My arrival into Sydney at 5. 30am on a June Sunday morning did not bode well as a sign of enjoying my week long stay in Australia. After waiting patiently in a queue to get through immigration, I went down to the baggage claim. No sooner had I got there when I got taken aside by Customs and frisked – arms and legs splayed and repeatedly asked what I had in my luggage though it had not arrived. I noticed other arrivals from the same plane look me up and down and give me a wide berth. Did I have alcohol, cigarettes, perfume, or anything else over the limit or anything else that I should have declared?

I had none of these items and the aggressive questioning really irritated me, even more so because I was sitting next to 2 lovely men from Croatia on the plane from Singapore, and they were both carrying about 12 bottles of plum brandy each, from their family trip home to Zagreb, and I was carrying absolutely nothing incriminating whatsoever! The woman asked to see my passport and took an inordinate amount of time flipping each page over and an almost audible tut could be heard as she flicked through. My Customs card was in my passport and she took it out and wrote something on it. I could not quite make out what, but it looked like a number. Talk about having your card marked. She handed my passport back to me and left me without saying a word so I went over to the luggage carousel and waited.

Whilst waiting for my luggage to arrive, I got talking to a lady in a wheel chair and helped her with her luggage when I caught the same Customs woman watching me with a beady look in her eye. I then realised I was in for the long run here at Sydney airport and thought back about why she had descended on me, why she was being so rude and aggressive and why she had picked me out. Maybe because I looked slightly dishevelled after the overnight flight, maybe because my passport has a lot of stamps in it or maybe she just doesn’t like Beetles – who knows, I will never find out.

My luggage arrived, just a small suitcase (with a suit, shoes, couple of books, jeans, jumpers and that really was about it), and when I got to the Customs post, the inspector looked at my Customs form, I noticed the same Customs woman walking towards me and then I was promptly handed back to her with no words, no explanation and taken away into a side area. The whole thing had an Orwellian feel to it.

I was instructed to open my own luggage, but not to touch anything inside. If I hadn’t been so tired, it would have been quite funny, because she was so dramatic, barking orders like I’d just arrived in prison and had to obey without question. Back pack first, then luggage. Item no 1 in my day pack: yummy biscuits from Singapore for the journey I’d planned to make to the Blue Mountains. The female customs official tried to confiscate my chocolate chip shortbread biscuits bought in Singapore for the long airport wait and I’d forgotten to eat them, by claiming them to be ‘food’ – I agreed and said yes, shortbread is food, but they are unopened and totally allowed. I asked her if she wanted one and she sourly said that she could not accept food because it might be poisoned. My day dreaming got slightly the better of me, I’d taken the seven hour overnight flight from Singapore, had no sleep and was far from best form but some childish notion inside me propelled me to an alternate universe where I was watching the Customs woman writhing on the ground having eaten a poisoned biscuit.

The female customs official then got slightly hysterical because I have been to Indonesia not once but twice (and now three times) and she would not listen to my answers. Diving, I kept saying, for diving. She kept telling me that I had been to Bali in December 2004, and I kept saying no, it was 2 years ago in December i. e. 2003, it was like a pantomime act – oh yes you have, oh no, I haven’t. I started to wonder – are you supposed to argue with Customs officials? What happens if they think you are being argumentative, what powers do they have next, even though I am only telling the truth because this woman is mistaken. Then she saw the recent US stamp and then the Myanmar stamp and this sent her into a whole line about why, why, why, why without bothering to listen to my responses which were polite and succinct.

I have no idea whether I was being accused of being an international terrorist or a drug dealer or what, but the woman was fast gathering speed in her distrust of me and there seemed to be some unspoken accusation hanging in the air. I asked the woman, why did you stop me, what is it that you suspect me of? She told me in very snotty and superior tones that she was not at liberty to tell me. So not a good start! And what was so ironic about this whole episode – I was after another 30 minutes dismissed – when I got out of the airport and later picked up a newspaper, I discovered that the whole of Australia was up in arms about the Queensland woman who got caught smuggling 4 ½ kgs of cannabis in her boogie board in Bali, and the suspicion that they had been put there by a Brisbane airport based gang of airport based dug dealer baggage handlers.

It was winter in Oz back then, in June 2005 when I made this trip, so it was like an early autumn day in the UK, cold and windy, briskly chilly but sunny at the same time, if that makes sense. I spent only a week in Australia and visited the Blue Mountains for a few days and spent the rest of my week in Sydney; did the usual touristy kind of things, Darling Harbour, Opera House, the Botanical gardens. I especially liked Darling Harbour which is really lovely to wander around. There are some very nice sculptures in a tranquil area bordered by the sea on one side and tall high rise buildings on the other. It felt a little bit like being in Manhattan. There’s one lovely huge spiral pond type of thing, a bit like an Escher drawing that consists of lots of downward spirals like a snail shell each carrying dribbles of water. That had me fascinated.

I have been to Sydney three times before and have never been carried away by it, and I hope that my airport experience did not colour my view, but I came to the conclusion that the area from Liverpool st upwards to circular quay – about half a km – is architecturally interesting, with a mix of early 20th century buildings and modern high rise, and it too has character. But there are some pretty hideous modern buildings when they could be so amazing – there are so many cities, London included, where modern architecture, in my opinion anyway is done so well. I found the rest of metropolitan Sydney to be pretty dull (sorry Australian readers!) and samey and decidedly lacking character, though found a nice suburb, Surrey Hills, just to the right of central Station which has lots of nice cafes and restaurants and those colonial types of narrow terraced houses with pretty wrought iron balconies. I also kept being ripped off with change, this happened every single day when I would be short changed in shops. I was also over charged by the hotel I stayed in in the Blue Mountains, which again didn’t feel too good; I guess this thing happens everywhere where you are noticeably from out of town, but this is the first time in any country this has happened to me.

What could I have done differently? I really don’t know, maybe it is luck of the draw, but it was not a good experience and the attitude of the Customs official was really uncalled for and quite unnecessary. Have you had any bad airport experiences? Write in and tell the Beetle!

Mac has not been very well, but is still e-mailing strong. Here’s an account of a trip he made to South Africa some time ago.

In South Africa I had been cutting my own hair but was invited to some wealthy South African friends of a friend of mine home. (They had their own game reserve, plane etc. ) so I thought I better get a better haircut so as to not disgrace my friend. When I went to the barber he took one look at my hair and said. “I see you have been having a go of it yourself. ‘

At a Catholic church in Johannesburg they hear confessions in Sesotha, Padi, Tsnamia, Zulu/Xnoise, Chiceno, English, Afriken, Dutch, Spanish, Italian and French but the priest did not understand my English (thank heavens!) At Notre Dame Cathedral in Pairs they hear confessions in Esperanto. Learning Esperanto is a good way to meet Esperanto speakers all over the world. I have a friend that speaks Esperanto and he goes all around the world spending a day or two with someone he has met this way. Actually all I think he knows how to say is Hello.

A white South African priest in Cape town told me that when they had apartheid he went out to meet an American priest at the airport. He could not find him and finally found him in the black section. When he asked the priest why he was there, the American said the other waiting room read Europeans Only and he was not European. This was his way of making fun of apartheid.

When I was in South Africa, a Canadian lady went on Sabi Sabi Reserve looking for animals. They got up at 5am each morning as we did also. They had a guide who warned them to not stand up if they saw any animals. They did this for three days and all they saw were birds! We were luckier at the Kruger Game Park. Sometimes you are lucky and sometimes you aren’t. If unlucky I suggest you go to the wonderful zoo in Pretoria. I enjoyed it even after being to all the game parks.

At hotel Killarney in Durban South Africa they had a Monks Inn where they have strip shows with lunch. You often see signs Steak, Eggs and Chips. This sign read Steak, Eggs, and Strips. If you see a strip show in a Monks Inn is that a double sin?

At Bergkelder winery at Stellenbosch (a university town in South Africa) I leaned that sweet taste buds are at the front of your tongue and bitter taste buds are at that back of your tongue. I wonder what I will learn tomorrow? Probably that I have a headache.

I went to see the l000 hills near Durban. There are 1000 Zulus living in 1000 hills. I asked the Zulu guide if I only looked at l5 of them (the hills) could I get a discount? He jokingly ordered me off the tour bus. He told us some of the Zulu history. There was a Zulu King named “Follow Me” in Zulu. He got a young girl pregnant. He denied he was the father saying it was a false pregnancy (her imagination. ) When the baby was born the new mother named the baby boy False Pregnancy, in Zulu, “Shaka. ” Shaka grew up to be a warrior and leader of the Zulus. He trained the Zulus to walk barefoot on thorns to toughen their feet (we did the same thing in basic training. ) It was rather a long but true story and one of the lady tourists interrupted this fascinating story to announce that she was cold.

The oldest bar in Capetown is the Firemans Bar. Firemen from ships used to go there. On the wall they have listed a telephone service with charges for answering services. He’s not here: 20 cents. He’s just left: 25 cents. Haven’t seen him all day: 30 cents. Haven’t seen him all week: 35 cents. Who? 40 cents.

In Durban I wanted to go out to the Hare Krishna Centre (there are a lot of Indians that live in Durban and some are very wealthy. ) I had not been out to the Hare Krishna centre in Virginia but decided to see this one in South Africa. I was told to take the Indian bus out from the Indian market. I asked how I would know the Indian bus and was told, “It has Indians on it. ”

En route to Addo Game Reserve 90 kilometres from Port Elizabeth, the guide was telling us the farmers in the desolate area raised goats. The German along with us did not know what animal the driver was talking about. I pointed to my goatee and then he knew. They used to feed the elephants citrus fruit and apples at 4. 30 PM (there is a travel book entitled Elephants arrive at half past four. ) But they have quit doing this as they want the elephants to take care of themselves so they now issued them food stamps. The elephants are smaller at this reserve.

If you would like to get in touch with Mac, he is happy to correspond by e-mail when he is well. His e-mail address is: macsan400@yahoo. com