Generic Journeying

After the safe landing comes uncertainty. Will your luggage have made the same journey you have? Will you stroll through security unhindered, despite the irrational guilty feeling in the pit of your stomach? Will passport control spot something suspicious in your documentation? Will they recognise you from your picture now that you’ve got a beard?

The taxi driver should be waiting for you at arrivals. He’ll be carrying a ragged piece of cardboard that has your name written on it. What will he be like? Will he be trustworthy? Does he have the sort of face that you could describe to the police? Will his features be the last thing you see before you lapse into unconsciousness and awake in a bath of ice, a gaping hole where your kidneys should be?

Once inside the taxi, you start to relax. He seems quite friendly. You try to show him that you’re not the typical British yob by engaging him in light, generic banter. The standard cab-conversation starter of: ‘are you busy tonight?’ is replaced with: ‘How do I say hello/thanks/yes/no/goodbye etc, etc.’ in the local language. The roads around the airport are packed with taxis, all of which contain identical exchanges.

Through his heavy accent you can’t understand a thing he says back to you but attempt to cover this up by laughing politely. Eventually you catch something about Britain so you spend ten minutes telling him how rotten it is. Now he laughs politely.

On the journey, you pass some of the sights and you allow yourself to start enjoying it. All that’s left to do is face the awkwardness of paying the driver in notes of too high a denomination; book into the hotel; dump your luggage and get out into your holiday.

Already you feel a pressing sense of urgency. Time’s tight, you don’t want to miss anything. Where’s the guidebook? Where’s the suncream? Where’s the camera? Where’s my wallet?