Jo'Burg Days: The Dubai Flight
Barbara Durlacher longs for those leisurely days of travelling by ocean liner as bad smells assail her nostrils on a flight to Dubai.
“Looks like a pretty full plane” she thought despondently as she checked her luggage in Zurich. Standing in line with her she noted a surprisingly large number of Indian families, huge wheeled suitcases poised to rumble down the baggage chutes, while the sari-clad mothers and Nehru-jacketed fathers shifted impatiently, waiting their turn at the ticket counter. Zurich is a busy departure point for citizens of the sub-continent and is constantly filled with families transiting through Dubai en route to India.
Ticketing and boarding formalities over, the crew welcomed the passengers as the large group straggled on board, and the usual flurry ensued while people stowed baggage in overhead lockers, found their seats and settled in. Mass air transport has become the modern traveller’s penance, and nothing is worse than the discomfort of these pressurised steel capsules, hurtling through the ether, leaving your soul behind.
Squeezed into small seats with dwarf-sized leg space, fed inadequate portions of ‘gourmet-style’ meals eaten at impossible angles, and bombarded by a selection of bad tv movies, does anyone any longer consider air travel fun, or find any pleasure in arriving on the other side of the world within the space of a few hours? But the unexpected is always present, and in this case, after the seat belt light had clicked off and drinks were served, another discomfort arose.
Despite her elegant hairstyle, expensive silk sari and bejewelled fingers, the lady behind me had omitted one of the first courtesies of modern close-contact living. Without benefit of a deodorant, but apparently unaware of her excessive body odour, she energetically waved her arms about, at the same time engaging in desultory conversation with the man at her side. He too, was not slow to contribute to the general effluvium, for every time he opened his mouth he exuded a pungent aroma of garlic.
A great favourite from the sub-continent are the delicious curries, but everyone knows that eating them brings unfortunate results. It was not long before inactivity, the slowing down of digestive systems and the desire to sleep had a marked effect, and the smell of body odour, garlic and hot feet was enhanced by an even richer odour, causing the unfortunate travellers nearest to the source to pinch their noses in an effort to block the rising tide of bad smells. Panic stations in the galley and a parade of hostesses with air fresheners sought to put the matter to rights, but it was not until the plane landed in Dubai and the in-transit passengers embarked on their connecting flights that the problem ended.
But what a way to travel, and how different from the leisurely comfort of the days of the large mail ships and trans-Atlantic liners; the elegance and the relaxation, the sheer fun of those stylish meals eaten in spacious dining rooms, with white jacketed waiters rushing to serve one, and a string quartet playing pretty melodies as dinner was served.
Memories of ‘The Captain’s Cocktail Party’, leisurely days spent cavorting in the swimming bath in sparkling unpolluted sea water, after-dinner brandies sipped under a million stars, a cosy afternoon in the library reading the latest thriller, and warmly jacketed promenades around the deck leaning into the freshening breeze jostled with the discomfort of climbing across other passenger’s knees to wait resignedly in the queue with the rest of the exhausted passengers for use of the minute toilets.
With the increasing number of younger South African family members living overseas, air travel is the quickest and most efficient means of visiting, and it seems that there is no alternative to mass air travel, but it is my sincere hope that I never have to experience the discomfort of that Dubai flight again.
