12. In ‘Saif’ hands …

I call Tristar and Salem sounds like he's in a hurry so, having been reunited with my rejuvenated GS, I race round to the showroom and we set off in his car to find the transport company.  It's called Al Saif Transport (pronounced 'safe' – let's hope so…) and is based in a tiny office in the middle of the labyrinthine sprawl that is the Shuwaikh Industrial Area. 

There's absolutely everything in Shuwaikh.  From joinery workshops to boat builders, ornamental stonemasons to marble importers.  There's every conceivable kind of car repair and maintenance shop, and lots and lots of auto-bling stores; there are large and small-scale engineering works and traders of all kinds.  Their wares spill out over the pavement (where it exists) and into the road.  I spot an establishment bearing a large blue sign with huge yellow lettering in both English and Arabic screaming "Doctor" with a smaller sub-heading that reads: "Repairs for Sanitary Wares" – no, I'm not sure either. 

Vehicles of all shapes and sizes, mopeds and bicycles move around and through all this confusion and criss-cross over junctions - sometimes even on their own side of the road.   Incongruously, in the midst of all the mayhem sits a very large supermarket with massed ranks of shopping trolleys outside its entrance. 

It takes us a moment or two to pinpoint our quarry and we double back a couple of times till we spot the place and park.  We're shown in to the General Manager's office, all of two metres by one and a half, elaborately tiled and bearing a Quranic inscription on a plaque mounted behind the big desk.  Mr Amer is a busy man and in typical Kuwait fashion his door is always open.  We have an appointment, but the interruptions are many and frequent and Mr Amer seems to be doing lots of things all at once.  This is multi-tasking on a grand scale and there's not even a computer in sight.  No less than four mobiles mind you (the obligatory minimum is two) and a landline.  As is custom, we're given water and offered tea or coffee (chai ow khahwa). 

Visually, Mr Amer bears a rather disturbing resemblance to Ricky Gervais' obnoxious stationery meister David Brent of 'The Office', but thankfully there the similarity ends.  He's friendly but all efficiency and starts to reel off to Salem, in Arabic, what needs to be done to get my bike to Jordan.  Salem translates in the breaks, explaining Saif Transport will handle everything from securing and protectively wrapping the bike in a container and transporting it through both borders and across Saudi to delivery in Jordan ready for the road – inshallah!  It doesn't even need to be drained of petrol.

The whole process will take around three days, so I now need to carefully work out just when I need to de-register the bike and obtain its 'passport' and export plate.  This timing is critical because once the bike is no longer Kuwait registered we have 48 hours to leave the country… 

Pondering this, I'm struck once again by the feeling that Americans really have way too much influence on this place (it's true, you just have to look at how Kuwaitis spell when writing in 'English').  Yes the Yanks kicked Iraqi butts out of the country - with the help of others in the coalition forces of course - in 1991, and the Kuwaitis will forever be grateful.  But 'americana' can go too far – what is it with this "git outta town by sundown" stuff?  

Whatever, experience has shown it's best not to question too much, just smile, nod and agree.