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This is a question Travel

I've had guns pointed at me in many different countries, sometimes even by our own side. I've also sat on my own on a beach on a desert island, which was nice because nobody was trying to shoot me. Tell us your tales of foreign travel.

Thanks to SnowytheRabbit for the suggestion

(, Thu 18 Apr 2013, 17:43)
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Drug smuggling into Heathrow.
In 1996 I went to the UK with my mum to see my grandparents - it was kinda like a last hurrah as Grandad was already showing signs of Alzheimers.
At the time I was working in a large industrial kitchen with people from all over the world - Poles, Singaporean, Chinese, Vietnamese and Burmese.
One of the Burmese ladies, Cathay was a love lass - her and I constantly flirted (despite her son being barely 2 years younger than me). Anyhoo, Cathay and I got on like an exploding fertiliser plant.
Once she heard that I was headed overseas for a few weeks she sidled up to me and asked me coquettishly if I would do her a big favour. Of course I would.
She asked me to take a care package of "Burmese goods" that weren't available in the UK to her sister who lived just outside London. Too easy - there can't be that many Burmese people in London with Cathay's sisters name and London isn't really that big now is it?
Part of Cathay's care package consisted of some tamarind paste which easily looks like hash, some sort of pickled fig thing which I imagine greatly resembles street grade homebake heroin and some mushrooms which I can vouch I swear were blue meanies.

As we disembark the plane my mum's chastising me for being prepared to do this for someone else (full of the giving spirit was my mummy). I saunter up to the red gate having filled out my form holding the plastic bag full of goodies. The customs monkey waves at the bag (and I see with hindsight now my backpack as well) and asks if I packed it myself. "No" I reply refering to my Burmese Drug Bag. He then completely ignores said bag and asks me to start unpacking my backpack. Backpack you say...

By the time he's dug out the spare cigs and 4" lock-knife I had hidden in the boots at the very bottom I'm starting to wonder about what's going on here. He's laid out in front of me - my can of lighter fluid, spare flints in a film container and a couple of decent knives. "This was your carry on?" he asks. "It's my only luggage." says I, proudly thinking how efficiently I had packed. "Apart from this." - I wave Burmese Drugs at him. Which he ignores. He gives me a stern telling off for carrying these things onto a plane, tells me he could confiscate them but lets me keep 'em anyway and assists me to repack my bag then sends me finally on my way with a warning not to take any of that stuff onto a plane on the way back.

So after settling into the OAP's I make Like Dick Whittington and off to London I go. With drug bag in tow. I stayed with friends, one of whom expressed amazement that only I could be relied on to be found waiting for them in a park after they finished work getting drunk and stoned with a bunch of strange Irish people.
I eventually found Cathay's sister, she was younger and just as pretty as Cathay but didn't offer to share any Burmese drugs with me.

Length - Grandad carked it in 1998, so about 2 years from when he was diagnosed to when he died.
(, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 1:17, Reply)

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