Directions

We have arrived in Seattle, after a short trip of approximately 44 hours.  We started out in Kabul Sunday before dawn, spent most of the day in Dubai, flew overnight to Atlanta, and finally making it to Seattle Monday afternoon local time, the equivalent of about 2 in the morning Tuesday Kabul time.  Kabul Airport, for those unfamiliar with it, is not the world's most modern, nor is it filled choc-a-bloc with shopping and dining options.  But it was another difference that most struck me.  Since our plane was not pulled up close to the terminal, we had to take a bus to get to its place on the tarmac.  Nothing unusual about that.  So a bunch of us piled into the first bus, which zoomed off confidently toward the plane.  And then wound up in a corner of the airport past where the UN planes park, with no other plane nearby.  So our driver did something profoundly un-American, at least un-manly: he stopped the bus, got out, walked over to one of the ground crew and asked for directions to where our plane was parked.  Oh, sure, it worked, and we got there - though several minutes after the bus that had left after ours, meaning we were the last people to board the plane - but where was that sense of triumph after having steadfastly refused to ask for help, and driving around the tarmac for a few extra hours until stumbling upon the correct path?

In Dubai, since we had to re-check our luggage anyway, we decided to take a bus tour around the city, since we had about nine hours to kill.  So we did the unmanly, un-American thing and asked for directions at the information desk.  The young woman had no idea where we could buy tickets for the double-decker bus tour, so she called the number.  It was at least a 15-minute conversation, as she repeatedly sought to clarify exactly where the ticket sales point was, where the bus was, where and when we would return, etc.  She squeezed every last drop of information out of her interlocutor.  She hung up, smiled broadly, and began to explain what we had to do, when the phone rang.  She answered, and then a 10+ minute conversation in Chinese ensued.  Finally, she hung up, smiled, looked at us ... and then her smile vanished, and she stammered, "I forgot what they told me."  She then waved us in the general direction of the parking lot and said we would probably find someone there who would know.  This episode, to me, proves the futility of asking for directions, ever.

Fun times await us - while in Dubai, we get a book on towel origami.  We are about to wreak havoc at the house of every relative we visit during this trip.