Unexpected Encounters in Asia - What is wrong with my durian?
There are two things you cannot take onto a plane in Asia: weapons and durian.
Now, there are two aspects which aggravates this reality which is a) I love durian, this at times a bit smelly but delicious fruit if fresh, and, honestly, b) I had not been aware that the ‘no durian’ rule would be as strictly enforced as the ‘no weapon’ rule, as only the latter is publicly advertised.
Minutes before leaving for Phnom Penh airport, I had taken advantage of the last opportunity to purchase two appetising pieces of durian at a nearby supermarket. The seller vacuum-packed the fruit and made perfectly sure that not the slightest smell would escape.
This delicious package was quickly slipped into the last space in the upper part my backpack with the intention to enjoy it at a later stage of my journey, i.e. during a stop-over at Bangkok airport.
Honestly, I did not think of it at all when queuing up for tightened hand luggage security inspections in the aftermath of terrorist attacks.
Every passenger’s, even elderly ladies’ hand bags, were opened and every part in it was scrutinised for offensive items such as nail clippers and letter openers, in these times of aggravated terrorism risk.
Sweat began to drip from my forehead: did I carry any of the forbidden items on me? The wood-carved pen that I had bought in Indonesia months ago sprang to mind. Of course, I did not want to be exposed in public, for such items, and then garnering all those all too common suspicious views from my fellow passengers.
“Madam, what is this?“ the security officer called out spotting the durian in the upper section my backpack, “you cannot take this into the plane !”
I was in shock. “What’s wrong with the durian?” I exclaimed in surprise.” “No durian in plane, madam,“ he insisted. “But this one is tightly wrapped, no smell,” I diligently explained, “and it is not precisely a weapon”. But no, the officer showed no clemency, though coming from a country of durian-lovers himself.
Dozens pairs of eyes in my immediate vicinity stared at me; the moment of shame had arrived. I felt ostracised and utterly embarrassed. Based on my delinquency I was being lumped together with villains, and the gapes of the other passengers made me feel like one.
“But what shall I do, Sir?” I exasperatedly asked. “Well, either you rush back into the terminal and quickly gulp it down, or you give it to me!”
Considering the long queue that had emerged behind me, I was quick to take my decision. “Bon Appétit, officer, “I exclaimed in Khmer language, passing and hurrying into the far back of the plane - hoping I would not be blacklisted for a serious durian offence by the airline.
As far as I know, the ‘no-durian’ rule, even shrink wrapped, remains in force until today.
There are two things you cannot take onto a plane in Asia: weapons and durian.
Now, there are two aspects which aggravates this reality which is a) I love durian, this at times a bit smelly but delicious fruit if fresh, and, honestly, b) I had not been aware that the ‘no durian’ rule would be as strictly enforced as the ‘no weapon’ rule, as only the latter is publicly advertised.
Minutes before leaving for Phnom Penh airport, I had taken advantage of the last opportunity to purchase two appetising pieces of durian at a nearby supermarket. The seller vacuum-packed the fruit and made perfectly sure that not the slightest smell would escape.
This delicious package was quickly slipped into the last space in the upper part my backpack with the intention to enjoy it at a later stage of my journey, i.e. during a stop-over at Bangkok airport.
Honestly, I did not think of it at all when queuing up for tightened hand luggage security inspections in the aftermath of terrorist attacks.
Every passenger’s, even elderly ladies’ hand bags, were opened and every part in it was scrutinised for offensive items such as nail clippers and letter openers, in these times of aggravated terrorism risk.
Sweat began to drip from my forehead: did I carry any of the forbidden items on me? The wood-carved pen that I had bought in Indonesia months ago sprang to mind. Of course, I did not want to be exposed in public, for such items, and then garnering all those all too common suspicious views from my fellow passengers.
“Madam, what is this?“ the security officer called out spotting the durian in the upper section my backpack, “you cannot take this into the plane !”
I was in shock. “What’s wrong with the durian?” I exclaimed in surprise.” “No durian in plane, madam,“ he insisted. “But this one is tightly wrapped, no smell,” I diligently explained, “and it is not precisely a weapon”. But no, the officer showed no clemency, though coming from a country of durian-lovers himself.
Dozens pairs of eyes in my immediate vicinity stared at me; the moment of shame had arrived. I felt ostracised and utterly embarrassed. Based on my delinquency I was being lumped together with villains, and the gapes of the other passengers made me feel like one.
“But what shall I do, Sir?” I exasperatedly asked. “Well, either you rush back into the terminal and quickly gulp it down, or you give it to me!”
Considering the long queue that had emerged behind me, I was quick to take my decision. “Bon Appétit, officer, “I exclaimed in Khmer language, passing and hurrying into the far back of the plane - hoping I would not be blacklisted for a serious durian offence by the airline.
As far as I know, the ‘no-durian’ rule, even shrink wrapped, remains in force until today.
