The hellish downward spiral that was MEL-KUL-BOM-NBO-EBB...

Well it started off very nicely. I asked the lady at the Air Asia check-in counter if I could have a window seat towards the back of the plane. She commented that it was a fairly quiet flight and that I may have the whole row to myself. She was right. So up went the arm rests, down went my head and away went 8 hours and 50 minutes of cruising through the sky. I arrived in KL on time and found my way to the airport bus which took me to the central station via a one hour journey down a highway dotted with massive billboards and seas of identical houses in cream and terracotta. Checked in at the lovely hostel, had some food, looked around the shops, went to bed early, rose early and went up the Petronas towers, wandered around the city and got myself back to the airport with plenty of time to check in for my flight to Mumbai.

Here comes the fun bit.

I approach the check-in counter, put my bag on the conveyor belt and hand over my passport which the Air Asia guy flicks through thoroughly before looking up at me with a confused look and says five words that start a rather unpleasant string of events: "where is your Indian visa?". I look at him blankly. "Uhh, I don't have one. I'm not leaving the airport, I'm just in transit". The Air Asia guy shakes his head. "No, no, you're an Australian citizen. You can't enter India without a visa". I reiterate the point that I am flying onwards from Mumbai, without leaving the airport. He tells me that I will need to go through customs at the other end, pick up my  bag and check in for my flight with another carrier, which requires a visa. "If you arrive in India without a visa, they will put you on a plane back to Australia", he adds with a kind of laugh. I blink back at him. I am not laughing. He informs me that I will need to go to the Indian embassy in KL city to get the visa I need because he cannot let me on the flight. A wave of panic rises up in me. The flight is scheduled to depart in 2 hours and connects me to my next two flights onwards to Entebbe. The conversation continues back and forth until he tires of my arguing and waves dismissively towards a desk down the other end where his superior is, should I want to talk about it further. I take my bag with a huff and head over to my only hope.

I explain my predicament to a lady who looks about 5 years younger than myself and she gives me the same answer as her indifferent colleague down the other end. I'm not taking no for an answer this time though. I shove my papers for my next flight in front of her to prove that I won't be leaving the airport for my shoes to hit Indian soil. I think she realises that I'm going to keep at her til I get on that flight, so she picks up the phone and makes a call: "sakd asijas saf Australian asif asif sfisi shfiw Louise Kilgour iawo gadoihaaifa ais fi ahis visa a saisf asihw waiasf...". She asks how many check-in bags I have and I reply one. She relays this to the person on the other line, listens, says thank you then hangs up the phone. "You're very lucky", she says to me "they're going to let you on the flight". Hoo-fricking-ray. I check-in my bag, ask for a window seat near the back and head to Starbucks to calm my panic attack and shaking hands with an iced green tea latte.

I then spend the next five hours trying to sleep on the plane, but really thinking about being deported back to Australia by bureaucracy-loving Indian officials in Mumbai. My seat "near the back" is actually in row 11, next to a rather robust Indian woman who takes up the spot where my right shoulder should be, twisting me into a rather uncomfortable position that I hold for the entire flight, ignoring my urge to visit the toilet, lest I have to make two people vacate their seats so I can squeeze on out. I am so elated to even be on the flight that my twisty, bladder-popping stance doesn't even bother me. The thought of immigration at the other end does though.

I walk off the plane and am immediately greeted by three Air Asia staff, who ask me if I am travelling to Nairobi on Kenya Airways. Token white girl, I guess. I reply yes, and they take me aside along with a German girl, Micah, who is in a very similar boat to visa-less self. They are very friendly and I get the sense that this happens all the time and it's no big deal. And I'm right. They look at our passports and onward tickets, take them away for a bit and in about half an hour, they return with transit passes for us. The main guy tells me that they will transfer my bag to my next flight and to come back around 11:30pm-12am to get my boarding pass for my 3:10am flight. So Micah and I go off, have a drink and a chat, wander through the shops and return to where we were told. Midnight comes and no sight of the AA guys. I approach a security officer and tell him I need to speak to them. He shrugs me off and says there's plenty of time, they will come for me. More time passes and I explain that I need a boarding pass to another guard. He tells me just to go to the gate at boarding and they will have my pass there, though he doesn't sound convincing. I'm beginning to feel like no one really knows what's going on. Micah leaves to find a lounge and get some sleep. I am desperate to join her but don't want to miss the AA people. Another hour passes and I'm starting to get worried. I have no boarding pass, it's nearing 2am and I don't even know what gate my flight leaves from cause the departures screen doesn't seem to be refreshing with new flight details. I check again with another airport staff member. She tells me Kenya Airways will come for me, looking annoyed.

Just after 2am, I see some Kenya Airways staff walking down towards the departure gate. I follow them to the boarding desk and quickly tell them that I still don't have my boarding pass. The guy looks at me and tells me that check-in is closed and I won't be getting on the flight. I explain the situation that AA were "transiting" me and my bag over to them for my next flight so I didn't have to go through immigration, which of course requires a visa. They have not been contacted by Air Asia and had no idea I was waiting for them. They tell me I can't get on the flight. I try my last tactic of digging in my heels and ask why I should be punished for AA's mistake and explain that I HAVE to be on that flight to Nairobi. A whole lot of questioning then ensures and backwards and forwards as the rest of the flights passengers are boarding the plane. The last few are trickling through and the staff are still arguing amongst themselves as to whether I should be allowed on the flight. Eventually a lady tells me I can get on, but I have to go without my check-in bag. Great. I sign a document that could well have said I was going to sell my soul to the devil, and am getting ready to board when they ask me where my visa is for Uganda. Oh dear. I tell them you can apply on arrival which they know, but they want to see my onwards ticket from Entebbe. In the end, they decide I can get on the plane, so I have to literally run to security with one of the guys, have my carry on bag re-scanned, then run all the way back on to the plane. The entire plane is seated and waiting for me and their dagger eyes burn into me as I walk all the way to my seat in the second back row of the plane. To top it off, the window seat that was rightfully mine has been snatched by the man who SHOULD have been sitting in 37B, but I was too out of breathe and exhausted to care at this point. My stomach was in knots from fear of not getting on the plane and being stuck in Mumbai airport for God knows how long. I sank into my worn aisle seat and wanted to cry but decided it would require too much energy, so I just stared at my tray table instead.

Another 5 hour flight but no sleep later, I arrive in Nairobi, do I quick draw of money to change for US dollars, get on to my connecting flight and a mere 50 minutes later, I am in Entebbe! My stomach is still in knots because I'm not entirely sure I have enough US dollars on me, and I realise I forgot to write down the contact address for Jenga that I need to put on my visa application. I figure if I can get on two flights that I was orginally told I could not board, this would just work itself out too. As an address, I simply write 'Mbale'. I wait nervously in the line, before approaching the woman behind the glass. She looks over my form, pulls out the visa sticker, puts it in my passport, says about five words, stamps it and hands it to me. I give her a US$50 bill and I'm all done. Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?