The Thread pp 96-103 | Cite as


  • Philip J. Davis


I did not get to Teheran. The plane landed in Bombay where there was an unexplained four hour delay. It then took off and made an unsched- uled landing in Delhi; there were four more hours of delay. At this point we were informed that Teheran was blanketed by the worst snowfall in the history of the BOAC. We would fly to Ankara, refuel, take off and land at Tel Aviv, the next scheduled stop. I was aching with tiredness. My body was confused and fatigued by the constant pushing back of the clock. I decided to get off at Tel Aviv and not wait around for an unknown number of hours and fly back to Teheran. A word to an efficient hostess accomplished this and, miracle of miracles, my baggage was pulled out and given to me personally. After forty or so continuous hours of travel from Perth, with my stomach and bowels standing on their heads, my ears suffering from decompression, my mind outraged additionally by culture shock, I found myself sitting on a bench at a bus stop unable to decide what to do next and not knowing how to do it. I was four days too early. A young boy was next to me eating a bag of sunflower seeds. He was an island in a sea of spat-out shells. This was my introduction to the Holy Land. I had never been there before.


Sunflower Seed Culture Shock Rear Seat Rock Music Calling Card 
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© Birkhäuser Boston 1983

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  • Philip J. Davis

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