Arriving in Tashkent

Possibly my worst airport arrival experience ever. And let's face it, that's saying something.

The arrivals hall its just totally decrepit and chaotic. The bus from the aircraft drops you at the entrance door then there's just a mad rush for one of the four passport desks. There doesn't seem to be any difference between passport nationalities so I pile  into the scrum  and hope foe the best. It's 4am local time, I haven't slept and I'm not my usual sunny self. Kids start to wail, after half am hour I'm ready to join them. We're inching closer and I'm still going I'm in the right queue - I imagine getting to the counter to be sent back to some unseen "foreigners" line. A Russian woman in shades and a leather coat makes a determined push and elbows me aside. She's talking excitedly to a much smaller, shriveled husband who follows in her wake. I mutter "ignorant cow" fairly safe that no one will comprehend. It is the right queue, I'm through finally and on to phase 2.

By now the luggage is appearing. The belts  are way too small and have a series of sharp corners where the bags either jam until they fall off, or just fall off anyway. My bag isn't on the belt, no teal surprise there, but when no new bags appear, I start to worry. After all, I do have history with lost bags. 30 minutes later I find it, upside down, of the end of the belt and splattered with something horribly sticky. Sigh. Better that than not at all I suppose.

So  to phase 3 of the endurance test - customs. First challenge is rip complete yep copies of the customs form which  is printed in Uzbek only. Go back a stage. First find two clean, blank forms. Obviously these are rationed and they have used today's allocation. After all it is now 5am. Eventually I find once blank and a second with minimal scribble and manage to complete them using the tiny sample glued  to the wall. Towing my sticky suitcase I join one of the scrums for the customs officials. I use that word in the sense of officious. If anyone crosses the red line in front of his desk, he halts the whole process until everyone takes a step back. Not ready to comply when you're being shoved, elbowed and having your ankles assailed by luggage trolleys. The Czech guy alongside me is the first person I've managed to speak to. He has lost his bag but is smiling. Actually he has a fixed grin, kind of demented. There but for the grace. ........ Leather jacket woman approaches from the left side but I'm ready for her little tricks this time. Further top the left someone is yelling at the officials but I ignore it and head for the finish line.

I'm there!  Two minutes, lots of stamps on forms and visas and a friendly "welcome to Uzbekistan".

Only two and a half hours, what could be simpler?