First time was as the seventies were drawing to a close. I wanted to fly to Kabul which the Whitehouse hadn't yet heard of, and the cheapest way to get there from Copenhagen was to fly via Moscow with Aeroflot. We're talking here about the old Soviet airline held together with rubber bands, not today's modern operation.
Although the Whitehouse was oblivious to where or what Afghanistan was, the Kremlin was well clued-in, and as the aircraft carrying me touched down in Moscow on a snowy night the Soviet invasion was launched. My connecting flight out of Moscow to Kabul was just not going to happen.
I was totally ignorant of what was going on. So was the Whitehouse, Greenhouse, Brownhouse and all the other houses who were going to have to get out their maps and magnifying glasses to find this place that only existed because Moscow was after it. Moscow hadn't confided in me either.
With no information about any flights being communicated I at last tracked down a matronly-looking woman and demanded to know where I should go for the flight to Kabul. She feigned ignorance of English, but when I wouldn't let go of her sleeve she gave in and said crossly “Go out that door over there”, pointing at an ominously blank-looking door with her big, stubbly chin.
I obeyed. Outside snow was falling heavily from a very black sky and the air was drenched in fumes of aircraft fuel. A line of Ilyushin jets, about 20 of them, stood in line obviously waiting for take-off. None had a big sign reading Kabul. Officials, passengers, soldiers, snow drifts … what was a 19 year old non-Russian speaker to do?
The solution was obvious - follow someone who looked kind. There were no such people around so I tagged on behind a posse of civilians. Someone said “Kabul” along the line so that encouraged me a bit, but not overly.
At the bottom of the steps passports were checked again and destinations asked about and it was then that I found out that there was a problem with the flight to Kabul and I'd been bumped onto one for Delhi. If I'd picked the next plane in the line as some people had, I'd have been for Karachi, the next for Vienna and so on, but I'd picked Delhi. I was going to India.
India arrived under the aircraft's wheels six hours later and in the baggage hall I discovered that my baggage had not come with me.
Five days later it turned up having travelled from Moscow to Karachi then back to Moscow before following me on to Delhi.
Disaster? No.
It felt rather bad at first and there was no-one available to blame which is always a bit of a disappointment, but it was really no inconvenience at all. My style of travelling lent itself to that sort of thing. All I needed was a blanket. I knew Delhi well and had a great time there and moreover I received $US 20 compensation!!!
The best part however was going to a very upmarket hotel for lunch. What a hotel, what a lunch! The Prime Minister of Malaysia was also there along with diplomats from everywhere (not the Soviet Union though). At the end I walked past the pay desk and said with confidence and command, and without stopping, “Charge that to Aeroflot”.
Second time my baggage was “mishandled” (their euphemism, not mine) was with easyJet on a flight from London to Turin, but I'll tell you all about that some other time when the compensation comes through.
