Cairo: I once had to travel from Jordan to Algeria but, the only available route that day was a connection via Cairo Airport. The travel agent in Jordan helpfully checked me on line and issued two boarding passes: Amman to Cairo, then Cairo to Algiers and informed me I had about 90 minutes waiting time at Cairo Airport, which was enough time to go through any normal transfer process with enough time to sit in the “business lounge” for a quick refreshment, or so I thought.
The first part of the journey went very well, nothing else to report there. However, things got a little interesting when we landed at bustling Cairo Airport. We disembarked and made our way to the main terminal with iconic signs plastered every few meters corralled us either to Immigration / luggage collection or to the transit area. Naturally, I proceeded towards the transit area.
As I walked from one corridor to the next and through many double-doors, the signs became less frequent and so did airport staff and officials. I was given many aptitude tests on the way by being confronted with choices of turning left or right so, I guessed and hoped for the best. Finally I saw an electronic display board, which helpfully informed me that my flight was departing from Gate 7. So, I looked around and found myself between gates 2 and 3 so, I headed in the direction of Gate 3 hoping the count would ascend to 7. It did until gate 5 then I reached a dead end and I could see through a glass partition that Gates 6 and 7 could not be reached from where I was, unless I squeezed through a gap between a pillar and the end of the glass partition. Unconventional route I agree but, somehow I made it! I was very pleased with myself.
I checked the time and found that I had another hour or so to kill so, I sat down and started to read my book on inner peace and karma. Slowly, the departure lounge was filling up nicely and passengers were all approaching the airline official confirming they had found the right gate. Having not quite mastered “inner peace” yet, something deep inside niggled at me perhaps I should do the same thing and check with the helpful staffer. So, I got up, rummaged in my pocket and retrieved my second unused boarding pass, which clearly stated Seat 2C; Business Class; Cairo Algiers.
Me (with inner peace): Hello, am I at the right gate for Algeria?
Assistant: Where is your boarding pass sir?
Me (inner peace and karma now): Here
Assistant: How did you get here sir?
Me (confident): I flew from Amman
Assistant: No, how did you get to the departure lounge?
Me (as a matter of factish): I followed the signs
Assistant: But you have the wrong boarding pass sir
Me (inner concern): What is wrong with it?
Assistant: It does not have a security stamp on it
Me (inner trouble): How do I get one of those?
Assistant: You go to Immigration, enter Egypt then you exit Egypt and have your boarding pass stamped in the process
Me (inner turmoil): So why have signs saying “Transit” all over the airport?
Assistant: I don’t know!
Me (inner helplessness): What do we do now?
Assistant: You have to go to Immigration to have your boarding pass stamped
Me (inner resignation): Can you direct me to Immigration please?
Assistant: I can do better than that sir; I can send someone with you!
Me (inner relief): Thank you, you are very helpful
The assistant made a call on his intercom phone and summoned a policeman to come to assist me. By now the departure time was about 40 minutes away and the lounge was becoming agog with passengers who must have mistaken the airport for a public picnic area because to the last man, woman and child they had set up camp and were heartily consuming a variety of food served up on their laps, carry on luggage, chairs, tables, floors. It was as though they believed it was their last supper.
I stood by the counter having a partially relaxed chat with the helpful assistant. In the distance a uniform began to loom as it approached us and the assistant informed me help was on the way. The uniform grew larger, and larger, and larger until it reached us to reveal a large, sweating young man who was at least 120kg and totally out of breath. The assistant explained to Officer Large what needed to be done. I thought I was going with the policeman to conclude the procedure but the helpful assistant wouldn’t hear of it. He said I have luggage with me and that would delay things; it would be quicker for the policeman to go on his own. I could not imagine how I might slow down this unfortunate young man even if I crawled on my tummy all the way there and back but, sometimes, you cannot fight the system so, I accepted the arrangements made with some trepidation.
Officer Large took my precious passport and boarding pass in his clammy shovel of a hand and urged to hurry by the helpful assistant, waddled his way into the distance. The minutes ticked by and the passengers began to board the bus, which would take them to the airplane. I was getting nervous: what if this chap had a heart attack; which surely he was not far off having? What if he went to the bathroom and dropped my only legal means of identification down the toilet? What was I thinking giving my passport to a complete stranger in a foreign country? My head was swimming in a thousand negative thoughts and I resolved not to finish the book I was reading as it brought me no inner peace at all when I needed it.
25 minutes to departure time, 20 minutes, 15 minutes, time was racing by and the departure lounge was empty save for me, the debris of a hundred picnics and a couple of flight attendants who kept reassuring me that everything would be ok. I didn’t believe them.
Finally, a spec of a policeman appeared in the distance but this time it was approaching considerably more slowly than the first time. 10 minutes to departure time, public address was urging last passengers that it was “the last and final call” for the flight to Algiers, I began to work on Plan B of how to get to Algeria via Istanbul, or Paris, or Milan, or Alaska.
Our Officer Large finally made it with the last gasp of breath he could muster, his uniform was heavy and discoloured with sweat, he looked somewhat thinner than half an hour ago but not healthier, he was in need of urgent medical attention. But the assistant was only interested in my passport and boarding pass with the official stamp on it. I asked the young man if he was ok but he could not speak at all so, he just shook his head slowly. My boarding pass was torn and the stub was given to me, together with my passport, which by now was 500 grams heavier due to the sweat it had blotted out of the poor policeman’s palm. An extra bus was put at my disposal to deliver me to my airplane at high speed. As we took off, I could not take the image of that unfortunate young policeman from my mind.
I wonder if he is still alive, I hope he is.
