Rasheed had ignored Keith's suggestion that we only needed two hours before check-in, rather than the recommended three, and insisted that he picked us up early. As we pulled up outside the airport, it began to look like a good idea. The entrance was packed. A queue 100m long had formed outside the double doors as security guards checked everyone's tickets before letting them into the airport. "Where's the Business Class entrance?" Keith asked Rasheed, realising there probably wasn't one. There was no official to ask so Rasheed guided us to a gap in the fence near the front of the queue where a few other people were pushing in. You have to give credit to the Sudanese. If we'd have done the same at Heathrow, there'd have been uproar, but no one objected as we smiled sweetly and thanked them.
Painfully slowly, the queue were admitted. Sometimes literally painfully, as the man behind, with his overloaded trolley, barged into the backs of our legs to take advantage of the slightest gap (he was a natural for driving in India!). Several times he managed to push his trolley and our cases forward at the same time.
"Where are the tickets?" Jan had searched the document wallet and found the passports but no copy of the etickets. Keith gulped. He'd forgotten to print them out. Grabbing his BlackBerry from his pocket, he started searching his emails for the details, the bead of sweat on his brow getting larger as each search failed to locate them. Meanwhile, the crowd were surging us forward, towards the entrance and the security guards. By the time we were next in line, Keith used the general chaos to walk straight past brandishing his and Jan's passports having been unable to find the eticket. Jan got stopped. "Passport!" "My husband has it." She pointed to Keith who was by now moving onto the second security check. The guard stared at her and must have thought his colleague had checked our passports because he let her through.
At the second check, the guards were scrutinising the documents of a couple of men pushing trolleys laden with large, plastic-wrapped boxes. Keith just walked straight past and Jan, having learnt her lesson earlier, stayed close on his heals. Our bags were x-rayed (including the document wallet which Jan had been holding and was sent back to have scanned) and we were through.
Being early for the flight, and with most passengers stuck in the queue outside, the Ethiopian Airlines check-in area was empty, so we walked up to the Cloud Nine business class desk and presented our passports. "Where are your tickets?" "Sorry but we have etickets. You should be able to find our booking using our passports" "No, I need the reference number." Keith pulled out his phone for another futile search for the flight number, while Jan waited nervously. He began wondering if the flights hadn't been confirmed. Then, after a couple of minutes of sweating, the clerk smiled. "I found you." Phew! Massive relief. But how many Bryants did they have booked on that flight?
The rest of the journey went very smoothly. After the chaos of the airport entrance, immigration was empty and the lounge couldn't have had more than six people. Two flights and a stopover later, we arrived safely in Entebbe, close to Kampala - the capital of Uganda.
Painfully slowly, the queue were admitted. Sometimes literally painfully, as the man behind, with his overloaded trolley, barged into the backs of our legs to take advantage of the slightest gap (he was a natural for driving in India!). Several times he managed to push his trolley and our cases forward at the same time.
"Where are the tickets?" Jan had searched the document wallet and found the passports but no copy of the etickets. Keith gulped. He'd forgotten to print them out. Grabbing his BlackBerry from his pocket, he started searching his emails for the details, the bead of sweat on his brow getting larger as each search failed to locate them. Meanwhile, the crowd were surging us forward, towards the entrance and the security guards. By the time we were next in line, Keith used the general chaos to walk straight past brandishing his and Jan's passports having been unable to find the eticket. Jan got stopped. "Passport!" "My husband has it." She pointed to Keith who was by now moving onto the second security check. The guard stared at her and must have thought his colleague had checked our passports because he let her through.
At the second check, the guards were scrutinising the documents of a couple of men pushing trolleys laden with large, plastic-wrapped boxes. Keith just walked straight past and Jan, having learnt her lesson earlier, stayed close on his heals. Our bags were x-rayed (including the document wallet which Jan had been holding and was sent back to have scanned) and we were through.
Being early for the flight, and with most passengers stuck in the queue outside, the Ethiopian Airlines check-in area was empty, so we walked up to the Cloud Nine business class desk and presented our passports. "Where are your tickets?" "Sorry but we have etickets. You should be able to find our booking using our passports" "No, I need the reference number." Keith pulled out his phone for another futile search for the flight number, while Jan waited nervously. He began wondering if the flights hadn't been confirmed. Then, after a couple of minutes of sweating, the clerk smiled. "I found you." Phew! Massive relief. But how many Bryants did they have booked on that flight?
The rest of the journey went very smoothly. After the chaos of the airport entrance, immigration was empty and the lounge couldn't have had more than six people. Two flights and a stopover later, we arrived safely in Entebbe, close to Kampala - the capital of Uganda.
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