My vacation is over. I did make the most of it and yes my muse will get back to its beauty sleep, which might take forever, because I don’t think I will return to Iraq until the Baghdad airport is in better shape. The departure was as terrible as the arrival though no neighbouring head of state was involved this time; of all flights mine was cancelled and of all the people I was one of the few fellow passengers who were not informed earlier of the disastrous inconvenience.
I do learn from my mistakes and I guess I must impart the dos and don’ts at Baghdad airport:
Always wear grey or beige, clothes will be smeared all over.
Never wear footwear with tricky shoelaces. If you have smelly feet, don’t worry, no one will notice, other passengers are busy cursing the funny regulations. Always make space for a comfy pillow; you’ll never know you might spend the night there. Never trust your instinct and have some sense of adventure, not all cab drivers who look like thugs are true militiamen, and if they were, cheer up, they might be the key to your demise, an option you’d rather consider than go through debilitating experience. Don’t bother ask the information desk or anyone in uniform, they’re always clueless. Look for grumpy passengers who like to complain, they’re the ones who will tell you when HER MAJESTY THE PLANE will show up.
Oh Gosh! This is too spiteful. Some credit must be given to the Iraqi staff members, they were so very courteous and tried their best to make matters look less ugly than they really are; it’s just beyond their control.
This wraps up my Baghdad series. Thanks for being such ardent readers and زوج ابن 16 زوج الي يفكر يمر بهالمطار الزبالة.
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