Leap into the other world

Once again, the wheel of time clicks one tooth further. This time, however, it is once again a click of time that makes us jump into another world, as so often during our traveling life. The extensive preparations have been completed. The small van that we use to transport the show equipment for our picture and film screenings around the country during our stays in Germany is speeding down the highway towards Frankfurt. As my friend Pfleidi is at the wheel, I can let my mind wander. The trees flit past and make me sleepy. I can hear Tanja talking animatedly with our friend from a seemingly long distance. It doesn’t take long for my neck muscles to fail, leaving my head dangling back and forth as if it were sitting on the long neck of a turkey. Scraps of conversation cross my brain, mingle with the outside world and the flowing traffic. “If your visa is only valid from 16.06. and you are already at the counter on 15.06. you may not be allowed to fly,” says an employee of the Cibt visa center. “Why is that? The plane lands at 11:55 pm. By the time we get off the plane and stand in front of passport control, it will be well past midnight and therefore 16.06.,” I reply. “Well, if I were you, I would call Aeroflot and make sure that the ground staff will take you in this case,” I hear, whereupon I immediately call Frankfurt Airport. “I’m really sorry but under these circumstances we can’t let you fly with us. You need a visa valid for that day when you check in.” “But it’s valid as soon as we land,” I reply, somewhat annoyed. “It may be that the machine arrives earlier than planned. We have already had such cases. If you want to fly with us, you’ll have to rebook your ticket.” “How much does that cost?” “About 100 euros per ticket.” “But I only booked five minutes ago.” “Nevertheless, if you want to go to Russia, you have to rebook or change your visa. Please don’t get me wrong, but if we let you enter with this visa, the fines can be up to 50,000 euros,” I hear in horror, because we actually just want to ride our bikes through Siberia and not end up in prison because of a false visa and then have to pay a stupid fine for many years. I immediately book the ticket for 16.06. and hope that the bureaucracy of this world will no longer be a problem for us.

When my head hits the side window on the sleeping turkey neck, I startle. Nothing has happened, I reassure myself. Upset by my dream, I dig out the flight tickets again. “Good, the date fits,” I mumble to myself and glance over the bikes packed in boxes, the two large Ortlieb bags and the camera equipment. Everything there, nothing forgotten. Hopefully. As we had brought our bikes back to Germany after the last stage for a general overhaul and some repairs, we now have to get them back to Siberia. A not inconsiderable and potentially costly effort. My application to Aeroflott to sponsor our excess baggage has been rejected. Annoying but not hopeless. A senior employee of the airline offered me his support on the phone. Will the Russian helpfulness and legendary hospitality wrap its protective arms around us here in Germany? Who knows?

“We’re here,” says Pfleidi in a good mood. We get a suitable parking space right in front of the departure hall. “It’s going great,” I say, also in a good mood. Our monster boxes and equipment are quickly loaded onto two luggage trolleys. We are at the counter far too early. We use the time to eat the delicious potato salad and Nuremberg sausages with mustard and horseradish that my mother prepared especially for us. Our last meal together with our friend this year. A little later, I see a camel caravan whizzing past on the road. It’s our bus, covered in expedition photos, making its way back home.

“I can’t reach my supervisor, but you can check in your luggage,” says an Aeroflot employee. The heavy boxes with our bikes are placed on a conveyor belt and set off to be loaded into the belly of the plane. We look after them, hoping that they will survive the long journey and not get lost during reloading in Moscow. “Well, I’ve just spoken to my boss,” says the man behind the counter. “So, what did he say?” I ask. “Well, we don’t understand why Moscow refused your request for baggage allowance. This is not usual. Normally, we almost always get excess baggage through, especially if it’s an unusual travel situation, as in your case. But you know, the economic crisis. Aeroflot also seems to have to make savings.” “But your boss has offered to help me despite this stupid crisis,” I reply. “Yes, he has. It’s not a problem. You have 110 kg. Minus 40 kg of luggage, that’s 70 kg. Unfortunately, we can’t just check all your luggage through. If we do, we will have problems at a possible inspection in Moscow and will have to pay a fine. What do you think if we only charge you for 20 kg of your excess baggage?” “That’s a good idea. Thank you very much,” Tanja and I reply with relief. “However, I must inform you that in the event of a loss, you will only be reimbursed for the specified kilograms. But you don’t need to worry about that. We rarely lose anything,” he says reassuringly. Tanja and I look at each other, a little startled. “What does the airline pay for a kilo of lost luggage?” asks Tanja. “Not much,” I say. “Well then we should stay relaxed. I’m also firmly convinced that everything will go down well,” she replies confidently. As we were about to leave, the nice gentleman gives us some advice. “When they arrive in Moscow, they have to go from the international airport to the national airport. You will be taken there by transit bus. Don’t take too much time otherwise your flight might be delayed.” “Thanks for the tip,” we reply, pay our 220 euros excess baggage and stroll to check-in in a good mood.

After a brush sample is taken from my computer and tested for special explosives, a security guard discovers a suspicious glass in Tanja’s hand luggage. “What’s that?” he wants to know. “This is sesame nut from Rapunzel. Very tasty. A real power food for cyclists,” she explains calmly. “You can’t take that with you. It’s three times the capacity of the jar,” he says kindly but firmly. “But we need that. It’s a kind of emergency reserve for strenuous days,” Tanja tries to argue and explains to the man that we want to cycle 3,000 kilometers through Siberia to Mongolia on our bikes. “I’m sorry. I’m a marathon runner myself and I know how you can use such power food. But you’re still not allowed to take your Rapunzel jar in there. Regulations, if you know what I mean.” Tanja struggles to understand this unconventional rule and doesn’t let up. “What if I pack the sesame nut in three smaller containers?” she asks, looking at the kind gentleman with a smile. “Then they can take it with them,” he says. While I sit down in front of the Aeroflot counter and wait for Tanja, she goes through security again and looks for the right glasses. It doesn’t take long and she comes back beaming like a honey cake. “I see you were successful.” “Yes, sesame nut saved. I got three small plastic tins from a sushi bar and decanted everything.” “Really an idiosyncratic destination. Now we could put all the mustard back into the empty glass container and we’d be back where we were before,” I note with amusement.

At Moscow Airport

As soon as the plane has landed in Moscow, every passenger has to fill out another form asking where they are coming from and where they are going. Although we have already filled out a customs declaration, we put the appropriate letters in the empty fields without asking stupid and certainly unwanted questions. I look up in astonishment as a female officer holds a very unconventional-looking camera in front of my face. Only now do I realize that every traveler is saved with this thing. “Total surveillance and control of control,” it goes through my mind as the passengers rush to the exit as usual. “We have to hurry,” I admonish us. Nevertheless, we are the last ones with all the camera bags and other hand luggage. “Da ßwidanja i putascheswiee” (Goodbye and have a good journey) is how the pretty stewardess bids us farewell. Alone, we hurry down the gangway towards the airport building. It is 24:00 on 16.06.09. So a few more seconds until the date display jumps to 17.06.09. “Good thing we rebooked,” I think to myself. As the gangway spits us out, two uniformed women stand in front of us. One of them holds a sign in her hand and holds it out to us. As we have rarely been greeted with such a sign at an airport in our travels, we ignore it and hurry down another corridor to the right. We follow a staircase down to the basement and are stopped by several locked doors. “Does it continue back there?” asks Tanja, pointing to a passageway. “Closed too,” I say, looking at my watch. “How much time until the connecting flight?” asks Tanja. “Another 1 ½ hours,” I reassure us, hurrying back up the stairs. “Why didn’t you pay attention to the sign?” the woman in uniform admonishes us when we reach the top. “No idea,” we reply. “They should pay attention to the signs. We were there especially for you. Please come with us,” she says, sneaking ahead of us at a real snail’s pace. This time we follow a glass tube for about 100 meters which ends at some control panels. Apart from us, there is not a soul to be seen for miles around. “Where are all the passengers?” wonders Tanja. “Who knows, maybe they don’t want to go to Krasnoyarsk,” I think. “Show me your baggage receipts,” the woman now asks us. I hand her the small pieces of paper which she immediately examines in detail. It takes another five minutes before she looks up and says: “What does your luggage look like?” “There are two large boxes of bicycles and two black and red duffel bags,” I reply. The officer picks up the phone and passes on our description. “You have more luggage than allowed,” she says, whereupon I hand her the receipt we were given in Frankfurt for the excess baggage we paid for. “But on the receipts it is noted that you have checked in 110 kg. But you only paid for 20 kg. Why?” “No idea. We just know that everything is fine with our luggage and that our connecting flight is leaving soon.” “Give me your flight ticket,” the lady asks me, whereupon I show her the electronically booked ticket. “Look, it also says here that you can only take 20 kg per person. Every kg over that costs 11 euros per kg.” “Everything went correctly in Frankfurt. They helped us with our luggage,” we try to justify ourselves. “No problem. Stay calm. Sit down on the bench there and wait. I’ll call my boss. The papers aren’t right. You’ve clearly paid too little,” we hear and hope we don’t have to fork out another 700 euros. While the woman dials a number again and again, I look nervously at my watch. Still 40 minutes until departure. “It’s going to be close,” I say. “Yes,” says Tanja. “Please let us go, otherwise our luggage will be in Krasnoyarsk without us,” I plead in a controlled manner. “Wait, my boss will call you right back. Yesterday we had passengers who also made it to the national airport in 20 minutes,” she tries to calm us down calmly. I can’t stand it any longer, walk up and down the long glass corridor and send a few prayers to the heavens.

Still 35 minutes until take-off. “Apparently the help in Frankfurt didn’t help much,” I think to myself as things suddenly start to move. Without asking any more questions, we receive our connecting flight tickets from the airport official. She simply doesn’t mention the excess baggage again. We thank her, go back down the stairs and find ourselves once again in a room that is closed off on all sides. “Wait down there!” the woman calls down from above. After five minutes, a door opens and a customs officer comes in laughing. “Where are you going?” he wants to know. “To Krasnoyarsk,” we explain and tell him about our bike trip from Germany to Siberia. “Fantastic, then you’re real heroes,” he says and pretends to take a photo of us with his cell phone. Then he asks to see my camera, smiles again and talks about his last vacation. “I was on a cruise ship in Norway. I tell you, it was a huge ship. It’s unbelievable that something like that floats,” he says as beads of sweat slowly roll down my forehead. Finally, the friendly man shakes our hands and tells us to wait for the transit bus. “Another 25 minutes until departure,” I whisper. “We’ll make it,” says Tanja, “I hope so.” Suddenly the door opens and a young woman invites us outside. There is indeed a minibus there. We get in and sink into the seats, relieved. Is the excess baggage problem over now?” I wonder. “I think so,” Tanja replies, “Strange. Maybe nobody wanted to look after us at this time of day?” “Maybe your boss had a drink with his friends and didn’t care about us,” Tanja replies. “Maybe. The main thing is that we get our luggage through and it arrives in full.”

We reach the national airport 20 minutes before departure. Again we are checked and again our luggage is screened. Then we stand in front of the counter. We recognize the correct flight number and are once again relieved. The plane takes off on time for Siberia. There are two unoccupied rows of seats behind us. We are allowed to spread out on it and can therefore allow ourselves the luxury of spending most of the long flight in a horizontal position.

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