Escape to Istanbul

You may think that a title like "Escape to Istanbul" is just a tad dramatic, but believe me, that is exactly how it felt. I shall relate the intrepid story of derring-do and you can judge for yourself.

So, here we are; it is 4.30am all is quiet in Kabul, it is pitch black and the alarm goes off. The driver is coming at 5am and my flight is at 7am, what could possibly go wrong. I packed last night, I even had a little present stashed away in my bag, all I need is a "sh.., shower and shave" and I shall be on my way. One small but important point, no make that two small, but important points. We have no electricity and we have no water, making all 3 of the above rather less than attractive. I am sorry but this toilet thing will crop up again in this post.

So we head off to the airport which is closed until 5.30am and join a long and rather noisy queue on the approach road. Once we start moving we come to the first army checkpoint which appears to only exist for the annoyance of passengers. They peer into the car, then knock on the window. We open the door (you can't wind down windows in armoured cars) and the say "Eid, Mubarak" (Happy Eid) and hold out their hands. We then proceed to the first police checkpoint where I have to get out of the vehicle and carry the bags into a hut where they go through a scanner. The nice man who scans the bag then puts out his hand and says "Eid Mubarak". I pick up my bag and return to the vehicle where a soldier blocks my way and points me back to the hut. I return to the hut and we go through the same ritual. Finally, I am allowed back into the vehicle and we drive on, until we reach the car park. I then leave the car and driver and walk towards the airport building. To get out of the car park I have to show my passport and ticket to another policeman who says, well you know what he says, don't you?

I then walk across from the car park to the terminal building where there are soldiers outside. I show them my passport and ticket, they look at my bags and thrust out a hand and say.....

Once I have passed them I go to the emigration desk where I have to pay 500Afs to leave the country. No problem, except for the soldier who is standing next to the office who thrusts out his hand and says....

Slowly we are making progress. To get to the check-in desk it is necessary to go through a security check of bags and persons which is carried out with the customary greeting and hand offering. At check-in there is a nice man who puts my bag on the check in scales to our now familiar and customary greeting. Having finally got rid of my bags I head for the departure gate. I will not bore with even yet more details, but suffice to say I passed two more police desks and finally got to passport control. This was manned by a gentleman that took so long over each passport that I timed him. (Yes I realise that is a bit sad, but I was getting a little irritated at this point). He took 7, yes seven, minutes to scrutinise my passport, tap his keyboard, wave my passport in front of some mysterious machine and finally stamp it and wave me through. However, things were about to rather significantly speed up!!

Even though the flight was due to leave at 7am and we did not leave until 7.50am. Ariana Afghan Airlines managed to get me to Istanbul 3 HOURS EARLY. This could be due to incredible high tail winds, a fantastic new super fast plane or simply that we were supposed to fly to Baku and Ankara on the way. But instead we went straight to Istanbul and cut out all that fiddling about. Suited me fine, but really upset the people who wanted to go to Baku and Ankara!! So I arrived 3 hours early. Meanwhile, Sarah travelling on intrepid, super reliable, worlds favourite airline, British Airways arrived 1 hour late!!! I note just a hint of irony in that.

Now, I may be 3 hours early and I can hear you cheer this small victory, but of course, it was not all plain sailing (or should that be plane flying!!)

The plane was a very early Airbus 300. Apparently it was given to Afghan Airlines by the Indian Government because Pakistan had given Afghanistan a fleet of buses and India did not want to be outdone!! I don't think anything had been fixed or cleaned on this plane for years, it was foul, but it flew, took off well, made a good landing and got me there and back, so I am happy, but you just knew there would be a story attached!!

I don't know whether it was the plane meal or something else, but within an hour of taking off I was heading for the toilet with, shall we say, loose bowels.

There is no toilet paper in the loo, the door does not lock and I am trying to hover over the toilet without any physical contact. Next thing I know there is banging on the door and shouting from outside from the crew. The smoke alarm has gone off for some reason and the crew think I am having a crafty smoke. So now, if you can imagine the scene, I am trying to hover above the seat and direct my loose bowel movements into the bowl, jam one foot against the door to stop it bursting open from the banging outside, hold my trousers up from falling onto the floor into the wet underfoot and tear up the cardboard centre of the remains of the toilet roll!! (Is this too much detail?). Anyway, to cut a long story to medium, the alarm stopped, the banging on the door stopped and something approaching sanity resumed.

On that note, I too shall resume tomorrow, with happy tales of Istanbul.