How Come Qatar Airways is Still in Business?

It seems to be a sad fact on this little planet of ours that when companies (or individuals for that matter) become successful, they often “take their eye off the ball” and start behaving like jerks, treating their customers like nobodies and expecting them to dance to the company’s tune.

I’ve written before about falling out of love with Qatar Airways; but their fall from grace (in my eyes at any rate) continues relentlessly, such that when my Gold Privilege Card runs out at the end of this year I can’t say I’m going to miss it that much. I mean, sure – I can get a generous luggage allowance on their aircraft, but being spared some of the nonsense they dole out to their customers will not be something about which I will feel totally bereft.

Take my recent visit back to the Middle East, as an example. You’d think that getting a flight from Beijing to Dubai, transiting through Doha, wouldn’t be such a big deal, would it? Well, naively I thought so too. Hey, what better than to use up some of those accumulated Privilege Club air miles that I have been earning for so long with them?

The first problem is actually trying to log on to their web site. To get to the point of actually trying to book a ticket though their Privilege Club takes me some three or four weeks. I kid you not. Every time I try logging on to their micro-site it is either down, or busy or just doesn’t work. Every time I try putting in the originating airport it won’t recognise Beijing. Nor the IATA code – PEK.

When I DO finally manage that little hurdle, I discover that these precious privilege miles are pretty useless if you want to travel at a reasonable time on a reasonable day. They are only valid for the flights the airline has difficulty filling. No worries; I will adjust my time in Dubai accordingly.

Then you find that you still have to pay an exorbitant amount for airport taxes and fuel surcharges, so your “free” flights are now starting to add up. I book the ticket, only to find the site crashes at just that moment when it has accepted my credit card, but before I can reserve my seats, give meal preferences or even get a receipt. Luckily I am quick to write down the reference number it gives me, for now I cannot even get into “manage bookings” as it doesn’t recognise my booking, even though my bank account has been debited.

I write to Qatar Airways “Customer Service” – and get a reply four days later that my booking is OK. They eMail me the receipt which gives the flight details. Only problem is I still cannot get into the Privilege Club bookings manager to reserve my seats. That takes another four weeks!

Finally I manage to get my seats reserved and print off the eBooking which I will take with me to the airport. As I am leaving Beijing on the 2350 flight, I get to the airport in plenty of time, only to discover that the check-in desks are closed. Strange. I go to Airport Information to discover that the flight doesn’t leave until 0140. So I sit around aimlessly with the other passengers who likewise have turned up in plenty of time to check in for a non-existent flight.

Finally the check in girls arrive. I query the change of flight time. Oh yes; it was changed two months ago! But no one from the airline ever bothered to let me – or the other hapless passengers - know that. The Qatar Airways girl couldn’t be less interested.

By the time I am through immigration clearance I find all the duty free shops are closed.

I make my way to the Qatar Airways Privilege Lounge which I happen to know from a previous trip is actually the Air China lounge. Outside is a list of partner airlines in the Star Alliance but for some strange reason Qatar Airways isn’t listed. Perhaps Air China knows something we don’t.

I stock up on the calories as there are some excellent steamed dumplings in a variety of fillings shouting out Eat me Eat me from their little baskets; and wash it down with some reasonable plonk and a couple of Tsingtaos.

Eventually it’s time to board. Naturally I am sitting in the only area where the videos don’t work and it takes over 45 minutes after take off – itself delayed a further 35 minutes - for the air crew to reboot their blessed computer so that those of us that are still awake can try to enjoy the show.

By the time the food is served, there is practically no one awake.

I check out the local weather in Dubai. 20 degrees apparently. I check the weather in Doha – hardly spitting distance from Dubai – and see it is listed as zero. It remains at zero for the entire flight. A great advertisement for the national airline when they cannot even get the weather in their own capital right!

Of course, my turn around time in Doha has now been reduced so much that there is no time to pop into the Gold class lounge to get some refreshment, (maybe, reading some other blogs, that is no bad thing); nor is there time to go to the Duty Free and use up some old Qatari riyals I have had stuffed in my travel wallet for what seems like millennia.

We rush through the bag controls to the Dubai flight, which according to my ticket should have been boarding for the past 20 minutes; and when I reach gate 9 I find that the indicator board is now showing a flight to Manila that leaves in just over an hour's time. Could I have missed the connection? No. It’s just that this flight is also delayed.

“Breakfast” is a carton of orange juice and a cardboard box containing a shawarma-type roll which, it turns out, has not been cooked properly. I count at least a dozen passengers cursing Qatar Airways’ catering, trying to remove the remains of their shawarmas that have collapsed into their laps.

We finally arrive well over an hour late in Dubai.

The return journey is not a lot better, though I am glad to stock up on yet more calories in Dubai’s Business Lounge (a word to the wise: always ask for the Business rather than Gold lounge, as the latter is always overcrowded and there isn’t such a good selection of food on offer).

We board the aircraft, only for some Qatari guys who have got Economy class tickets to decide they like the look of Business class better – and as it is empty they park their ample bottoms in these wider seats. Only after they have been served a welcoming glass of champagne does the crew realise they shouldn’t be there in the first place and it takes 45 minutes to eject them back to Economy. Why doesn’t someone just kick them off the flight, I ask one of the tired looking trolley dollies? They’re Qatari, she sighs, as though that excuses everything.

We arrive an hour late in Doha – on a flight that takes all of 35 minutes flying time! I pop quickly into the Gold lounge to use their (disgusting) facilities and marvel that a “Gold” lounge can have the nerve to offer such paltry fare to its “privileged” customers.

And then we are driven across the entire airfield in a bus journey, which takes 18 minutes, to board the Beijing flight.

I am the only non-Chinese in my section of the cabin; and before I am comfortably settled in my seat an Indian stewardess has started to chat me up… Where do I live in Beijing? Is that anywhere near their hotel? What is there to see near there? How much time do I get off from my job?

Cute though she undoubtedly is, this girl must be even younger than my daughter, and finally she gets the message that I’m not really interested in taking her and her friends out for a gallivanting good time around Beijing. She leaves me in peace to enjoy a film and get some shut eye.

We arrive 45 minutes late. We tumble off the aircraft. And I for one am so glad to be back on Chinese soil.

Friendly, polite immigration officers (not like those awful ones in Dubai … no, don’t get me started!); and loos in which you could happily eat your lunch, they are so spotless (as opposed to the disgusting rest rooms in Doha and the slightly less disgusting ones in Dubai).

I collect my bags and head for “home”. It’s great to be back.

Start of a new chapter in Brian’s autobiography

Finally the moment has arrived. As I trundle off across the Pennines towards Manchester Airport, I realise this is what I have been working towards for the past six months. I am on my way to live and work in China.

The Qatar Airways flight to Doha is unmemorable, save for spending 45 minutes circling the airport waiting for permission to land, which annoyingly cuts down on the transit time for stretching one’s legs, this being one of the reasons for taking Qatar Air in the first place. I have kept back some UAE dirhams to exchange into Chinese currency at Doha Airport, since on trying to change them in the UK the rates quoted there are pure daylight robbery. Alas, Doha Airport has no Yuan at all and so I will have to rely on the small amount I already have to keep me going for the coming few days.

My second, connecting flight is on a 777 and I get a window seat. That means either trying to climb over two other people (who don’t speak a word of English) to go stretch my legs, or making do where I am. Qatar Airways’ policy is to keep all the window blinds tightly shut so that passengers can catch up on their zzzzs prior to landing, which means that despite not arriving until the middle of the afternoon local time, I totally miss out on the spectacular views of the Himalayas.

Beijing Terminal 3, built in time for the Beijing Olympics, is ultra modern – a far cry from Terminal 2 which is badly showing its age. And totally unlike the airport at Doha I have left eight hours previously, the toilets here are pristine. So clean you could almost eat your lunch off them. A whole army of cleaners follow you around wiping every surface you so much as look at lest you leave some mark in your wake.

 

The immigration queues are long, but efficiency and politeness are once again so much in contrast to those at Dubai airport which I have regularly suffered over the past umpteen months.
 

Once you have been dealt with by the officer and are handed back your passport, you are invited to press one of three buttons showing you thought the service you have just received was good / medium / bad. I am reminded of the motorway service stations in the UK which have big smileys outside their loos – but there it surely must be rare indeed for the good-button to be pressed at all. Not so at Beijing Airport!

After picking up my baggage, I wander out into the great throng of meeters-and-greeters and easily spy a large blue notice-board with ‘Mr Brian’ spelled out in LARGE WHITE LETTERS and cowering underneath, an intern from the company I am about to start working with. This is Yang’s very first foray to the airport to meet a foreigner and she is bashfully shy. But after first leading me to the wrong floor and then trying to go down an Up escalator, we arrive at the taxi rank and spend a few minutes cramming my two large suitcases into the small boot of the Hyundai Elantra taxi. But the taxi driver is obviously charmed by Yang’s smile and ignores the foreigner in the back of his cab while chatting her up for the whole of the journey.

The apartment that comes with the job is of a reasonable size, but redolent of university student accommodation. I am asked to sign an inventory list written half in Chinese and half in English. I can easily identify the ‘Rifrigerator’ and the ‘Bash Towel’ as well as the ‘Bustbin’ and ‘Bet’, which of course has its own “Mattess’. But I am at a loss to know what the ‘Pun’ is or, for a few seconds at least, the ‘Smoke-Extra-Ctor’. But never mind; this is to be my new home-from-home for the foreseeable future.

There is a bedroom, living room, kitchen, hall-diner and of course, a bathroom. Helpfully, in case I am not able to find it, there is a large notice just outside the bathroom …

… but I am left wondering what any visiting female friends might do, except perhaps sit there with crossed legs, as there is no equivalent notice for them.

Most mod cons are also provided, including a washing machine which has all its instructions in Chinese.

Later in the week I cause a huge amount of mirth in the office when asking someone which button controls the temperature of the wash. Chinese washing machines only use cold water, apparently. If you want a hot wash, you have to boil it on the stove!

The neighbourhood is also awash with restaurants of every description, with some even boasting a westernised name in addition to the Chinese name above the door.

The following day at the crack of dawn (well, 0830) I meet Yang again and we whiz off right across the city to the northwestern-most extremes, way beyond the Summer Palace on a 55 minute taxi ride to find a hospital which specialises in giving foreigners the requisite medicals before they apply for residence visas. Yang hands over a stack of the readies and I am given a large sheet of paper to fill in, together with a dozen barcode stickers after which I wander from room to room handing over my barcodes in exchange for having blood extracted, eyes tested, throat inspected, chest x-rayed, stomach ultra-sounded, prodded and poked and measured …. until I emerge at the other end with my sheet of paper covered in illegible signatures, offer up my passport for scanning, and wander out into the daylight once again.

As I had been told not to eat anything for 12 hours before the tests, Yang has thoughtfully bought for me four chocolate cakes, together with a can of Nescafe drink. But given the high temperatures of Beijing summers, my first attempt at unwrapping one of the cakes leads to a rash of brown stains on my shirt and trousers, so I give up the unequal task and slurp out of the tin instead.

The taxi driver we have hailed for the return journey obviously has no clue where he is and when I suggest to Yang that it appears we are travelling north west out of the city she has a long conversation with the driver who stops to ask not one, but three different groups of people how to get back into town before grudgingly admitting that he is going in totally the opposite direction. How do you know Beijing so well, Yang asks me? She obviously does not understand the principles of navigating by the sun, so I point out that we passed a signpost to the Summer Palace ten minutes back and she is well impressed.

On our return, I am informed that I now have the rest of the day off and that we will meet again the next day. So I set to exploring the immediate neighbourhood around my apartment block.

A seven minute walk away is a metro station with the catchy name of Huixinxijienantou. Ten minutes away a large supermarket. Another two minutes on, an even bigger hypermarket owned by a Japanese company which does its utmost to impress its customers by being Japanese in every way possible. I walk down the aisles of the crockery and home gadgets department and at every aisle junction a smartly dressed Chinese assistant bows deeply to me Japanese-style and says Ni Hao. At first this is quite quaint and brings a smile, but by the 15th Ni Hao it is beginning to lose its appeal. Should one bow back in return like the Japanese or ignore them like the Chinese? And why are they saying 你好 instead of こんにちは? It is all so confusing.

The next day at the requisite hour I meet Yang once again who takes me to meet my new boss. We talk about this and that for a few minutes after which I am led out into the main office, where I will work, to meet some of my new colleagues. They all talk in whispers – it feels a bit like a library – and later I am to discover that to allow for concentration, no one talks and everyone sends MSN messages to one another. Even a girl sitting immediately next me or opposite me will talk to me via MSN Messenger. Quite weird.

Everyone is called Chan or Chang or Chen or Cheng or Yang or Wang or Wen or Xing or Xin and so I am getting all these messages from girls all of 2-3 meters away from me but have no idea at all who has sent me what!

Later in the day I am wandering through another supermarket when my eyes are attracted by a special offer (the Chinese love special offers). A kilo of lychees for a mere 13元 (that’s about £1.40). I buy a large handful of them and am given a glance by the cashier as if to say is that all you’re gonna buy? Everyone else is cramming these lychees into large plastic bags as if there is no tomorrow. Back at my pad I tuck in and find they are absolutely scrummy. I should indeed have bought more.

Of course, China does have its downsides as well. Facebook is blocked here, as is the downloading of Yahoo Messenger (although I have it already installed, and find I can use it); IMDB is blocked for some unfathomable reason; and my blog site too is blocked – presumably because it is run by Google who are definitely out of favour with the authorities here. But I have worked out a way of getting these blogs up online, albeit that it does take a little longer to do.

I go for a walk near Tian an Men square which, naturally, is the first stop on every foreigner’s tour of Beijing. This is the only place in Beijing where Chairman Mao’s official picture is on display, and everyone appears eager to be photographed with the great leader looking over their shoulders.

I am approached by a pretty young thing who asks me if I am a visitor, if I speak English, that she is learning English and if I would like to pass some time with her by enjoying a coffee in a nearby shopping mall. But I have already read about this scam where unsuspecting foreigners are led to what looks like an ordinary café from the outside, but where they then find the bill comes to an exorbitant amount.

I decline gracefully, saying I am meeting someone, but I have to admit that she gets 100% for persistency. So you wait for your fren with me in café no? she asks hopefully. I tell her that much as I would love to spend some time helping her practise her English, it would have to be here on the street corner, not in a coffee bar and before I know it she is off practising her charm on another foreigner – this time an American who looks old enough to be her great grandfather; and off they go chatting away like old friends. Ah well, they say there’s no fool like an old fool!

One of the problems here for foreigners is that very few people speak English. Although it has recently become mandatory for schools to include it in the curriculum, it is difficult to find anyone apart from hookers, coffee bar scammers and the educated middle class who speaks much English. And this determines me all the more to start knuckling down and learning some Putonghua – the people’s language.

My thoughts drift back to school French lessons when we were required to learn all about ‘La plume de ma tante’. I open a text book which promises to teach Chinese the easy way with books and audio tapes… Lesson 1:

Dave: 你好吗？
Lin: 我很好。谢谢。你呢？
Dave: 我也很好。谢谢。
Lin: 再见！
Dave: 再见！

I somehow suspect this is going to take a little time….

Flying HMMOG Airways - and living to tell the tale

I am worried. No, I mean it; I’m really worried. I have just mentioned to fellow Dubai blogger Miss Sunshine that I have booked myself a return ticket with China Southern Airlines to Beijing and her reply is beginning to haunt me. “Holy Mary, Mother of God!” she says. “Are you mad?”

It turns out that she has flown this exact same trip with CZ some six months ago; and to say she did not enjoy the experience would probably be an understatement.

I explain to her that as I booked at such short notice, my normal first choice – Qatar Airways – was full. Surely it can not be that bad, I press her. I mean, I add matter-of-factly, nothing could be worse than British Airways, save perhaps for American Airlines or Tarom of Romania? Surely?

Her reply gives me further room for concern.

I decide to do some homework. After all, Ms S may just have been unlucky. I look up Trip Advisor. It usually contains a load of unbiased reports which in the past I have found quite useful.

But the omens are not good: “possible savings aren't worth it - if you're getting cooped up in a plane for however many hours, there are a lot more comfortable and safer ways to do it than with CZ”… “You get what you pay for. Not a lot.”… “Seats are very tight; a major issue for anyone over 6 ft, chap behind me had his legs in the aisle most of the trip and can't blame him”... “Planes slightly seedy”… “I wouldn't choose to fly China Southern if I had a choice”.

But it is too late. I have booked the non-refundable ticket and I am destined to fly with them, like it or not.

I decide to think positive. Let’s do some research on the airline itself; and what better place to start than their web site. In 2009, I learn, CZ was the world’s 3rd largest airline by passengers carried. In addition, it was Asia’s largest airline in terms of both fleet size and in passengers carried. It is also the 4th largest airline in the world in domestic passenger traffic and 6th largest in scheduled domestic passenger-kilometres flown. China Southern Airlines also carries more domestic cargo than any other airline.

There you are. It surely can’t be that bad if it is that successful! China Southern Airlines is committed to providing timely, convenient and considerate services to every passenger, the CZ site continues, which provides some slight relief before I read on to one of their news releases…

Secretary of the Ministry of the size of China Southern Airlines Xinjiang Flying School: May 5, 2011, China Southern Airlines Xinjiang Branch of shares from the party secretary to the Ministry of flight segments, branch secretary of the agency to learn together the microblogging knowledge. On the microblogging definition, characteristics, uses, development status, usage and advantages of such a comprehensive understanding, focusing on China Southern Airlines, China Southern Xinjiang Branch was registered micro-blog columns set up for use, influence, etc. terms of discussion and study, it was agreed that micro-blog --- this highly malleable social media platform will surely be a new flight safety department, exchange of experiences, technical seminars, business improvement, security branding, internal communication, etc. from to the far-reaching implications. Secretary also said you should set an example, full use of micro-blog the development of this platform for sustainable security.

I think this is where I am meant to write ‘sic’ after this entry! So, errr, there you go. I’m not intending to fly to Xinjiang and hopefully the English spoken on board my flight to Beijing will be slightly more comprehensible…. Hopefully…

I turn to another section of the CZ site. Ah – here is something I can better relate to: China Southern held its sixth flight attendants recruitment competition at Wanda Square in China’s Chongqing on May 14. The competition is going to recruit 1,500 new flight attendants and it attracted 3,000 local beauties to compete for the posts.

Well, they always say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder…

I try to reserve a seat on the flight rather than take a chance I will be assigned an aisle seat. Leg room is always a problem for me on Asian airlines; none more so than with Cathay Pacific which not only has its seating laid out for midgets, but also has the most uncomfortable seats that could ever have been designed, and that have recently been installed on all their aircraft. So I get back onto the web site and press the myriad combination of buttons to try to get me to the seat reservation section.

No can do. It appears only some flights can have their seats booked online and Dubai to Beijing is not one of them. I make a mental note to arrive at the airport in plenty of time to assure myself of my necessary comforts.

Fast forward a couple of days and Dubai Airport is once again graced by the presence of your favourite blogger. I am fourth in the queue at check in and a charming check-in girl from DNATA handles my booking. She gives me an aisle seat and wishes me a pleasant journey. I run the gauntlet of Dubai Airport’s ghastly immigration officers and then settle down with my Samsung Galaxy to pass the time till boarding.

It appears that the entire flight is made up of Chinese passengers, save for two Indians, a couple of Arabs and me. As the flight is called, a surge of passengers tries to be first in the queue. The moment of reckoning has arrived….

I squeeze myself into the melee and find myself on board a brand new Airbus A330. Could I have jumped in time and space into a parallel universe? Or am I still lying in my bed dreaming my impossible dreams?

For starters the leg room is better than anything I have ever experienced in any economy cabin on any airline. (I find myself wishing, later in the flight, that the passenger immediately in front of me would put his seat back so that I can reach the pull down table with my onboard meal, it is that far away!)

Even the onboard toilets in Economy class have flowers placed in them – not plastic ones, but real carnations - which adds a nice touch.

True, the flight attendants are, as many had previously written, surly to the point of rudeness; but during the flight I do not see a single Chinese passenger saying thank you or even acknowledging the trolley dollies as they hand out drinks and meals. Breaking the mould, I venture a smile and a 谢谢 as I am handed my glass of apple juice and am rewarded with a charming smile and excellent service from there on in.

The girls, by the way, all look as if they have been picked from the ranks of China’s basketball teams, for they are all tall and slender – probably, I decide, so they can easily reach the overhead lockers that so many of the passengers have great difficulty coping with.

As the flight is not full, the passengers don’t even wait for the doors to close before wandering around looking for a better seat. A game of musical chairs ensues as one moment a middle aged woman wearing a micro skirt plonks her bottom down on an empty aisle seat, only to find on going to the loo that her place is immediately taken by an old man who is dissatisfied with his place at the back. An argument breaks out on her return, but the man is adamant that this is now his chair. Unfortunately floozie’s original chair has been taken by someone else and so the charade continues up and down the plane.

We taxi to the end of the runway and we’re off. A pre-recorded tape is played to those few of us who don’t understand the very detailed Chinese announcement being made. We cherish the chance to serve you, we are told, as the flight attendants simultaneously bow to the passengers, Japanese style. Could these girls have been trained by JAL, I wonder?

The lights are turned off for the night time take off and we are away. Almost everyone falls asleep as in common with many airlines, the heating is turned up sending everyone into a comatose state.

Twenty five minutes later the lights are turned on again with drinks being served. But the majority of passengers keep on sleeping, and I wonder if this is a deliberate ploy on behalf of the cabin staff to lighten their workload.

The courtesy wash bags with complimentary toothbrush, earplugs, eye shades and so on are handed out. One old guy, unsure what to do with his ear plugs, carefully pushes one up each nostril before seeing where others stick them. He slowly removes them and stuffs them into his ears before curling up and going to sleep.

All is now quiet on board as the lights are again turned down to almost zero. The so-called entertainment system consists of some overhead screens showing in turn a couple of Chinese films and a Harry Potter movie covered in Chinese ideograms. I don’t see anyone bothering to watch.

Some of the passengers decide to use the generous leg room to curl up on the floor, rather than adapt their bodies to the shape of the chairs. After one bolshie individual sticks her legs out into the gangway, tripping up every person brave enough to stumble up the almost pitch black aircraft, one of the attendants comes to remonstrate with her. But she will have none of this and continues cursing everyone who trips over her legs throughout the flight.

Eventually it is time for breakfast. The lights are turned up everso slightly as hot wet towels are handed out to those very few people who are actually awake at this ungodly hour. The majority continue to sleep on and are only finally woken up when the lights are switched on to full power as the trolley dollies once more start handing out the breakfast trays.

There is a choice of beef noodle or chicken noodle. Not a chop stick in sight. Just a very small fork and spoon. But the food is not at all bad as airline meals go and I, in common with the Chinese, slurp up the noodles with my mini-fork hoping the gravy doesn’t fly everywhere as I do so.

Finally a short film is shown going through loads of possible exercises that can be performed in the comfort of your seat to relieve cramped and tired muscles. This, it appears, is the moment the passengers have all been waiting for. Almost in unison the planeload of people go through their callisthenics together, waving arms in the air, bending their heads in all directions and generally having a jolly good time!

We arrive in Beijing a full hour ahead of schedule and tumble out into the old and slightly dilapidated Terminal 2 building (in complete contrast to the brand spanking new and very impressive Terminal 3).

I step back into my original parallel universe. Could this really have been the same airline that Miss Sunshine had warned me about? I make a memo to self to check at a future date that we were indeed talking of the same flight. For I would certainly fly China Southern again, even if Qatar Airways was not fully booked another time.

Holy Mary, Mother of God – what an airline!

It's ATM time ... yet again again again

Was it just me, or did anyone else this year find the Arabian Travel Market somewhat of a let down? The eight halls had a somewhat lackadaisical air of depression hanging over them and if ever there was a measure of optimism at an ATM show, surely the lack of giveaways this year gave the game away.

Sure you could pick up pens and chocolates, and pens, and, errr, chocolates, but no USB sticks whatsoever (is this a first, I ask myself) – no, not even shaped like a rubber map of Bahrain (see last year’s blog entry) – nor anything more exciting than a mouse mat from Hong Kong or a polo shirt from Sharjah. Oh ok, I admit it. I did get a keyring from Interlaken to add to my keyring collection.

The press room, too, looked an apology. No piles of press releases to tempt the scribblers with exciting stories to cover; but instead a never ending supply of Danish pastries to keep the stomachs from complaining. (Just how many Danish Ps can one eat in a day, I asked myself?)

The only real bit of excitement was when a German media hound turned away from the coffee table as a Lebanese hack pushed her way forward with the inevitable result of coffee stained skirt and trousers and a flurry of colourful language from the mutually non-comprehending natives.

Down on the exhibition floor, it was a case of searching hard for what took your interest. Yemen Tourism Promotion Board? No problem, according to the catalogue. Stand ME2490 in Hall 3. Unfortunately there is no stand ME2490. Never mind. How’s about a nice holiday in Chad? Stand AF350. I rush along in anticipation to see if I can put my name down for a journo fam trip. Hmmm. I have heard of being transparent in your dealings with the press, but isn’t this just a bit too transparent?

Maybe Tunisia will be more interesting? Well, it might have been if anyone were actually manning the stand…

But Iraq was still struggling to put on a brave face. They were delighted to have a visitor to their stand and I couldn’t get away for what felt like hours. You want to make a journalist trip to Iraq?  Of course we can accommodate you. Just tell us when you will fly over, where you will stay etc etc and we will be happy to help you. Hmmm… I’m afraid cheapo Brian was expecting something a little more from a Press trip guys….

Traditions still held up from last year, of course; but in a case of hunt-the-most-embarrassing typo the best I could come up with was a stand from Norway – or ‘Norwegan’ as it read.

And true to tradition, for the second year running, title for the most embarrassing costume had to go to the Dubai Shopping Festival…

…with Sharjah coming in a close second.

There were of course a plethora of eye catching costumes to, errr, catch the eye. As always Asia came up trumps with a Thai girl strumming some instrument

While the Malaysian stand spared no expense in bringing out their finery

Though this year, pride of place had to go to the Azerbaijanis

The Filipinos once again decided to promote their country with a relaxing massage centre on their stand. ‘Tips are welcome’ they hopefully suggested.

Well for what it is worth, here’s a tip: suggest to your masseuses that they get an early night tonight so they don’t spend the entire time yawning in front of their customers.

This year, too, there were a number of press  conferences being held, though much fewer than last year. As expected, Qatar Airways failed to disappoint. Well, nearly…. Because the exhibition’s opening ceremony, which included the red ribbon cutting, was unavoidably delayed, as the guest of honour apparently failed to make it out of bed, Qatar’s CEO, the irrepressible Akbar Al Baker, arrived at his press conference 22 minutes late. Just as last year, this seasoned pro soon had the assembled hacks eating out of his hand as he fed them one statistic after another, playfully putting down a Reuters scribbler who wanted to know more than he was willing to give away. Last year Qatar Airways introduced 15 new routes; this year it will be 14. There’s a new plane delivery on average every 18 days!

I remember at last year’s ATM, when QR was introducing its Buenos Aires route, it staged a mini floor show of a couple dancing the tango. This year, the Argentine stand also trotted out a couple of tango dancers who showed off their moves in the so-called Culture Zone.

There was no doubt about it – they were stunning dancers, and it was sad that the gawping Indians, of whom there were many present, seemed intent on getting their kicks from seeing flashes of the girl’s black knickers rather than from the amazing dance routines the couple trotted out. Certainly every time she raised a leg, their flash guns would explode in unison.

And finally, it just had to be the Australians, didn’t it, whose humour was verging on cruelty. As one passed their stand, it was impossible not to do a double take – and see this pathetic kangaroo strung up as if on a gibbet. I mean, how sad was that! Someone should have reported them to the animal rights activists who, I am sure, would have sorted the ozzies out. And doubled the number of visitors to their stand at the same time!