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Today was not a good day.

It all started early on this Tuesday morning.
As we did our check-out, the girl behind the desk suddenly broke into tears. I was convinced it was because she had a crush on either Bene or me (or both), but Bene insists that it is not necessarily related to my charms. First blow of the day. I am always disappointed if the receptionist does not cry on account of my charms.

We had mentally prepared for a feast of a breakfast at our favourite breakfast place, in the Tibetan quarters. A western breakfast, I am ashamed to say, but if you saw the poor excuses they eat for breakfast, you would understand (mainly, what they describe as congee, I call old rice with a lot of sugary water).

Not a very good day indeed

Degrubenc
2006-08-12 15:12:58

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rafting in Tibet. I am sorry to see him go but the adventure thickens: when I am on my own, I feel more abroad as there is nothing more attaching me to Europe.

He heads to the domestic departure "terminal" and I to the international "terminal".

Endless forms to be filled in, security checks and passport controls later, I make it to the check-in desks.

I am travelling business class, yet there is no business class desk. Only one desk is open, and there is a long queue. I wait patiently, moaning and groaning in the queue. I notice vaguely that I am surrounded by germans but my attention is captivated by the girl trying to sell "duty-free" Chinese whiskey in the check-in queue.

As I arrive at the check-in desk, I am told that I am standing in the middle of a very large German group and they all have to be processed together. I protest, make noises, flap my arms about, but to no avail: I am pushed back behind the German army, standing in perfect order, with bags to the left and women to the right.

An hour's worth of moaning and groaning later, I make it back to the front of the check-in desk, with nothing in the form of excuses for such appalling service. My passport is scrutinised for the 3rd time and my bag taken away behind the scenes to be loaded on the plane. I am then issued with a red boarding pass and make my way to yet another passport control.

The kid behind the desk, in his big, saggy uniform, has never seen an Official Diplomatic Passport before and is much taken aback. So, he applies the age-old burocratic principle: "if unsure, treat with suspicion". He calls all his colleagues, all well under drinking age, and they debate as to what to do. I am having enough of all this waiting and torturing of my passport and start making it clear. They get on the defensive, call for back-up, another 2 kids turn up in saggy uniforms and, after much hesitation, they stamp the passport violently and hand ...