Re-LAXation

"Mr Howard? We've been waiting for you." said the male member of the couple standing by the departure gate at LAX.

In fact they had dutifuly waited for nearly eight hours whilst between flights, I had gone on pilgrimage to Hollywood Boulevard and the Kodak Theatre, dashed across to the Apple store in Santa Monica on a city bus, tucked into great sushi (a California Roll in California no less), haggled with Armenian Taxi cartels and caught a glimpse of the Pacific shoreline.

Well, there isn't exactly much to do inside the aiport; the shopping is better in Pangbourne - cheap ass tourist knick-knacks, premium-priced glucose and fat and business literature of the "Sun Tzu is for Pussies" ilk.

What could this little black-clad delegation want?

"Mr Howard, we have found traces of nitroglycerine in your suitcase."

Uh oh.

But the pair didn't look like they were about to spoil my evening. In fact their posture was positively apologetic. Nitroglycerine occurs in such small quantities in a number of household products I was duly informed, "such as face cream", but in this case the offending article was my pot of Carte Noire coffee.

Aggggh, that wretched French coffee! When V has asked me to bring it I had grumbled extensively...coals, Newscastle etc. Some slobbering Al Qaeda loon might have had his hands on it in the Isle of Dogs ASDA. You can't get the de-caf any more.

The guy kept offering to shake my hand during these exchanges as if I had won some Readers Digest prize draw or something. I was asked to sign some crumpled piece of paper. I was probably signing away my right to have a pleasant visit to the United States for the rest of eternity.

At least I wasn't given the full cavity search treatment like Canadian micro-publisher Jeremy Wright. He made the mistake of telling US Immigration that he makes a living as a blogger. Save that kind of stuff for the Mexicans! I was amused by this remark on one blog. "The details aren't yet clear on exactly why Jeremy had such an awful experience at the hands of the guardians of freedom and liberty." That would be The Department of Homeland Stupidity then.

On entering LAX on the return leg I was asked to show my boarding card at the base of the escalator leading up to the X-Ray machines. Just in case my identity had wobbled in vertical transit there was someone else at the top to check it again. I advanced ten paces towards the machine. "Boarding card sir?". And again once I had walked through. When I was asked to produce it once more in order to even enter the Duty Free shop I was ready to swing a punch.

Indeed, petty officialdom is out of control these days at most US airports. It's almost as bad as Moscow's Sheremetyevo in the mid-80s. Perhaps it has its minor compensations though. When I landed at LAX on the return leg from Guatemala there was a long queue for non-residents at Immigration. "One Face at the Border" the signs say. Well, two in this case - at least until all the locals have got through then the backlog of tired and frustrated aliens get a few more check-out slots. In front of me there was an aquiline, silver-haired patrician tico in a sports jacket accompanied by younger wife. He kept waving at the officials at the desks in front of us as if to attract their attention to the obviously urgent need to fast-track him and his wife through all these mucos. Obviously the peon-whipping sort. Thankfully they ignored him and even better, when he finally made it beyond the yellow line he was further delayed and marched off to another area because he hadn't filled out the right form. I should have slipped a jar of Carte Noire into his pocket. He looked like he could use a weekend break at Camp X-Ray.

Going in the other direction, my flight arrived at Aurora in Guatemala City at 5:30am, almost a full half-hour early. Half an hour in fact before Guatemalan immigration officials clock on for duty. The wait wasn't over though when they eventually showed up and hopped onto their stools - none of them appeared to know how to start their computers. Much banging of space bars ensued. Inevitably the one official with this crucial piece of knowledge was the last to appear.

On both legs of my journey the padlocks on my case were broken by security personnel at LAX. They helpfully left me little leaflets explaining why it's probably better not to seal your suitcase. This is a real catch 22 for anyone flying to Guatemala. An un-locked case arriving at Aurora is likely to hit the reclaim belt substantially lighter. I thought I was ahead of them this time when I waited to put the padlock on until re-checking my bag in Los Angeles, but I hadn't counted on the explosive kick in that jar of coffee.

I was amused by Frode's helpful suggestions the other day for more time-efficient staggered de-planing: "When they are landing after a substantial delay, why not announce something like: "Would passengers who are not connecting here or whose connection flights are scheduled to leave more than an hour from now please remain seated just until the connection passengers who are at risk from loosing their connection have deplaned? Thank you".

He's obviously never had to try to get on or off an aeroplane when the majority of passengers are Guatemalans.