A few days of frenetic activity follow - well, frenetic by Kuwait standards anyway. Faisal from Tristar is delegated to guide me through the de-registration and export process under the direction of Saif Transport GM, Mr Amer. Faisal and I rendezvous at the Tristar workshop in one part of Shuwaikh then move on in convoy to the Saif office in another. Since I'm not sure exactly when they'll take the bike off me, I'm riding fully loaded and half full of fuel; Faisal's in his giant Toyata Tundra crew-cab pick-up truck, leading the way through Shuwaik's notorious congestion. The Tundra is ginormous though, and easy to follow.
Mr Amer had said 10:00 am, so we get there about 11:00… He's enigmatic as ever however and, between other calls and hurling instructions at his assistant, he explains what we have to do and where we have to go, accompanied by a bit of map drawing on the back of a used brown envelope into which Mr Amer then puts the documents we need for stage one - getting the bike inspected for export.
Post briefing, Faisal and I move outside and he translates. We have to go to what's known as the Amghara Scrapyard, yet another huge industrial area, but this one is about 25 kilometres outside Kuwait City the other side of a town called Jahra. Faisal asks if I know the way and I confess that although I've driven/ridden past Amghara, I can't claim any real knowledge. "Is ok", he says, "follow me, I go slow." We set off in the thick of Shuwaik's lunch-time traffic and everything is fine, though the stop start flow does make things a bit hot. We're already in the high 40s centigrade and I'm in full riding gear. Then we hit some clear highway and Faisal's off like a rocket, only slowing for traffic lights and speed cameras. But the GS is a match for him and I'm thinking this is all good practice and means I'm getting a real feel for the loaded bike and what's to come on the long way home.
A few tortuous roundabouts and junctions later, we pull off into what looks like a truck stop but is actually a proper Traffic Department office for clearing export vehicles. Amid all the trucks, car transporters, other sundry vehicles and lots of dust, we park and walk through a gateway to approach the small open window through which this business is conducted. It's manned by three guys in dishdashas, furiously stamping and signing forms. Faisal hands over the paperwork and there's an exchange in which I make out the words dirajat (motorcycle) and Scotlanda (obvious). Then it's "wain dirajat?" (where's the bike?) so I go and move it into position for 'inspection', fully expecting to have to open my side and top cases for the contents to be checked and cleared.
But all that happens is one guy looks out the window and then says: "David? Where David?" I touch my chest and say, "That's me." And he says: "Ah David, going on trip?" I say: "Yes, I'm going home to Scotland." Some chuckles and more Arabic that's over my head follows but probably means something like "what a nutter!" Faisal's too polite to translate and just smiles. They then ask for my Civil ID, which of course is somewhere in the depths of the Ministry of Interior being cancelled along with the residency visa in my passport, but thankfully my driver's licence, which carries the same ID number, is sufficient. And that's it! A couple of rubber stamps and scribbled signatures and we're done.
Faisal calls Mr Amer to report success and to see if we can move on to de-register the bike. Apparently Mr Amer is impressed at our speedy progress but the next stage is delegated to 'boukra', a word that literally translates as 'tomorrow', but generally means something similar to the Spanish 'mañana', though without the same degree of urgency…
Faisal and I agree a rendezvous for next day and he kindly agrees to guide me out of the Amghara nightmare, telling me to just overtake him when I know where I am. Thankfully, after a few kilometres negotiating our way through dust and past huge cement trucks we hit Highway 80, which I know will take me straight into the city. So I speed up, overtake and give Faisal a wave, gratefully relishing the resultant cooling airflow, and head home for a shower. 
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