So, following on from the previous Amsterdam post, onto the trip itself…
I left for Astana airport around 6am on the 21st September, feeling happy that I would be meeting up with two friends very soon, going back to a city I enjoy for many reasons, but also sad as I would be apart from Irina for the longest amount of time since we first met! The first section of the journey went well, with no problems from Kazakhstan’s sometimes over-eager airport officials. One small hitch was my inability to make outgoing voice calls once I had got to the departure gate – this had happened before though, so I didn’t worry too much, and just texted Ira asking her to call me, so I could confirm all was OK thus far. Having only had 2.5 hours sleep, I was a little tired, but there was no chance I would drop off before I got on the plane.
Once I arrived in Kaliningrad, (where Alex flew through on her recent trip to see us), the whole plane had to go in reverse through the normal procedures for leaving the airport. We left the plane and entered the terminal through a departure exit. There appeared to be three cleaners operating an x-ray machine, which looked a little odd, and some of the people in the queue ahead of me were already loudly grumbling (in Russian and Kazakh) about something or other. It turns out the cleaners security staff were not allowing any bottles of liquid larger than 100ml INTO the building. Had this been on the way out, with us ALL heading to a European country, I could understand the confiscation of large bottles of liquids. However, this was to get into the building, and the staff appeared to be concentrating on alcohol, much of which had been purchased by my fellow passengers in Astana’s duty free shop. Suffice to say separating a Russian or Kazakh from their spirits is never the easiest of tasks, however the x-rayers ploughed on, dumping all the bottles into a washing up bowl or three on the floor.
When it came to my turn, a stout lady loudly informed me there were several problems with my hand luggage, at least their x-ray machine told them. I decided to play it even dumber than in reality, and pronounced very slowly (& even more incorrectly than normal), that I could not speak Russian. She attempted to say the same thing again louder, to which I smiled, and started pulling random things from my bag. She gave up and put the bag through the x-ray machine again, and started squawking about a problem again. I decided that as I had no liquids in there, other than a nearly empty spray deodorant that I did not pose too great a security risk. After several more ‘helpful’ suggestions from myself (pulling out my books one by one, followed by the spare set of clothing, each time offering them to her), she eyed the queue behind me, and pointed me away from the security station. I gladly obliged, and took the opportunity to grab a cigarette by a bin that several other people had congregated around. There was a no smoking sign, but as everyone else was taking the opportunity for a nicotine fix where there were no cameras, and the staff were too busy to give a damn, I joined in. During the course of what I thought might be my last cigarette until I had cleared passport control in Amsterdam’s Schiphol airport, I observed the passengers who had had their booze nicked (various conspiracy rumours had already been started, mainly revolving around the possibility that the cleaners/security staff were having a party that evening and wanted to save their budget for other items) wait until the staff were busy arguing with the next incensed passenger, and then calmly walk up to the confiscated goods, and retrieve their own bottles. Most managed to get away in time, a few were stopped, shouted at, and a few just stood and argued until the staff gave up.
Anyway we proceeded up the stairs, into a departure lounge where we showed our tickets (for the flight we had just been on!) and passports, and waited for the plane full of passengers (minus those who actually finished their journey in Kaliningrad and so left the airport immediately) to get past the initial security checks downstairs. At this point we could see the main airport area, with its large screen with flight info on, a smoking area (ooops, I now know for the future), and a few shops. Those who wanted to buy a coffee (or even a duty free bottle of alcohol!) were allowed out of the departure (masquerading as an arrival) lounge, as long as they left their passport with the security staff present in this room. Around 30 minutes later we were all together again, and I had noted a few foreigners speaking German (it is good to know who to turn to if you really need some assistance with officials whose language you are not completely au fait with). We then presented tickets for our next flights to someone sat at a computer terminal. As this was a departure lounge, and we were arriving, the room layout meant we all had to file past her whilst looking at the screen ourselves, with the lady needing to swivel round her chair away from her computer to face us each time she needed some info. Having got past this stage, there was a three person posse waiting at the exit/entrance to the departure terminal (we were almost at the point of syncing our direction with the rest of the inhabitants of this airport by this point.) These new people each took a turn to check each person’s passports, old and new plane tickets and then allowed us in….
More to follow soon 🙂
Oct 26 2007
October 31st, 2007 12:57 am
….sounds a bit like Swansea International Airport, which is only excelled by Newquay International Airport.
On a Rugby Trip to Dublin Anthony & I flew from Bristol (Anthony said they were VERY cheap tickets – we were to find out why…), via the mysterious Newquay International Airport. This turned out to be a Porta-Cabin on a military airbase. Our little 30 seater aircraft – Somerset Arrrlines or something, landed, only just clearing the runway before a very threatening Euro-Fighter came overhead. Sorry, Official Secrets Act and all that – it was not a Euro-Fighter – only a sooped up Sopwith with a boy racer.
Anyway, only two people were leaving the aircraft at Newquay. The rest, composed mainly of Tondu Rugby Club members, who had all booked individually (legendary for finding the cheapest possible tickets), were asked to leave the aircraft and walk to the “terminal”, taking all our belongings with us. Needless to say, the rugby fans having sunken into a soporiphic alcoholic haze, enquired diplomatically why such exercise was demanded. “Are we changing planes, or do we have to swim from here?”, echoed the dulcet tones of an inebriated Rhondda (off duty) police sergeant. The young, slightly airsick hostess, reassured us that we would be returning to the same plane. Fortunately, she did not understand the retort in Welsh, but it translated roughly as “then why, dear lady, do we have to leave and go out in this cold weather, being tender little souls”. Well, a loose translation…
The walk across the terminal was bracing. Ground staff bore a passing resemblance to Shackleton on a cold artic day. Some supporters had mild hypothermia before they reached the terminal, but shuffled on in the hope of a “Ty Bach” (Welsh “small house”, bog, toilet, rest room,etc) and a welcoming barmaid. Oh what suffering lay ahead! There was A toilet, then a queque of thirty men & women. as for the bar -only a coke machine as compensation. Plots began to brew. There was discontent among the natives.
Then, fame at last! The young hostess, suitably recovered from her air sickness with a welcome coke, was calling my name with a megaphone. “Is there a John Kavanagh in the terminal?” Now, as far as I was aware, I was on the passenger list. Was this a peak time with multiple flights – no way. Builders in the terminal were examining us with curiosity, given that we were the only plane without missiles that had landed in days! I identified myself to this young whippersnapper (who had the power to bully large rugby supporters into the freezing cold!), and enquired
“Pray tell young delightful thing with a blue nose, to what do I owe this great pleasure?”
“Did you leave a book and your reading glasses on the plane?”
” I did indeed”
“You were asked to take ALL of your belongings off”
“But we are returning to same said plane” I replied
“That doesn’t matter. Wait here!”
In retrospect, she may have had family working in Kaliningrad, but was cunning enough the realise that she would have been in peril of her life had she attempted to part a Welshman from his drink. I digress.
Her colleague, probably a child on a Youth Training programme, was duly despatched to retrieve said offending articles from the plane. On her return, I was handed these items – and then the announcement was made…
“Would all passengers please return to the plane”
There is more – but it might become tedious…
The moral of the tale – avoid Newquay International Airport like the plague
October 31st, 2007 9:18 am
Wow, think that is the longest comment I have ever received. Nice to know the UK can try and match the rest of the world in such matters.
GO AND POST IT ON YOUR BLOG… IT HAS BEEN TOO LONG SINCE YOUR LAST POST THERE 🙂