List "A"

I happen to be standing near an escalator at Abu Dhabi airport. This is not something I normally do a lot of, but I've stopped to check the boarding time for my flight. In front of me is an ATM that dispenses gold bullion. But it's out of order and hemmed in with discarded trolleys. Where else would you find a gold ATM so casually treated? And in front of me is the escalator going down to the departure level where the buses leave from, which is where I will be heading.

The escalator has poles in front of the entrance spaced so that you can't take a trolley onto the escalator. People are walking through, pulling their wheeled bags behind them. I am looking at the different people as they rush by and as always I am impressed by how people come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, wearing an amazing variety of different clothes, from the businessmen in their suits and ties (I've never understood why you'd wear a suit and tie on a long haul flight) to those wearing shorts and thongs (flip flops). Along come two large African ladies. The first has a toddler with her and another child tied to her back with a batik cloth. That brings back all sorts of memories from my time on Africa, where seeing large women with babies tied to their backs, their little feet poking out in front front beneath voluminous brightly coloured batik cloth, is a very common sight. The next lady is not just a large woman, she is a very large woman, not atypical of what you often see in Africa. She's too wide to make it through the poles; now that is impressive! She manoeuvres herself past the poles around the side - she's obviously done that before - and continues on without missing a beat.

At my destination airport there is an interesting demonstration of the type of discrimination that is normal in this part of the world. There's a very clearly defined social and ethnic hierarchy here: a place for everyone, as long as everyone knows their place. Most nationalities (those on "list A") are entitled to obtain a visa on arrival here. The relatively small group of people from these countries that has arrived on the morning's flights is being served by some six immigration officers and the line moves quickly. We are flanked on both sides by several hundred Indian (and probably also Pakistani and Bangladeshi) arrivals - who are almost certainly here to perform the manual labour and other tasks that local people will not or cannot. This select group of several hundred arrivals is being served by what appears to be only two or three officers and there is not a lot of movement visible. Given the number of people I guess that many of them have been waiting for what may well be hours. I have to admit that I'm glad that I'm in list "A".

When I get to the baggage area it's pandemonium, although in a vaguely organised way. There's bags from four flights on my carousel and I start to look for my bag on the moving belt. Then I realise that the entire floor area around the carousel is covered by luggage which had clearly been removed from the belt already since the belt is woefully overloaded. So now I don't know whether my bag is already amongst the piles on the floor or whether it still has to arrive! I start wandering amongst the piles of suitcases and bags and still haven't found mine after my second round, even though bags from my flight are clearly amongst those on the floor. It's not looking good. Eventually I spot my suitcase trundling along the belt, and I can make good my escape from the luggage area. Lots of people are milling around but not many are actually getting their bags. I wonder where the owners of all those bags are? Then I realise they are probably not on list "A", so it's going to be a while before the bags find their owners.

Are you my luggage?

After putting my bag through the X-ray machine (which I am convinced is more for show than to actually serve much useful purpose) I am ejected though the sliding doors to be greeted by rows of Indian faces, interspersed occasionally by hotel drivers (many in their company livery) holding up signs with the name of their passenger, trying to make eye contact hoping I might be the one. I have to disappoint all of them, even while they are disappointing me, since I am also looking for my driver, without - of course - knowing what he looks like. But finally I spot a familiar sign and although he doesn't appear to speak a word of English, we get along famously. Until, that is, I discover he's also waiting for a second passenger, who it turns out is not in list "A".

Once we are finally on the road from the airport, my driver impresses me once more when it becomes clear he doesn't know which hotel I am supposed to be taken to. Now you'd think that perhaps he might have thought of this small detail before we set off (or even before he came to the airport), but I guess that's expecting too much. So we stop on the side of the motorway so I can get some paperwork from my bag, we make a phone call (where would we be without mobile phones nowadays?) to a translator, and we're in business.

My hotel is new and rather stark. The decor is colourful, which somehow conveys an ambience of cheapness. As I walk into the bathroom I think to myself "this is the kind of hotel where there's a squeeze bottle dispenser of body and hair wash screwed to the wall in the shower so the guests can't steal the soap" and sure enough, there it is, in pride of place in the shower. I support I am going to have to go for a walk to the local Lulu (supermarket) to buy myself some soap. Luckily it's winter, so it won't get much hotter than 26 degrees (C) today. I know there's a Lulu nearby from my research before coming and I take a peek out the window to see if I can spot it to judge the distance. It turns out that I have a room with a view - of a construction site. The sun glares straight into the window, making for an interesting reflection.

Room with a view (the Lulu supermarket is in the distance on the right)