In transit

Flying in Indonesia is easier than catching a bus.  Having had my credit card blocked for all online use by my helpful banking team, we have to buy flights in person with cash. This has turned out to be much easier than expected. Turn up, buy ticket, get onboard. Security is a doddle with no such thing as liquid limits. The prices are fixed, the only risk is whether there is space. So far, so good. 

Last week we added an extra leg to our existing flight, giving us 30 minutes to make a connection. Upon touch down, we hastily grabbed our bags, legged it down the stairs onto the Tarmac, 500m searching for the entrance to the airport, up three flights of stairs, along the corridor of dead ends, up three more flights of stairs, 300m to the transit desk, 100m to the first security man and final 100m sprint towards the X-Ray machine with a few minutes to spare before the gate closed.  

And for the first time since our arrival 6 weeks ago, it is now that my bag reverses back into the X-ray rollers. That sense of dread. 'Do I have any scissors in my bag?' Bugger. My pop up salon, Snappy Cuts is in trouble before I've even recouped the cost of my scissors (I'm a fully qualified You Tube instructed hair dresser now). Not only this, but they've spotted my pliers. 

The man is not impressed but there is an air of indecision, so I go to work; my livelihood is at stake! He consults his colleagues, I remind them of our imminent departure. He launches into crisis management, and we are soon being personally escorted at running speed, scissors in hand, towards our gate; predictably the furthest away. 

Panting and sweating we make it to the gate where I must declare my scissors to the crew and have a naughty tag attached to my bag. We continue down three flights of stairs, mercifully down one set of escalators, back onto the Tarmac, where we find ourselves jogging back towards the very same plane we had just disembarked. A total return journey of 2km at a horrifically sweaty running pace and all we have achieved is a change of seat. 

Part 2

What were the chances of our check in bags making the same completely pointless 2km round trip? Zero. They got as far as the terminal but their little legs couldn't carry them any further and so they stayed.