Customs. Check?

Meeting up with the family in the airport is not that difficult. There
are not that many, looks like they are going to be sunburned in about
a minute, groups milling about. And, they are watching the door for
me. We all think the first five minutes in the country is too early to
lose someone.

Jerry and Dad are in the "line-up" to get our visitors visas. It is
amazing how many people are trying to get paperwork processed at
midnight on a Sunday. Ten minutes of "elbows up" nudging and 15 US
dollars per person and we all now have shiny visa stickers to hand
over to customs.

"Keep moving to the end wall." A familiar voice floats out from a
black cloud. "The line ups move faster."

"Thanks." I smile and herd the family along to the wall. Here is where
you can see money making things easier for some. Small groups move
through customs with such ease I have to believe something other than
love passed between everyone when they were hugging, kissing, and
shaking hands.

There are no stanchions, velvet ropes for guiding, or even a clear
line up, but there are lots of men in white uniforms carrying machine
guns to prod stragglers in the right direction.

Passport control. Check.

Luggage. Check.

"Don't take your hands off your bag. And don't let anyone else touch
it or they will want money from you. Do you need cabs to your hotel?"
Posh spice asks.

"Nope. My sister the travel organizing Goddess has arranged for the
hotel shuttle to pick us up." Which is a relief. I'm not sure after
all the travelling I could handle the cabbie madness and heat I step
into outside the airport. As I dodge "helpful" outstretched hands I
turn to thank my new friend.

"تصبح على خير" she says. "And, wear sunscreen!"
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