I NEVER TRAVEL WITHOUT:

My small pillow. You can`t buy one. They`re considered dangerous to infants. It`s a tiny pillow I took off a Philippine Airlines flight. With this soft little cushion, I can sleep anywhere. And have done so. In hotels when the pillows were hard as concrete. On a customs bench in Morocco. Deck class sailing down the Red Sea. It goes wherever I go. I`ve lost two on my travels. One left behind on a coach trip to Paris. A second blew into the Bay of Bengal, when I stood up from my deck chair to escape a tropical squall. I found replacements on other airlines. I don`t feel bad about taking 3 little pillows in a lifetime`s flying.

The second item I make sure is packed is my personal cake of soap in a plastic container. This is Roger & Gallet which comes in a variety of heavenly perfumes - tea-rose and gardenia are my favourites which bring a scent of home. Especially when the bathroom is horrid.

The third item I never forget is a pareo. Also known as a sarong, a kikoye or simply a cotton wrap. This is a patterned length of cotton material, worn to great effect in Polynesia. But also in East Africa, coastal India and Dhofar in Oman. The pareo, which I wore daily when working at the Club Mediterranee in Tahiti is a multi-purpose garment. It can be worn in a variety of different styles as a wrap; used as a towel after a shower or a swim, as a sheet, when the night is hot, or stuffed with ice and placed on your head for a hang-over.

Item number four is my swimming costume. I pack this as hand-luggage with my pillow and pareo so if stuck somewhere warm, I can always swim. On two occasions, once off a flight in Singapore, another double-booked in Bombay, I was the only passenger able to enjoy a dip.

Finally, I always pack a small bottle of scotch. This used to go in hand luggage but with the 100 mill rule, it now travels in my case. Whisky acts as a reviver when you reach your new hotel room. Or in event of drama on your travels. It can be drunk neat if you haven`t water and the Scots would say it doesn`t need ice. Delayed 36 hrs at Khartoum Airport, my small flacon of whisky kept body and soul together when the only alternative was tinned mango-juice.

Images: www.copix.co.uk

RIDING THE KHYBER MAIL

"......My introduction to this lawless part of Pakistan was in a Sydney cinema we called the `flea pit`. My father, a big fan of Lauren Bacall, had taken me to see her and Kenneth More in the adventure film North West Frontier with a poster depicting the stars above a picture of the Khyber Mail.

Twenty years on, I am about to catch the legendary Mail, which is scheduled to leave Peshawar Cantonment at nine o`clock and to arrive in Landi Kotal, on the Afghan border, three hours later.

My companion is Habib Afridi, a member of the Adam Khel clan within the formidable Afridi tribe whose territory includes the Khyber Agency. He is a lovely man, tall and softly spoken, and I find it hard to imagine the Afridis struck such terror in British soldiers stationed on the Frontier. But they did. Attacking Landi Kotal in 1897, they defeated the famous Khyber Rifles, and only a counter-attack by 35,000 British soldiers, was able to retake the strategic site.

For our day out, Habib is wearing a grey *shalwar kameez while I have teamed a floral shirt purchased at Galleries Lafayette in Paris with fawn trousers. And naturally I am wearing my hat. But we have not chosen a good day for our journey up the Khyber. It`s the start of Eid-ul-Adha and hundreds of tribesmen are travelling home to walled compounds in remote villages.

Boarding at Jamrud, the gateway to the Khyber, I am swept along in an arsenal of Pathans waving guns, and hawkers brandishing cigarettes, sugar-cane and hard-boiled eggs. Chickens, even a cow, are bundled on board as we pull out of the station, with me seated in the LADIES ONLY carriage pretending I`m Lauren Bacall, and Habib riding in the front locomotive.

Our five carriages are pulled and pushed by two 1920s steam engines; two, because unable to turn in the narrow gorge, the front engine must run back to gain momentum when the rear one acts as prop. In one place, the ascent is so steep that all the passengers leap off and scramble up the hillside, to re-board when we steam into the station above.

The train traverses 34 tunnels between Jamrud and Landi Kotal, the summit of the pass, and seated in total darkness, with soot pouring in the open windows, I reflect on other rail journeys I have made. The Chittagong Mail in Bangladesh, the Nairobi-Mombasa Night Express and the Indian Pacific crossing of the Nullabor are memorable, but none matches the Khyber Mail for excitement.

In the longest tunnel, a prankster pulls the emergency cord, no doubt to frighten me, the only woman on board, but as we grind to a halt, the joke`s on him; at the last stop, I have run along the track to join Habib, and we can see by glowing coals in the furnace.....

Excerpt from Chapter 6: Travels with my Hat

90,000 words and pictures, for publication autumn 2010.

MY DEAR OLD TOYOTA

I owned a Toyota Celica coupe for 15 years during which time, it never caused a problem, but unfair UK government charges on a GT - even though it passed the emissions test – saw me decide to call it a day.

I contacted a salvage company which offered £70 to remove and crush it for scrap, but deciding on a last attempt at selling it, I placed an advert in Classic Car magazine. Then I went off to Marrakesh and forgot about it.

On my return to London, there was an anxious message on my answer phone. An Indian man was desperate to buy it to participate in a `Top Gear` motor challenge. The criteria: that it shouldn`t cost more than £500, and that it had a valid MOT and tax disc.

That evening, he came round and bought it on sight. We performed a Hindu ceremony when I held a `sacred coconut` under a wheel and he drove over it, crushing it, to bring good luck.

With only 77,000 miles on the clock, apart from a trip to France, for many years the old Celica had only been driven to the supermarket (¼ mile) for a weekly shop.

Now, to prove old cars still have life, it had to survive being driven from John O`Groats (in the north of Scotland) to Lands End (the most southern tip of England), a distance of 874 miles, with other old competitors, including a Porsche.

It was not a race, but an endurance test, and although my dear old car coughed and spluttered, it was declared the eventual winner, raising £8000 for charity in the process.

But this was not the end. So close to being crushed, it was auctioned after the trip, and bought by a woman who declared she loved the model, and would restore it as a classic car.

It`s a nice story amid Toyota`s current woes. My desk overlooks the street where it used to be parked. At times I believe I can see it.

c.Christine Osborne

Images: Crushing the coconut to bring good luck.

Image source: www.copix.co.uk

WHISPERING THROUGH THE SKIES

Missed my blogs? I've been flying. In fact I'm a member of the esteemed Guinness World Records club for having flown on the greatest number of different airlines (today's figure is more like 80).

Colourful memories include flying with falcons on Gulf Air and goats on Ethiopia Airways. Of tackling the hazardous routes through the Karakorams on PIA and helping out when Tunis Air was a stewardess short on a flight to Djerba. Of performing CPR on a KLM passenger as we landed in Amsterdam. Of the time I had to fly as a wheelchair passenger on Air India when all the wheels fell off at Bombay International Airport.

Some flights stand out. How could I forget the night of 21/9/71 when the engines on our BOAC VC10 caught fire and we hurled ourselves down the emergency slides. 'Lucky to be alive,' a ground engineer informed me. Or the occasion when Sudan Airways overflew Cairo because they said I was the only boarding passenger. 'Don`t be silly,' I told the manager when he said it had left: the point being that it hadn't landed!

Do I have a favourite airline? Malaysian, JAL and Qatar Airways are very good, but after my recent flight to Sydney and back, I would have to single out Singapore Airlines. Not just for the superb in-flight service, but for the spacious, whisper quiet, fuel efficient, A380-300.

Since 2007, the six A380-300s operated by Singapore Airlines have carried over one million passengers on the London-Singapore-Sydney route.

72 m long, the giant planes are designed to accommodate 525 seats, but Singapore Airlines carry only 471 passengers, thus ensuring more space for long legs like mine.

The position of the galleys, located well away from the loos, is also a big plus for both the convenience of the crew and the comfort of passengers. And the A380 is kinder to the environment since it burns around 20 per cent less fuel, on a seat-mile basis, than similar jumbo aircraft.

I paid my own fare to Sydney and back to London so this is not a puff for Singapore Airlines but a genuine compliment from one who has made the 20 hour journey `Down Under` some twenty times over the years.

My only complaint of the 24,000 mile round trip is that the charming 'Singapore Girls' could not make a good 'Bloody Mary'.

DELHI WOMEN APPLAUD `LADY SPECIALS`

Women in India suffer many forms of harassment which would never be permitted in western societies. Most arise from the ancient caste system which condones among other social discriminations, the horrid practice of honour killings.

Less dramatic, but equally offensive, is male behaviour on crowded commuter trains in Delhi where women complain of staring eyes and salacious hands, although this is by no means exclusive to the Indian sub-continent.

I have experienced unwelcome male behaviour on Spanish trains and a friend was reduced to tears by men frotting themselves against her on the Madrid underground. Apparently this is also a habit of Japanese businessmen on the Tokyo Metro (which carries a staggering 6 million passengers per day!)

But the point is that men in Delhi, where eight `Lady Specials` have begun service, complain that many carriages pass by half empty as they stand waiting on the platform.

While it is a woman`s right to be able to travel to work without suffering sexual humiliation, Delhi municipality should copy Cairo`s metro system where most trains have a `women only` carriage, leaving no bad feelings between the sexes.

Of course segregation is standard in Muslim countries and therefore Dubai`s gleaming new Metro provides a women and children only cabin in each train. But it is in the Gold Class carriage costing double the fare and beyond the reach of poor migrant worker families.

c.Christine Osborne.

Image : Women boarding a `Ladies Only`carriage in Cairo.

Image: Dubai`s new Metro/photographer Hilary Stout

Source: www.copix.co.uk