Bike packed, taxi ordered and ready to roll. I was getting ready for India and was excited to meet a completely different type of chaos and culture. I thought this would be easy, but as usual, I underestimated my own stupidity!
It all started with the taxi. Yandex Go said there were no mini-vans, as such I went with business class taxis. My first mistake. The taxi’s back seats could go down but because of the design of the boot, I could not get my rather large bike box through. We tried various attempts to get it in, resigned to defeat the taxi driver kindly called for a mini-van! I’m now running 30 minutes behind and my anger was building!
The mini-van driver insisted on more for the bike. Fair enough, it makes life easier just to give him the extra pound! However, he decided that arrivals were the better section to drop me off and me be none the wiser I went with it. He also tried to play the, I don’t have any change scam! I wasn’t having that. I have to win at least one battle.
It was naturally very busy so finding a cart to help with moving the box was difficult and then the job of finding the lift to the next level was even harder. Tucked away in a corner and with no signage! Upstairs in departures, it was chaos, plus chairs everywhere making it difficult to move around with a bike box. I could find domestic departures but not international ones.
Central Asian chaos
At this point, my patience with the usual Central Asian chaos was starting to be tested! Actually, it would be better to say that I wanted to run rampaging through the airport with a machete. But alas that is frowned upon in airports. So I visited domestic departures and was told it was around the corner, but no signage so not able to find it. In my exasperation I went to Tourist Information, apparently it is through customs. There are only signs for customs, not international departures.
Luckily they decided not to x-ray my bike or baggage and I could go to departures. No queue, my luck must be changing. The box weighed in at 33kg, the limit is 32kg. ‘Oh fuck, here we go,’ I thought. Nope, the lady let it through, but, there is always a ‘but,’ I still had to pay for the bike box. I knew this, I took out my card, but I had to go back through customs and pay at the company’s office. A member of staff took me to the office, I probably wouldn’t have found it. 37 GBP paid and a receipt handed to the check-in staff, I was on my way.
Passport control was easy; however, security was something else. I was told I couldn’t go through and I would need to wait 10 minutes, I took a seat! After 5 minutes my impatience and frustration got the better of me. The member of staff I challenged called the guard over and wouldn’t talk or make eye contact with me. I still had had no breakfast and was running on fumes and to be quite honest RAGE. An unadulterated rage, and I think it was starting to show on my face. My control systems having failed somewhat earlier.
Bike locks look like bombs…apparently
They brought over the leader of security and they showed me a scan of my check-in bag. There was something at the bottom which worried them. It was my bike lock. I took it out and moved it into my checked-in bag to reduce the weight in the box. They had never seen a bike lock on a scanner and I had to show them. But this meant I had to pass through security but I wasn’t allowed my passport!
Escorted into the bowels of the airport and into a room where my bag awaited me. The member of staff demanded ‘show me.’ So, I opened the bag and pulled out the offending item. He took pictures and still didn’t know what to make of it. I had to get my key out, unlock and lock the item so he could understand. At which point he calmed down and even smiled! I packed up my bag and he put it through the scanner again and then put it in a corner. I am pretty confident that I will never see this bag again. It has my clothes and sleep system within it.
Taken back to security I am reunited with my passport and free to go to the waiting lounge. Time for breakfast, two options have a large queue, but Starbucks does not. Starbucks it is. Options are limited, a packet of caramel waffles it was and a latte, copious amounts of sugar added. I finally found a corner and saw my bike being loaded, and thought ‘well at least I will be able to ride.’ The coffee was too hot to drink so I started on the packet of caramel waffles and this was where I struggled.
Rage, just rage
Unable to open, or comprehend how to, I wanted to cry. Another part of me reminded me that crying will not open the packet! Thanks really helpful. Then the rage decided to come through, in the famous words of Jeremy Clarkson ‘POWER,’ the packet opened but a mess was created. Finally, calming down whilst looking like a rabid monkey with his precious I realised that this was my entire fault!
I would like to think that the moral of this story is that you should book an appropriate taxi, leave your bike lock with the bike or just don’t bother bringing a bike. But the real moral is, just don’t bother with fucking flying!