1 September 2012 / leggypeggy

Poor John in the dog house

airport security, Bogota, Colombia, Colorado, Denver, overland travel, South America, travel, Vegemite

Poor John a few days before the crime. Photo by my cousin, Colleen

I cracked an emotional this morning—that’s Aussie slang for having a temper tantrum. It wasn’t a big one, but Poor John and the fellow in the airport knew I wasn’t happy.

Earlier in the morning, we were packing our gear to head from Denver Colorado to Bogota Colombia in South America. At the last minute, I asked Poor John to pack the Vegemite in his bag—after all he had been carrying it most of the time anyway.

Vegemite is an Australia icon. It’s also one of those love-it-or-hate-it foods. I happen to love it. It’s a savoury breakfast spread/paste, made from yeast extract and tasting quite salty. It looks gross—like black–brown shoe polish—but you only need the slightest little bit to transform a piece of toast. I love it spread ever-so-thinly on toast with sliced tomato and cheese. Poor John likes it okay, but nowhere near as much as me.

So what was the problem today? Poor John packed my precious Vegemite—the jar that we had already carried for seven weeks—in his carry-on pack.

My heart sank when they pulled him over at security. I just knew it was the Vegemite. I hadn’t noticed that he packed it in carry-on, but I still knew it was doomed.

The security guy didn’t know what Vegemite was—it’s not a gel or a liquid I said—but he sure wasn’t going to let it through. He was nice about it, even apologetic. He said we could take the bag back and check it in, but that’s not an option if you’ll miss your flight. I could tell he felt bad, but I figured some of his concern was directed at the fellow (Poor John) I clearly wanted to throttle.

It was only after I stamped away from the counter that I thought to ask if he’d have let peanut butter through. Vegemite is the same principle. Does anyone know if peanut butter gets allowed through?

Anyway, I begged the guy not to destroy it. ‘It’s precious stuff. Ask around and give it to someone who’s been to Australia,’ I said. But he assured me it would go in the bin. What a heartbreaking waste.

I was pretty dark for the next couple of hours. Good grief, Poor John is a seasoned traveller and surely knew better than to pack it in carry-on.

I’m mostly over it now—this public whinge (complaint) sure helps. But four months without Vegemite will be quite depressing. I took one jar through Asia (seven months) and three jars to Africa (one year). In our last little bit of travel in Africa, I gave the limited remains of the third jar to a group of young Aussie backpackers. They were over the moon and I felt like a fairy godmother.