The Road to Damascus

The Road to Damascus

Well, here we are at last!  And we were not struck down on the road ...

It was an early rise on Monday morning (March 9th) just a month after a real estate marathon with the sale of our country finca in the hills, the purchase of a new house and  a removal and all in the space of one week - and what a week! - when the heavens opened and the full quota of Andalusian winter rain fell in one week-long deluge. Tranquillizers were administered to three unsuspecting cats who could not understand why these unpalatable pills were being pushed down their throats instead of being served the usual morning fare.  Shortly after 7a.m. Maggie and Tim, my faithful friends and former neighbours, arrived having decided that, as they had not slept a wink all night worried that they might miss the alarm call, they might as well get the show on the road, albeit rather earlier than planned.  In the end, this was fortunate in view of the attitude of the Malaga airport (male) desk staff who certainly made valiant efforts  to maintain their record for unhelpfulness to the travelling public.

Although the check-in desk for the Transavia flight to Amsterdam had not yet been posted, there were already a number of early birds queueing so we joined them and, not surprisingly, immediately our little group with one large sky kennel and three miaowing cats in their respective boxes became the centre of attention. How to make a spectacle of yourself without really trying! The sale of the finca meant that I was travelling with the cats as well as the dog.  Previously the cats had stayed behind and were taken care of at home.

When our turn came, the desk clerk turned into a fuming bureaucrat, mainly to disguise the fact that he did not actually know what the procedure was for someone flying to Damascus via Amsterdam who wanted three cats and one suitcase to be checked through straight to Damascus but insisted that the dog should be taken off at Amsterdam.  This threw a spanner in the works of system automation.  How dare anyone interfere with the automatic labelling machine?  Does this mean extra work making out one label manually?  So many animals travelling these days!!  And why not, sir, if they are travelling with me and I’m paying for them? Luckily a Transavia female employee stepped in and resolved the impasse in approximately thirty seconds. And talking of payment, you have to pay for the dog at Transavia, because he is only going as far as Amsterdam,  and then again in Amsterdam, but you must pay for the cats at Iberia.

Another encounter with male doggedness at Iberia.  Right, you’re paying for 45Kg. excess baggage. Actually no, I just paid for the dog at Transavia.  You can’t do that, you have to pay for them all here.  Sorry, they just told me I had to pay for the dog at Transavia etc. etc.  One phone call and a substraction sum later (total weight of 45Kg. minus 30Kg. for the dog) and a large sum of money changing hands solved that little problem.

Back to the check-in desk.  Where’s your coupon?  What coupon?  You should have a coupon ... And so it went on until I finally blew a gasket and said I had enough to contend with travelling with these animals without having to put up with the stupid interrogations of a desk clerk whose job, supposedly, was to  make the passengers’ experience a happy one.  Once again a member of Transavia staff came to the rescue and the famous coupon was discovered to be sitting right under his nose!

The next obstacle was that Simon simply refused to take a tranquillizer.  He ate every piece of madeleine offered to him until the one with the tranquillizer was proffered, at which point he turned his head to one side and refused to open his mouth one inch.  What to do?  Insist and make him nervous and give myself a heart attack or take a chance?  Take a chance.  By now it was time to check the animals through the odd-sized baggage chute, so a minor scuffle ensued to get Simon into his box, but he realized that there was not much choice and in the end did not put up too much of a struggle. Heave a sigh of relief and run through passport control just in time to board the plane.

The flight itself was quite uneventful except for a patch of turbulence just south of Paris which had us all bouncing about.  Fortunately it didn’t last long.  The only other excitement was that in the row of seats behind me was a man who was being flown back to Holland accompanied by a doctor who had to administer oxygen throughout the flight as a precautionary measure.  


Due to headwinds the flight arrived in Amsterdam 30 minutes behind schedule.  Amsterdam airport is undergoing extensive remodelling so there were barriers up all over the place.  As I and another couple who were travelling with a German shepherd waited with growing impatience for our charges to appear, the animals were wheeled in on a trolley and handed over.  By this time it was 3:45, so not too much time to spare.

First stop KLM Business Class check-in desk.  This was a different kettle of fish.  A dog to Damascus?  No problem.  I’ll just check that the cats are OK.  One telephone call and all is well.  I’ll accompany you to the excess baggage payment desk.  This is certainly an expensive dog!  I think it won’t be cheap.  Well, what’s the option?  You just pay and be done with it.  Don’t even think about it.  When you’re finished here, go to the odd-sized baggage desk and ask the man there if you can leave your luggage while you take the dog out.  No problem.  Just leave everything here with me.  And so we went off for a mosey in the vicinity of the airport where not a blade of grass was to be seen.  However, there were abundant planters with bedding plants and tulips whose sharp leaves were just beginning to push through the surface of the soil.  They will do just nicely.  Wouldn’t do to soil the pavement now would it?

A quick lie down in a strategic spot where all the air hostesses and passers-by  could  pat and stroke the dog to their heart’s content - much to the dog’s approval, it must be said.  This is surely the life!  However, this interlude could not last.  At 5 o’clock it was time to retrieve the kennel and persuade Simon that he would just love to go back in there.  No tranquillizer this time either.  However, as the first leg of the journey did not seem to have dented his self-confidence in any way, I was less apprehensive about the second leg, knowing that the end was in sight.  He was wheeled off quite happily  and I made my way through passport control with just enough time to spare to change some pesetas into US dollars before boarding.

Aboard the plane I was the only woman in the Business Class section which was taken en masse by Shell workers returning to Syria after leave or business meetings.  They have a plant in the north of the country bordering Iraq.  Passenger care and attention could not have been better and the food was excellent.  By the end of the flight some Norwegian passengers, in typical Norwegian mode, were somewhat the worse for wear, but the chief stewardess kept a weather eye on them to make sure they did not get out of hand.

At 11.30p.m. local time (10:30 Central European time) the plane landed at Damascus.  All I could hope was that Robert would have done his job of setting up some kind of system to obviate the long queue and inevitable bureaucracy at passport control.  Not to worry.  As I stepped out of the finger into the airport building, there was a full reception committee - Robert, his driver Yahye, the owner of the house and a member of airport security who took control of the situation without delay.  

Robert’s  P.A., the daughter of a high-ranking figure in the country, had arranged for a special dispensation, so we did not have to stand in the queue at all but were taken by a special corridor behind passport control where my passport was stamped and a special 15 day visa issued in approximately 20 seconds.  Then the security man commandeered two luggage trolleys and designated two people to  wheel them for me and take care of my luggage.  No need to haul or lift anything here.  Any mere movement on my part sparked off an immediate response and cases, boxes and anything else were immediately conveyed to the designated spot. I simply stood in the baggage hall accompanied by the landlord, a young mechanical engineer who works for Carrier air conditioning, while Robert and Yahye made their way through to where the luggage was being unloaded to collect the dog as soon as he was taken off the plane.  Calm as you like, he was apparently star-gazing (if that is possible through the roof of a sky kennel)  and quite unfazed by the movement all around.  

No customs check and nobody requested any of the wads of papers I had so painstakingly collected for the animals - just in case!  These are the bonuses of privileged access and I was grateful for them as the tension of the days leading up to the trip had taken their toll.  It was a relief just to relinquish responsibility knowing that everything was taken care of.

A half-hour drive from the airport to the house and, after the animals had been fed, straight to bed where sleep did not come but rest was complete.  Dawn broke at around 5:30 and with it the first call to prayer rang out from first one, then another and then yet another mosque in the vicinity. This most haunting and beautiful of sounds ushered in my first day in Damascus.

March 10th 1998