Uxbridge bus station exchange: Three women animatedly speaking Polish. A young man has had enough and approaches them: “Speak f*cking English!” he says loudly. The women stop, quietly sizing him up together. Then they turn back to each other and one says to the others, but loud enough for all to hear: “F*cking English.” They have a laugh and continue on their merry Polish way. I guess he asked for it.
Last week a young couple checked themselves out of their flight and called the ambulance services. The concern? On changing the diaper of their baby boy they discovered his ‘crown jewels’ to be smaller than normal. The ambulance crew, eyes rolling, pointed out that the weather was considerably cooler than it has been till now and their little bundle of joy wasn’t quite dressed warmly enough. Flight missed; parenting skills improved. Another day at the airport.
After clearing my head with a walk out to Terminal 2B, having a cup of coffee and a think, I headed back toward the main terminal and my desk at the Chapel office. Taking a staff elevator, pressing my ID pass against the keypad, I descended from Departures to Arrivals, and turned the corner into the long underground corridor leading toward Immigration and Baggage Reclaim. And then I remembered: as I was finishing my coffee I had seen an Egyptair 777 pulling up to its stand.
The corridor was packed with Middle Eastern travellers, many clad, appropriately, in various forms of robes, kaftans, and long loose dresses. Pilgrims perhaps, heading home after the festivities. I joined the throng, choosing to walk on the tile floor rather than be carried along on the “travelator”, the motorized walkway beside. Soon I was caught up behind a slower moving elderly woman. I slowed my pace, in no real hurry to get back.
Following along behind her, my eye caught sight of a man farther ahead, also elderly and in white robes, walking slowly on the travelator: now and then he would turn to check the progress of the woman in front of me, his weathered face bright with an enthusiastic grin. At one point he gave her a reassuring wave and a toothy smile, careful not to lose his balance as he turned.
I understood: No doubt when the option of automated Walkway or No Walkway had presented itself to this elderly couple, Abu had enthusiastically embraced the motorized opportunity, whereas Um had steered decidedly clear of the innovative contraption.
Never mind; as I looked ahead again, the man had reached the end of the first walkway and paused in the space before the next one, waiting for the woman to catch up. Eventually we caught up, him smiling, her shaking her head, smiling inwardly at his boyish enthusiasm.
And then ever so discreetly and fleetingly, as they turned to walk on, he reached out to hold her hand, for just a few steps, and let go again. As we approached the beginning of the next section, he veritably skipped onto the travelator, smiling broadly, glancing behind him again as he sped ahead and as she continued to gently shake her head.
Love, tenderness, companionship, enjoyment of one’s partner: the same in every land.