Heading Home

Running out of gas five minutes before we were due to arrive there was probably not the best introduction to Houston Airport. 

Not something I’ve ever managed before, either.  Sinking cars in the sea, pissing off car-driving presidential body guards and assorted police officers, crashing into large trucks and car park walls while inebriated, having cars towed after getting stuck in overly abundant desert sand, providing the car-target for rock-throwing maniacs?  Yes, yes and yes.  But running out of petrol?  

For a start, I don’t drive around in large, silver convertibles.  Or, for that matter, large, gas-guzzling vehicles of any sort.  Mine, the titchy little bubbles that run on kilometre after kilometre after the yellow petrol tank symbol lights up and I have had ample time to panic.  Especially in Gulf Arab countries where petrol may be cheaper than water but petrol stations few and far between.

So when Otherwise Completely Marvellous Girlfriend (OCMG) makes gurgling noises, which accompany similar noises from inside the vehicle just as we exit onto a single-lane ramp, I am somewhat bewildered. So are the cars behind us, which can – just – squeeze past us, but do not appreciate having to do so.

But there is happy news!  OCMG announces that services that come to your aid in cases of dire car-emergency are free in Texas!!!

Sadly, however, on this occasion they fail to materialise.  Instead a plumber turns up and offers to tow us, pushes the car off the road, and fails to either laugh at us or comment on my accent.  [People, let it be known that this last is critical for those seeking my adoration].

Alas, time is ticking by, I have a plane to catch, and OCMG offers to call a taxi.

Bugger that, I think [in my really cute accent], I don’t care if no one hails a taxi in this part of the world, I’m going to anyway.

And so, in an illegally-hailed airport taxi which is not allowed to pick up elsewhere, driven by a Jordanian Arab studying petroleum/gas engineering at the University of Texas in the hopes of gaining employment in one of the Arab Gulf countries to which I am heading, I finally make it to Houston’s Airport 4 hours after setting out.

Or should that read:  I finally make it to one part of Houston’s Airport on the far side of the airport from where I would like to eventually depart.

‘Eventually’ is a key word in that last sentence.  To explain, let me pose a question:

On arrival at an unknown airport, which of the following signs or personnel do you seek for departure information [tick all that apply]?

a) 

b)

c)

d)

Yep.  Me too.

However, at Houston, on not finding such a sign or person one looks in vain for someone, ANYONE, to ask.  One is then directed onto a train from Terminal A [present location] to Terminal E [far side of airport].  One arrives at Terminal E to be told to go to Terminal D in which there are many signs: They all say “Arrivals.”

One looks desperately for more signs and finally spies a ‘Courtesy Phone.’

Side issue:  Anyone reading this blog and able to understand it [regardless of cuteness of accent] is clearly a competent user of the English language.  For those who are not, the signs above are a lot easier to understand than 'Courtesy Phone.' Trust me on this; I’m an ESL teacher.

More relevant issue: No one is answering the fucking phone on any of its extensions courteously or otherwise.

By this time I am feeling and looking desperate.  I ask a bunch more people questions to no avail.  I text OCMG who informs me that I need to be in Terminal D. 

Random person advises that to reach Terminal D Departures, I should NOT press P6, P5, P4, L2, L1, or LL [Lower Level???] but ‘W’ which means Walkway and which will allow me to work from Terminal D Arrivals [location of Courtesy Phone and Arrivals signs] to Terminal D Departures which is not sign-posted.

Of course! 

Then things start to look a lot more normal.  Except they won’t let me check in ‘cause my carry-on luggage is too heavy.

That would be the possums. 

It turns out that when I went to add to my metal animal collection consisting only of a single flying pig that morning, the metal limbs, facial features and tails of the possums were woven around rocks that were heavy, as rocks are generally supposed to be.

Side issue:  Australians take note that when speaking to Texans of pigs [singular or plural], one must allow for their tendency to pronounce the word peig  or peug and therefore use the terms ‘pork,’ ‘bacon,’ ‘ham’ or ‘flying metal animal’ in their place to cater for this discrepancy in their language use.

Numerous Mexican plates, bowls, blankets, weaving, power-socket covers and tiles did not positively contribute to the weight situation.

Flying Peeg. Metal & Rock Possums. One possum lost an ear in the move. But the Head of University Construction & Maintenance is on my side and will surely provide a replacement.

[Some of my] Mexican Ceramics.  Gloat.

Airline staff take pity on me when I move things from case to case [borrowed from OCMG who is familiar with my shopping addiction] and I finally make it onto the bloody plane, arriving home in Bahrain after transferring in Qatar [an airport currently vying with Houston for the title of Biggest Dog’s Breakfast].

And the best thing is:  I am really happy to be here.  Everything IS bigger in Texas but small can be beautiful too.

Qatar-born cat [Dora] now living in Texas, reclining on OCMG's bed.  Note increased size in line with EBiT [Everything is Bigger in Texas] Policy.

Qatar-born cat [Ant] living in Bahrain, reclining on my kitchen bench.

Thank you so much to those who made me feel so at home in Texas.

And for everyone else?  Hope you've found somewhere to call home too.

Simone the Happily Home

PS: On the recent return of my car karma, I would like to note that: 

1.  Car incidents are not improved by the addition of a) water or b) policemen.
2.  Bahraini car-towing services (off sand/from water) are relatively cheap.
3. According to a Bahraini girlfriend, laughing hysterically due to involvement in yet another interaction between a car, water and policemen is not conducive to gaining police-related help.