This is the last part of a five-part series under Coronavirus Travels. return home
Pretty sure there are loads of pandemic travel horror stories that people have experienced in 2020, so naturally I must throw mine into the interweb too. return home
Route 1st edition: ALM-BKK-SG
We were having our (supposedly) last dinner in Almaty at a friend’s house before our 1am flight. They were kind enough to send us to the airport too. Unfortunately, our bags were so heavy that they sunk their minivan into its tires. When we reached, the airport was ghostly empty. There were only three flights on the departure screen of Kazakhstan’s busiest international airport. return home
Just before midnight, the check in desk for Air Astana opened. “Do you have your other documents?” asked the lady behind the counter. “What documents?” we chorused. “Your medical certificates,” she proceeded to show us a softcopy example of it. “No, what is it for?” “You need this to land in Thailand.” This cruel, cruel document was newly required a few days ago.
What followed were frantic calls to everyone we could think of who could help: ISOS, our universities, a specific ministry, the consulate. There were four of us, each one took the responsibility of a stakeholder. Later, the number of liaising stakeholders kept increasing because everyone wanted to get updates from us (administrative purposes?), and not necessarily to help. Ahem, uni, coughs. Eventually after an hour of disturbing everyone from their slumber, it was clear that the check in counter was not letting us board the flight.
A huge wave of disbelief swept across us as our window to leave the country was closing fast. So on the wee hours of 24 March, we rebooked our tickets to four days later and hopefully try to figure out the documents before that. The same friend picked us up from the airport and jokingly welcomed us back to Kazakhstan once again, but I seemed to have lost my sense of humour. The hardest thing was texting my parents that I did not get on the flight, knowing that it would be the first thing they read when they got up. return home
The rest of the day was one of the worst in my life. What was supposed to be a relatively straightforward mission to get the medical certificate grew into a bureaucratic nightmare that literally took the entire day to resolve. To get the medical certificate, we needed a negative Covid test. However, we found out that Kazakhstan does not administer them to anyone, specifically only to those showing symptoms, or had been to their list of severely affected countries in the last 14 days. Our exchange university kindly offered to get the school doctor to write us a letter, but sadly it would not be sufficient.
Initially there was some hope that clinics targeting the international community here would bend some rules for us, but that was not to be. Furthermore, the representative at Singapore’s consulate to Kazakhstan was close to of no help. We asked if he could negotiate with the hospitals and help us get repatriated back home. Half a day later, he sends us a list of public hospitals which administer the Covid test and their contact information for us to handle. I can’t even properly say “hello” in Russian. return home
Now that it was impossible for us to get the medical certificate, the next question was, would Thailand allow us to land for transit on compassionate grounds. ISOS was the first to give us false hope by saying that the rule was mandated by Thai Airways and not the Thai government. We knew that didn’t sound right straight away, but nonetheless was praying that it was true. Their rep told us that we just needed to change our connecting flight to Singapore to another airline. We asked her to send us the evidence for her interpretation, but she never did.
After our own research and unanswered calls to the Thai embassy, we confirmed that it had always been a Thai government decree. A rep from a Singapore ministry told us that their diplomat in Bangkok apparently tried to intervene on our behalf, but the local authorities were unwilling to soften their stance because everyone was afraid in the pandemic climate. return home
Alas, everything was in vain because Thai Airways cancelled our connecting flight (who’s screaming), so whatever document we were chasing was useless now. That left us with two options: look for another country to transit, or wait it out (back then in naïve times, we thought this was plausible). However, the former option was becoming increasingly unlikely too. Many Asian countries that we could connect to were slowly shutting their borders, leaving us with few alternatives. return home
Route 2nd edition: ALM-KL-SG
Later that day, we received news that a new Air Astana flight to Kuala Lumpur was created. We got excited because it seemed better than Bangkok (closer to home and no need for transit passengers to produce a medical certificate). However, there was a small catch; Malaysia was experiencing a rise in Covid cases at the time. Hence, it was a matter of when they announced they would go into lockdown. We sat down and had a solemn conversation if this was a risk we all were willing to take. There was a real chance that they announce lockdown just as we land, and we would be trapped in the airport in perpetuity. Transit passengers were strictly not allowed to leave the airport premises then. On the other hand, hunkering down and staying in Kazakhstan was the least attractive option.
The decision to f*k it and fly to KL was not easy at all, for even though we would be geographically tantalisingly closer to home, and Malaysia and Singapore have much warmer diplomatic relations, the truth was that the four of us were not important enough to have our country privately arrange any special transportation. If Malaysia really does go into lockdown, we would still be on the wrong side of the border, and be worse off bleeding a hundred dollars per night for the transit accommodation at KLIA. return home
Eventually we made to decision to go ahead. On the evening of 28 March, the public loudhailers on lamp posts along the streets started blaring announcements in Russian. Initially we ignored it and continued eating, until a local translated the message to be: a citywide curfew will be imposed from 6pm-6am; all roads will be closed. We looked at the time and 6pm was in 10 minutes. Incredulous, we rushed out with our hefty bags and booked taxis to the airport for a plane that departed at 11.30pm. Along the way, police cars parked at highway exits doing nothing in particular, while other vehicles continued moving like the announcement never happened. Sometimes information and enforcement take a while to converge, if at all.
Suddenly, our car grinded to a halt in front of a large tank in the middle of the road, perplexing our driver too. A soldier came up slinging his gun and told us to turn around because the road was closed (interesting choice for a road block). So we took a long detour through a pot hole-ridden, unpaved maze of roads serving a tired-looking residential district. Not that we were in any rush.
After killing four hours at the airport, we checked in at the same desk with the same people behind them five days ago. “We’re back,” we said. Then came my favourite line ever from the Air Astana personnel “Enjoy your flight, you have the whole plane to yourself!”
It was true, Air Astana was sending its last flight out, and it was the one we were on to Malaysia. In the waiting hall, they came up to us and asked for a picture because we were the last passengers they would be serving for a long time. When the four of us boarded the plane, the air stewardess said, “You can sit anywhere you like.” And so I sprawled myself over an entire middle row. Before you ask, no we did not creep into business class. Didn’t earn it anyway.
The KLIA ground staff must have been surprised to see the cabin doors open and only four people walk out. The hilarity swiftly ended when an SIA staff came up to us holding up our names on a piece of paper, and said “So your connecting flight to Singapore later is cancelled.” We thought at this point nothing would disappoint us anymore, but it was nonetheless brutal. So close yet so far. He followed us to check into the transit hotel, which in itself turned into a whole episode because the airport staff told us that it was closed. It was not. Anyway cutting the long story short, each of us really did bleed a hundred dollars a night for three nights.
We had to settle our meals separately, which either came from room service or the three stores still opened in the terminal (one of which was Starbucks, so you can imagine how much I begrudgingly spent on food too). During which, we were in contact with Singapore’s high commission in KL who was helping us monitor the next flight back home. I would also like to add that during this entire ordeal in Almaty and KL, we were all still attending classes online. I was writing reports and giving presentations in the hotel room. The world is our classroom, aye.
Interestingly, we found out that the plane that brought us to KL actually served as a repatriation flight for Kazakhs in Southeast Asia to return back to Kazakhstan. So thank you Kazakhs in the region and thank you Air Astana. You guys unknowingly contributed more to our return home than any other stakeholder combined did. Yes that was shade.
Befittingly, we were booked onto an SQ flight to Singapore on 1 April, because the whole thing was a joke. I nearly cried when the Captain said “and to our fellow Singaporeans, welcome home” when we landed in Changi airport.
That marks the end of student life in Kazakhstan but not the semester. I was quarantined for two weeks at home, which after the three months I spent galivanting in Central Asia, was disgusting at best. But the fact that we returned safely was miraculous, and according to my grandma, was thanks to the heavens.
Hi! I am Joey, a University student from Singapore, attempting to show my appreciation for the world’s most powerful passport by literally milking its visa-free benefits one country at a time. I describe my travel budget as shoestring and travel style as audacious.
Midea
Great content! Keep up the good work!