Arrival Hall

Collecting the arrivals

Playing hostess not necessarily with the mostest can be exhilarating, the preparation that showcases your homes like it has never been for years in memory and the cleaner is invited twice in one week to shift the dust to other surfaces and stuff stray objects into malformed boxes.

The most important part is collecting your guests from their port of entry, the bus station is hardly sophisticated, the train station is tolerable but the airport is another place entirely.

You may not be sure of the expected arrival time of a bus, that of the train is set except where there are delays, strangely, I have waited for trains at the end of a seeming 6-hour long journey only to learnt 5 minutes before its arrival that it had been cancelled – it beggars belief.

The Arrivals Hall

Going to the airport suddenly seems like the most organised arrangement, you know the flight number, the expected arrival time and the signboards indicate if it has arrived or not – the waiting time is mostly expended in the baggage reclaim – that function is still not computerised, you need brawn to get your chattels off the cargo hold.

Now, I have met many at airports but Schiphol is a completely different experience, raucous it is rather than civilised, it is a party atmosphere and never reserved.It is a Dutch peculiarity, I have decided.

Family and friend groups, as many as 10 could be there to meet their quarry with colourful balloons, banners, cameras and kids running around, you will think it was a circus.

The passenger arrives and as the doors open, a tumult of joy and noise ensues, enough camera flashes to induce unwarranted discomfort and here I was thinking we were welcoming an entourage from Bombay – on closer inspection they were native Northern Europeans returning from an orgy of sun worship having sacrificed their natural tone for a possible skirmish with melanoma.

The love

I see the lady wait for her man and as she sees him, tears well up, a rush to a hug as she sweeps him off his feet – yes, I got the gender positioning right. Full labial smackers rather than the customary Dutch three kisses then other members of the welcoming party get theirs, but you see whose relationship is deepest.

Absence could make the heart grow the fodder of sadness but the expectation and arrival shows that absence does make the heart grow fonder still.

Where the relationship is familial, it appears the matriarch gets the first show of deep affection before anyone else, however, when that relationship skips one generation, one has a wry smile as grandson runs up to grandparent and this conversation ensues to the exclusion of the parents.

My life in a soppy universe

In those situations, one does wonder about that parallel universe, the one I woke up in a few months ago with a wife and 2 kids – dreams so sublime are nightmares in disguise because the thinking part of me wondered when wife and kids happened to me without me knowing or participating – the cold sweat, the palpitations and the sudden jolt into the comfort of reality.

The couples are young still, they are all still having children but some did not let the placenta drop before they were on to the next, they cope but it cannot be fun, if it were my situation.

My guests arrive, handshakes and hugs, after a drink we are back at my boudoir – need to turn down the sheets, it is almost bedtime.

My contribution to the war on terror - suspicion

Getting on a first class coach

Suddenly, I have found that I am being subconsciously programmed into the mindset of the war on terror as subjective analysis and profiling upset my peace of mind as I travel from place to place.

On my return from Brussels, I had the unfortunate situation of not travelling light which meant I could not move between coaches that easily.

Unlike the German or French trains, the platforms for Belgian trains in the Netherlands or Belgium are not signposted to signify what part of the train has the first class carriages which are usually at one end, so one has to stand in the centre and then run either way as the train arrives to the right end.

I got on, reclined my seat and dozed off as I usually do when I get on any moving vehicle where I am not the driver.

Passengers from hell and beyond

When we got to Antwerp a group of people got on, probably eight in number all adult from middle-aged to probably pension age.

The older men had dulcet sounding tones to their conversation, the middle-aged ones were like claxons at full blast and the women were like banshees shrieking at a ghoulish congregation of fearsome festivities in a cemetery at some utterly forsaken place.

I prayed they had second class tickets, hoping the ticket conductor would move them on, but no, they had paid to be in company and be completely inconsiderate of other passengers.

Then one of their number started playing with phone tones at peak volume, at which point, I should have gotten up and shouted some abuse at them, but someone else beat me to it, it only helped the situation a little.

Crude profiling praying for action

Then all this disturbance was done in a foreign language I could not understand, it was probably Turkish or Turkic and then I suddenly had a kindred feeling with those who had two Asians thrown off a plane travelling from Malaga to Manchester and I just could not be objective about it.

If only we could get the conductor to throw these people off at the next minor train stop for not conforming to accepted first class passenger conduct and speaking a foreign language to the inconvenience of us all.

Unusual behaviour feeding suspicion

Then when going to church yesterday, some four Moroccans got on the metro and rather than sit down considering the carriage was half-empty they were walking up and down the length of the coach without any order to whatever they were doing.

That really made many of us uncomfortable, could they be planning something like a mugging on the train or some dastardly terrorist act?

Once again, I felt like calling the police to see into what they were up to and get them off the train.

What is acceptable anyway?

Why can’t people just board public transport with the modicum of decency to behave in a generally unsuspicious and civil manner?

My fear is that I am slowly getting assimilated into a mindset that suspects everything and gets weary of people if they look or act differently, the problem is I can easily fall into the category of someone who looks different, and in desperate situations would I also get betrayed on needless suspicion and by atrocious bigotry?

This war on terror does make everyone vulnerable in these uncertain and interesting times.