Descent to Kabul

My psychic descent into Kabul began in Dubai's Terminal 2. The folks who run a lot of airports thoughtfully segregate those coming from or going to third world countries from folks coming from or going to 1st world countries into different terminals. With just as much thoughtfullness in mind, the "3rd world" terminals are never quite as nice as the "1st world" terminals. They're older, dirtier, and don't have half the facilities. The Vienna airport is the most egregious example of this that I've encountered, or at least it was the last time I flew through it a few years back. I'll never fly through Vienna again, and for the hell I went through at that airport I retain an irrational loathing for Austria.

At any rate, Dubai's Terminal 2 is a far cry from the high-tech, clean, and fashionable cheerfullness of Terminal 1. It was like a slow descent into hell. First I was prepped at the hotel, which sprang all sorts of fine print charges on us (note to self: never stay at a Le Meridien again). Then dreary Terminal 2, staffed with sullen guest workers (in my entire stay in the Emirates, I'm not sure I ever saw a native of that country) and clotted with cigarette smoke. On to the utilitarian but roomy UN plane, and then... Kabul.

I shouldn't complain, because we actually got quite lucky on the Kabul flight. When we emerged from the plane onto the tarmac, the sky was sunny and blue. But when I got through customs and out of the airport, a dust storm was in full force. Better to drive than fly through it.