, watch, laptop and carry-on luggage. In the States they assume you're a terrorist, in Singapore the assumption is you're a dear sweet thing who loves nothing more than a minty treat ahead of an international flight. Either that or a terrorist who could at least benefit from some fresh breath. It's bad enough to be a terrorist, but a terrorist with halitosis? You wouldn't read about it!
