I bought two things for myself in France, or more pointedly, the South of France. A pair of ceramic poppy earrings and a hair pin, a simple arrangement, made from wrought iron, about six inches long. I loved both of these items. I adore poppies and I love bringing home simple items, like hair pins. Hair pins are something I use, as my long curly hair keeps them well. I loved the earrings too. Simple, glazed, made from fired terracotta. Loved them. I say loved them as I have not been able to find them. I've looked everywhere for them. Gone through pockets and bags and suitcases. I can't find them. Disappeared into the ether like my gorgeous holiday.
And as for the hair pin, this simple bit of wrought iron, well that got confiscated at the airport yesterday.
Not happy, Jan.
And yes, this was my own stupid fault. I knew in the back of my mind that a semi-sharp, artisan hairpin, with a loop like Mr Curly's hair at the end of it, made of iron, might set off the metal detectors. I thought I'd put it in my toiletries bag which was then placed in my suitcase which went into checked luggage. Instead, it found its way into my make up bag, which was placed in my backpack, along with two laptops, two books and various other stuff that goes with me in my cabin bag. I also had my knitting in this bag, as you do. It's good to have a beanie on a set of circular needles.
The bag was scanned and scanned again.
The Little Hitlers at the gate asked to inspect this errant object, along with my knitting.
They held up the hair pin.
"You can't take this on board," they told me.
"It's a hair pin."
"It's metal. It still can't go on board. You can check it through in that bag," they told me pointing at my backpack.
"My back pack has two laptops in it. I can't check that in." Would you trust your laptops to Qantas baggage handlers? I think not.
"Well, you can't take this on board." The security officer held it between her fingers like it was a dead rat.
"Can I post it back to myself. It has some sentimental value."
"No."
"So, you will let me take my knitting through, but not a steel hair pin?"
"It's metal, that's the rules."
I did want to point out the absurdity of the fact that I could you do just as much damage with a pair of aluminium knitting needles than I could with a six-inch piece of slightly-rusted iron. You don't make a fuss. You don't argue more than this. I let them throw my lovely hair pin into the confiscated bin, ready to be destroyed with the nail scissors, files, pocketknives and whatever else they decide to take off people. I didn't want to chance my arm. They let my knitting through - though again, what is the difference between aluminium and wrought iron, other than one was attached to a half-done beanie and ball of wool.
With sadness, I made my way to the gate, miffed, knowing that I will need to go back to Sommieres (or find somebody who is going back to Sommieres) to go into the Rusty Circle down the main drag to buy me another ten euro hair pin and some poppy earrings. I'll pay you back if I don't get back there first.
(On the good side of things, I found the poppy earrings. They were in with my tarot cards. Found them as I was doing a reading at lunchtime. It made my day.)
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