How to Save the Trouble of a Torture Session

I was returning from Northern Norway. My first stop was in Tromso. We were just about to take off for Oslo when it was discovered that one of the engines did not work. Good timing to figure that out.

The plane was taken back to the terminal and all passengers were asked to get off. Then the fun began. Everybody was rushing to book another flight south. It took me a while to figure out what to do because of the language barrier but at some point I ended up at a counter where the lady, suddenly noticing that I was on my way back to Canada, entered into panic mode and became helpful.

She urged me to grab my luggage and to run back to the gates to try boarding a specific plane that she said was my last chance to get my connection in Oslo. I quickly confirmed that she wanted me to bring my hand luggage and my checked luggage to the gate and I ran upstairs.

But at the security checkpoint, when I saw my big bag on the treadmill, entering the x-ray machine, I realized: "Oh noooo." And sure enough, the lady operating the machine immediately started yelling "Machete! Machete! Machete!" Of course, a foot-long Sami traditional knife is not something she would miss.

Immediately, I saw myself attached to a chair, being beaten up badly by angry vikings. I saw myself transfered to Guantanamo.

Four or five security guards gathered around me. But instead of beating me up, they just looked at me like they expected some explanation. And of course I had one. So I explained everything in my approximative English and they listened. Without hesitation, one of the guards, who seemed to be the boss, asked a female colleague to grab my luggage and to escort me to the gate. The idea was that if I succeeded boarding the plane, she would take the bag down to the luggage compartment. The tiny lady had a hard time carrying my bag so I offered to carry it myself. So here I am, carrying a big knife within the security zone of an airport.

It was too late. The gate was already swarming with unhappy people. The plane was full.

So I was escorted back out of the security zone by two guards. I thanked them for their kindness. I said: "In America, I would be taking a beating in jail as we speak." They simply smiled: "We are not like that here." Then they offered to take me out on a tour of the local bars if I was still stuck in Tromso in the evening. "It's a good place for party, here, sir. There are lots of bars. An American tourist had a problem with his flights not long ago and we took him out. He had the best night of his life."

At the end of the day, I missed this opportunity because I was finally able to fly to Oslo. My 24-hour trip back home (five planes, one bus and one taxi) ended up taking 45 hours, of which 17 were spent waiting in line. But this is another story, I will get back to this in a future blog entry.

Tromso Airport security personnel are great. They smile and they know how to do the right thing. In this case, they also saved themselves the trouble of a torture session.