There is – I am coming to a kind of dim realisation – a Venn of business travel to far flung shores. Herein are the circles thus far.
International Man of Dull, Ordinary Diligence
Undies? Check. eVisas? Check one, but not the other. SIM cards? Check. Number of shirts between commencement of workdays and next laundry window? Check. Number of hold bags – taking into consideration training kitbag? Question mark. Sunscreen? Check (even though it’s wishful thinking). Gym kit? Check (even though it’s wishful thinking). Online check-in and use of FlightRadar24 to track aircraft? Check. Printouts of eVisas/invitation letters? Ish. Travel plugs? Check. Envelope for Receipts? Check. Novel? Purchase at airport. Textbook to stay current? Check. Obsessing about airline loyalty Tier Points? [Sigh] Check.
Just having the above and not wearing – say – a sombrero at departures offers a frisson of mystiue, no?
International Man of Ongoing Bewilderment
What is the schedule for the Cairo work? What are their office hours? Where am I staying? Is it reasonable to jump in a cab from the airport or is that a rookie error? Which days are the weekend in that country? The next country? Will my eVisa turn up? If it does, will it work? If -as is likely – it’s 40C+ will I melt? Credit cards? Cash?
What’s happening at home? Do they even have Bank Holidays in Arab countries? What topics/words are taboo? How to refuse an offer without causing offence? Will the client wish to socialise? (I hope not. Unless they are lovely, then that’d be nice.) Will I get to see the Pyramids?
A faraway look – borne of confusion – can (at a stretch) give the impression of…
International Man of Mystery
Hoodie, dark glasses hooked on, jet-black military-esque rucksack, detached air, purposeful stride. Saunter past the unwashed into World Traveller Plus*, depart Heathrow 22.25, drink neat spirits “on the rocks”, wake up at 39,000’ above a desert somewhere, style out the immigration queue with a studied nonchalance. Check into funky hotel, briefly lounge by the pool**, eat exotic food***. Experiment with telling people that you are an “international consultant to ______” so that they go “oooh/ahhh.” Decide not to as it’s somehow even more mysterious.
Say (true) enigmatic things like “Let me check. Tuesday? No, Cairo. Thursday night? Riyadh.”
Visit the Pyramids of Giza. Eat alone. Practice a commanding-yet-mysterious thousand-yard stare to avoid accidental eye-contact.
Definitely don’t feel homesick/lonely/cripplingly anxious/perma-knackered: these are not, repeat not Man Of Mystery traits. (I know this from hours of in-depth research. IE: Watching Bond/Austin Powers movies.)
Sidebar: Apparently, real, actual international folk of mystery are so unremarkable they’d struggle to order a coffee such is their grey/opaque/invisibility. (I find this both logical and slightly disappointing.)
Am considering flowering Venn additionals:
- International Man of Wert The Ferk?
- International Man of Weary Resignation
- International Man of Beleaguered Aging White Bloke
- International Man of Just Plain Knackered
*World Traveller Plus sounding waaay more exotic than workaday Premium Economy. Try to ignore that there are Business & First’ cabins that you are denied access to. Despite neat booze, get a terrible couple of hours of stuttering kip and a pounding headache.
**Stonking jetlag partial cure could be direct Vitamin D along with forced rest balanced against lack of time and impending sunburn.
***Local food in another part of the world = exotic. I wonder if – say – an Asian newcomer to the UK would consider beans on toast exotic. Egg sandwiches? Crisps? Pizza?
aroundtheworldin84days 