Where are the bicycles?

A luxurious touring car transports us and the bicycles from Durban to Johannesburg, where Jurgen Herrmann awaits and takes us to his home. We’ve met Jurgen, his wife Charmaine and a couple of friends and family members in Lesotho eight months ago. Circumstances were completely different then: rough mountains with dirt tracks, natives in blankets, water falls. Now we are in the biggest city of southern Africa.

Four days we stay at their place in the beautiful and quiet suburb Boksburg. They show us Jurgens factory, where several synthetic products are made, the in midiaeval Italian style built and true to life looking shopping mall Montecasino, and the Vaaldam where we ‘walk’ the speed boat. In the factory we meet Jurgens father, who, after the Second World War, was a German prisoner of war in the Netherlands. Together with his companion he escaped from the detention camp, stole two bicycles, repented this, brought them back and reported himself to the camp. The first German we ever met who admits to have stolen a Dutch bicycle. They do exist!

In accordance to what we agreed with Qatar Airways, we deliver the bicycles at the Cargo department two days before our departure, neatly packed in bubble plastic.To our surprise and rage Express Air Services (EAS) tells us that the bicycles will only arrive in Dubai four days after our arrival, because the South-African customs-departement doesn’t work in the weekends. This is not what we agreed with Qatar Airways and not acceptable. Furious we call Qatar Airways, but their excuses do not offer a solution. One of the girls of EAS turns out to have connections with DHL and via this contact we manage to speed up the procedure, so in the end we’ll be able to receive the bicycles on Monday, the same day we arrive. With this promise we pay the 113 euro we agreed upon.

After being spoilt scandalously by Jurgen and Charmaine they drive us to the airport in the evening of the 27th of November. We say goodbye to our last fantastic hosts, to South Africa and the whole continent. When the plane takes off with a loud roar a part of our hearts stays behind, with the wild bush and the wild animals, and the sensational population.

With only an hour of sleep due to a midnight supper and a transit stop in Doha (Qatar) we arrive in Dubai, the Emirates, at seven o’clock South African time. Here it is nine o’clock, three hours later than in the Netherlands. Thanks to the fragile-stickers all over our bags they arrive unscathed. Now it’s just waiting for the bicycles...

After some tough negotiations with a cab driver about the price of the ride, we go to the Cargo Department of Dubai Airport, where we have to collect the bikes. Ali Reza looks puzzled when I tell him what we come for. According to the computer the bicycles have arrived and are somewhere in the big hangar, but the friendly Qatar Airways Cargo assistant is sure they will only be cleared by customs after two days. At the earliest. Again we have been informed wrongfully. Ali gives us his full co-operation and promises to help us tomorrow with retrieving our valuable two-wheels.

That night we have a restless sleep in one of the cheapest but for us still expensive hotels (60 euro) in the old centre of Deira, the northern part of central Dubai. Peter dreams about his bike floating in the blue airspace of the Emirates, at an unreachable height.

The next morning Ali, Peter and I look at the computer screen and feel a bit tense. The computer indicates that we have to go to Dnata, one of the big cargo companies in Cargo Village. Having arrived at Dnata, they tell us that the bicycles are not in their possession and that they have been transported in the name of DHL. But where are they?
They refer us to Terminal 2. The umpteenth cab takes us to the other side of the airport, where Terminal 2 is situated. DHL receives us in a professional manner but the message is boring and disturbing at the same time: they don’t have the bicycles, the bicycles are not in Terminal 2 and it will at least take one or two days before customs will clear them.
So where are the bicycles?

We’re sick of being sent from pillar to post, take a taxi back to Cargo Village and complain to Ali. He and his boss Chandrasen Gandhi don’t understand the fuss and try anything they can to deliver our dearly beloved possessions back to us. They phone customs, DHL, Dnata and even Qatar Airways in Johannesburg. They pressure people and try with all their powers to expedite the clearing procedure. Information in the computers has to be changed in order to put the bicycles in our name instead of DHL. After having brought in about everybody, somebody finally finds the necessary original papers.
We wait and wait until finally all the papers are in order.
Late in the afternoon Ali takes us to customs and tries to convince the manager that no import tax should be levied, because our bicycles are personal belongings and by now secondhand. He finally succeeds. Then Ali pays the handling fee that’s being charged by customs, out of his own pocket. We wait.

Outside it’s growing dusk when two packages in transparant bubble plastic are delivered onto the loading dock of the freight department. Thanks to Ali and Chandrasen.
An hour later we cycle in the dark through Dubai to our hotel. The nightmare is over.