Bobby V.I.P.

I like small airports, the sort that are all on one floor, with a minimum of doors, desks and shops. I'm in one now: Inverness. It’s tiny and  I’ve just been informed, maybe unreliably, that it won an award for being one of the best small airports (In the world or in Scotland?)  I always find staff much more helpful and friendly in small airports. When it opened, Dalaman’s first airport used to be like Inverness; the staff were very amiable and, as a travel rep, I knew all the check-in staff, passport and customs police. Foreign Tourism was in its infancy and we were all making up the rules as we went along. There were no prohibited areas and reps were welcome on both sides of passport control. In those days, not many of the staff in Dalaman airport  spoke English and as I had a rough grasp of Turkish, I was often called in to help out . One day, I was invited to the Airport Manager’s office, where I was greeted by two policemen. While I agonised about what felony I’d committed, the airport manager asked if I would be willing to greet a VIP visitor. The head of Interpol was arriving. I was happy to help, but as I had 40 guests of my own to meet, I couldn't see how I could be in two places at once. "No problem", they said, "he’s arriving on the same flight". I was handed a page board and as I waited at the bottom of the steps for the plane doors to open, I noticed on my arrivals list that this important policeman was in fact one of my own clients. The gentleman and his wife were allowed off the plane first and, not being accustomed to high fliers, I couldn't help being a bit disappointed. The portly, crimplene trousered gentleman wasn't my idea of a mega crime buster and he seemed surprised by his celebrity status.  As I presented his wife with a large bunch of flowers, I explained that the Mugla police chief was providing a police driver to take him to his villa and hoped to visit later in the week to take him out to lunch.  My VIP was overjoyed.  “Well, I never expected this“  he said."I always write and say I’m coming but I usually just get to visit a local police station”. As we walked to passport control, I probed a bit further and the genial  bobby produced a copy of the letter he’d sent to the Mugla Constabulary.  My new friend was the chairman of the West Country Police society, not quite police chief of the Western World but he got trip in a Turkish police car.