the Monday Musings column from that consultant bloke

Talking about my abortive trip to Belfast last week reminded me of another couple of airport incidents, both on overseas trips, where, looking back now, I can see the funny side, even if it was a bit fraught at the time.

The first was on my first overseas assignment after I went freelance. The job was originally scheduled for Venezuela, but the general situation there led the client to change the venue to Bogota, Columbia. A team of people from their various South American locations would be flown in for me to work with, I was given a choice of two, client approved, hotels to stay in and left to make my own flight arrangements.

I confirmed with the client, an American Oil company, the hotel that I had booked into and gave them my flight details. I was coming in via Miami and would be landing about 8.30 in the evening. The client was concerned about the kidnap risk, and so I had been told that I would have an armed escort for the short trip between the hotel and office, and there would be a driver waiting for me as I came out of arrivals at Bogota.

The sun set shortly after we took off from Miami and it was very dark at Bogota. I got through the formalities with no problems, collected my case and headed out into the arrivals hall to find no sign of the client’s logo amongst the waiting drivers. I waited in the general vicinity, but everyone slowly drifted away as the last of the passengers emerged.

I found a seat and got the instructions out of my bag, found the contact number and rang it, only to be confronted with a message in Spanish, which I don’t speak, from the ‘phone service provider. There was no sign of anyone in the arrivals hall by this time and so I decided that I would look outside to see if there was a taxi rank: I could show the hotel details and ask “For favor” and felt sure that an airport taxi driver would accept US dollars for the fare.

On leaving the building I was approached by a man in a suit who asked if I was Mr Bowen. I said that I was at which point he produced from under his jacket, not a gun, but a laminated copy of the logo that I had been looking for. He was my driver. When I mentioned this to one of the US team later he explained that it probably was not safe to have displayed the logo inside the terminal…

A few months later (obviously I had got home safely), I found myself boarding another aircraft, this time for the shorter trip from Heathrow to Tripoli, another place where the security risk assessment was a crucial, pre-trip, document.

This time my arrival would be in the early afternoon, and, yes, I was a little nervous. My contract forbad me to leave my hotel, other that to go to work in the transport provided, and that I was not allowed to leave the business premises other than to be escorted back to my hotel, along with the rest of the team. For security purposes, that hotel was changed at the last moment too.

Although I was travelling alone I was part of a team, and the others were flying in one day earlier and by a different route. I had been told that there would be someone on the arrivals line who would hold up a card with my surname on, no logos or other identifiers, just Bowen. I walked out of the door and looked at each of the cards being held up, but none with my name on. Bugger, I thought.

The arrivals area was small and busy, but I found a pillar to lean against where I could wedge my case between my legs. Fighting off a stream of offers of drivers (and possibly their sisters, I’m not sure) I got out my ‘phone and the emergency contact number. Having dialled it, and just as it was being answered, a young British guy who I had seen on my flight came over and asked if I was Mr Bowen. I owned up and it turned out the he too was working for the same client, albeit on a different project. Our driver had been holding up a piece of paper with my name on, but in pencil, and I had not seen it. Safely gathered up I was taken into the city.

I got back from that one safely too, but the planned return has never come as the political situation there deteriorated. A shame, as I would have been very happy to have gone back. I’ve not been back to Columbia either, and would have snapped up a return there without hesitation. Both countries left me with a deep affection for their people and I feel privileged to have worked in both, even if I did not get to see too much of either. I have seen the Andes and the Sahara though, met some very nice people and eaten local cuisine. I’m a lucky man.