Conversations Overheard….
At the Serena hotel pool: “I never fly BA, on principle”.
At a dinner: “Never dine with a Minister”.
(On the proposed move to re-name the North West Frontier Province as “Afghanaia”…..) “Isn’t that a restaurant in E7?”
“He’s very Brit, in a public school sort of way.” “Is there any other?”
“It’s hard to upstage Al Jazeera, but they’ve done it”.
“I had the most appalling day at work. Then on the way home, I got cursed by a beggar.”
On a domestic flight to Isloo, about to come in to land: “Turn OFF your mobile phone – its dangerous to make phone calls in flight”. (No reaction – an adult - presumably in control of all his faculties - still continues to play mindless games on activated phone.)
On another domestic flight to Isloo, seasoned ChI traveller to nearby (adult) young woman: “Tell that child to stay in her seat and wear her seat belt now! The signs are on”. Young woman, with note of pride in voice: “Oh, she doesn’t listen to ME!” Traveller: “How old is she, SIX????”
Young woman: “Baby-schweetoo….Aunty says you have to wear your seat belt”. Traveller is apoplectic.
Fuggeddabout airline safety, yah?
Insider Expressions
“Food Safari” – hopping from one specialty food outlet to another during an evening out, to sample the best available – the appetisers in one restaurant, the main course in another, dessert in yet another, coffee and sheesha in another ….etc.
Attending a “Pow-wow” – a power brokers GT (get together) of movers and shakers
The “Sofa Brigade” – socialites who tend not to have to work for a living
“Emergency love marriage” – shotgun wedding….as in “My cook’s second cousin’s son had to make an emergency love marriage – wink wink”.
“ShEherazade Stories”
ShE Shortie
Half way up a mountain somewhere vaguely near Hunza, a party of Francophone/mixed nationality climbers finds a new arrival in their camp - a man on a litter who has been gored badly by a yak. (It turned out he tried to defend the honour of his female yak from a male in heat – seriously unwise, in case you haven’t tried it). His carriers have already walked for four days, and a real doctor is not remotely in sight.
With no medical training on tap other than basic first aid, the tensions rise among the group over whether they can help the man survive long enough to get to proper medical help, as the darkness grows. And complicated by translations roaming from local vernacular to Urdu to English to French.
To ease the strain, an American cracks a joke: “Bit like Medicins Sans Frontieres (doctors without borders), really, isn’t it?” The reply comes back from the French: “More like medicins sans diplomes (doctors without diplomas), actually”.
ShE Story
The usual Isloo boozy party night, featuring Frontier-style lamb and too much whisky, served far, far too late. Bleary with jetlag and insufficient sleep. Herded to the airport in two PIA buses minded by a UN rep. The Belgian good will ambassador (aka the pop star princess)’s personal minders insist on filming everything in sight, including the deeply un-interesting approach road to the airport, inconveniencing all and sundry with their equipment crashing into everyone in the bus.
Islamabad airport is a total scrum – under reconstruction, and our departure coincides with no less than three PIA international departures, with all the chaos, hangama and yuk which that implies. It’s also unseasonally hot – summer has come early - and ChI is suffering in an overly warm, uncharacteristically Western, trouser suit.
Poor A suffers most – her passport either fell out of her bag, or was stolen, in the process of forcing our way through the crowd to reach the check-in area. We manage to talk her through Pak immigration, helped by her having an (expired) UN laissez-passer and a valid (though visa-less) US passport. All slightly in shock. More hanging about, following the closely-pressed flesh of the international departure security process.
Small ray of hope – the international mobile, which stopped working in Pak since January, now appears to be working again, when turned on at random to pass the time in the departure lounge. Immediately phone everyone in the address book…just because it’s possible! End up being asked to carry clothes to New York via DC, on my return journey. Agree. Finally, many cups of tea later (good old PIA systems) onto the UN plane out, which leaves … late.