So I'm a little bit bloody excited.
@fab_flatmate and @travel_stylisa have invited me to Hawaii in May.
Fashionistas to the end, they have advised that for both aesthetic and security reasons I not take a back-pack as my carry-on.
As though I would.
The warning, however, was particularly pertinent, and shall be heeded given my recent travel incident.
Not only do my swarthy looks and (what I consider to be carefully groomed) facial hair get me into all sorts of trouble in the bars of Sydney, they also prove to be a liability when travelling.
And not just abroad.
Last month saw me taking my six-monthly detox and tanning top-up in Noosa.
Returning home to attend nephew’s christening, I kept very much to myself in the wilds of Brisbane Airport.
Unfortunately, epaulettes on shirt, suspiciously ethnic scarf and aviator sunnies not the desired attire for the beeping security gateway.
One has not experienced true terror until one has been asked to disrobe at the head of a queue of impatient budget travelers.
Was exacerbated by the appearance of very large baton being sadistically tapped in the gloved hand of Tom Of Finland-like-security guard.
Despite spunkiness of @tom_of_finland, size of baton enough to make even the most ambitious bottom quake.
Cowering in fear as he waved it in my direction I was greatly relieved to see that it’s not designed for insertion.
Checking for explosives, Sir.
Am sure he winked.
Thrown by wink, I was both flustered and instantly aroused.
@tom_of_finland then handed me something to sign.
I did.
Added my address and my phone number.
Just in case.
Free to go.
Loitered unnecessarily for duration that was, in retrospect, embarrassingly lengthy.
He glances at signed, addressed and phone-numbered document and smiles.
I smile back as I re-don garments and accessories.
And then am crushed.
@tom_of_finland hands form to military-dyke-type who looks like extra from Prisoner.
She has materialised out of thin air.
Which is no mean feat.
She is very large.
Skulk off to departure lounge, feeling embarrassed, rejected and exposed.
Ponder possibility of removal of facial hair before all travel beyond Taylor Square.
Wonder if a homosexual has ever blown up a plane.
Decide it is unlikely.
I personally would never sacrifice my resort wardrobe.
No matter what the cause.
And all that tanning gone to waste.
Not much fun dying before I get to show it off.
Decide absolutely to remove facial hair after conversation with equally hirsute cousin who has had similar experience at Sydney airport, albeit without the erotic element.
Returning to Melbourne after the christening, he hadn’t realised that his flight was the first leg of an international.
No passport and no driver’s licence, only student ID which, despite bearing photo that was taken pre-beard and looks nothing like him, was adequate for his first flight.
Not this one.
Also not working in his favour was his outfit choice of very Arabic shirt and cap combination, a souvenir from aunt and uncle’s recent trip to Turkey.
Only other form of ID was his shooter’s licence, clearly not a winner in these security conscious times.
@hirsute_cousin was deemed a threat and forbidden to board plane, despite being wheelchair bound with cerebral palsy and prone to tears.
4,500 frequent flyer points later, 6 hours and an overflowing urine bottle and he made it home.
Consoled @hirsute_cousin with edited version of my own travel tales which, even after my arrival home, continued with a Middle Eastern encounter of a different kind...
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