As my bag appeared from the screening box, it jolted to the other side of the conveyor
James in Berlin before going to catch his flight(Image: James Holt)
Going through airport security always makes me tense. The mad rush to drag your liquids out of your hand luggage and cram them into a clear bag while a queue of eager holidaymakers try to hurry you along makes me pretty stressed out.
And the stern faces of those working on security, while they yell at you to use another tray and take off your belts, can often make for a pretty rushed and unfriendly experience before any trip.
Sure, it isn’t meant to be a walk in the park – they have the job of protecting millions of travellers worldwide – but it sends my anxiety into overdrive and I find myself questioning if I even packed my own suitcase or somehow, accidentally, picked up kilos of contraband without knowing and am destined for a decade behind bars.
Never miss a story with the MEN’s daily Catch Up newsletter – get it in your inbox by signing up here
After a recent two-night trip to Berlin earlier this month, which I fondly wrote about here, it was time to head home back to Manchester on a flight with KLM airlines.
I had stayed at the stunning five-star Radisson Collection Hotel in the heart of the Mitte district. It had been a wonderful trip, with three glorious days of sun and exploring.
The usual dreaded airport run returned. Arriving two hours in advance with my small hand luggage suitcase, I wanted to pick up a duty-free bottle of gin and was ready for home. I didn’t need to check-in any hold luggage, so got off the train from Berlin centre and headed straight to security.
There was only a small queue, so it only took around five minutes to reach the bag conveyor belt. I put my suitcase in the tray beside the liquids and walked through the scanner.
As my bag appeared from the screening box, it jolted to the other side of the conveyor. I felt a thud in the bottom of my stomach. A member of security staff asked if it was mine and if I had packed it.
Within a few seconds he had unzipped the bag and emptied virtually the entire contents out onto the table. Nothing more was said, as they slowly unpacked a piece of the Berlin wall I had been gifted on the trip from a carrier bag I had wrapped it in.
Join the Manchester Evening News WhatsApp group HERE
My piece of the Berlin Wall(Image: James Holt)
It was swabbed, along with a pair of shoes and a few other of my items. The paper slips were then placed into a machine, which beeped both times. The two members of security looked at me before testing the items again. Then I was told something I never thought I’d hear.
“There are traces of explosives. You must go with the police now.”
I turned to my left and two armed police officers were ready to escort me to be quizzed about my luggage. I was walked over to another member of security, who then first instructed me to take off my shoes.
That’s when the dread really set in. How on God’s green earth had traces of explosives somehow ended up in my bag? It had been a wholesome weekend of exploring, dining out and relaxing in my hotel which imminently descended into scenes of utter panic.
My other items of clothes were then put through a different scanner, along with my mobile phone which I had picked up and was in my pocket. I am sure by this point my visual distress was evident to everyone in the airport.
Security gates at Berlin airport(Image: Flughafen Berlin Brandenburg GmbH / Anikka Bauer)
The rim of my underwear was also checked and I was frisked again. It was a sea of suspicious looking people at every turn, side-eyeing me as though I was some sort of criminal. In my tizz, I had convinced myself I wasn’t getting on that flight home and would be spending the night in the cells.
I was then taken to be asked about my luggage. This involved explaining where and when I had packed it, along with other questions about where I had travelled to and my final destination. I am certain my answers would’ve been unintelligible blabbering while I wiped sweat from my forehead.
The ordeal probably only went on for 10 minutes or so, but felt like a lifetime. I had never had an airport experience like it (and have since learned this can be pretty common due to the chance of false positives), so it felt much more dramatic to me. Especially being in a foreign country.
Once my other clothes had been scanned, I was able to walk back over to my bag, which had been left open; the contents almost entirely emptied out onto the table. I was then nonchalantly told: “You can go.”
I felt perplexed about the entire experience. On the one hand, it was reassuring that those hired to protect us, were doing a thorough job. But, a little shaken, I desperately wanted to make a run for it and board the first plane out of there.
It was only when speaking to the police officers afterwards that I was told explosive trace detection equipment can often be triggered by other everyday items and substances. And it is pretty common. I let out an instant sigh of relief.
It could’ve been the case that my memento piece of the Berlin wall had some sort of traces on it even after all these years, or that the bleepers could’ve been set off by something even more unassuming.
The highly-sensitive detection technology looks for sets of compounds that can or may be used in the creation of explosives; nitrates and glycerin. However, these are often found in some harmless every day products which can sound the alarm, such as cleaning products, hand soaps, lotions, hair products, perfumes and other cosmetic items, and certain medications.
I was able to frantically repack my bag, all the while being watched by the other flyers who had a front row seat for all the unfolding drama, and head straight for duty free. I picked up a bottle of gin and went to enjoy a much needed stiff drink before my flight.
I am not remotely a nervous flyer, but rather feel a wave of anxiety about arriving and making it through the airport on time without any hiccups. But now, knowing what I know, I hope it won’t come as much of a shock next time I’m dragged in for questioning.