14. “Wain Scotlanda?”

Boukra dawns bright and hot and Faisal calls while I'm at breakfast to confirm arrangements.  These Tristar guys are being hugely supportive.  It probably stems from the traditional Arab custom of helping travellers, but their assistance and guidance has been a real boon, I certainly could not go through all these processes on my own.

We agree to meet at their second-hand bike showroom, which is also in Shuwaikh.  While enjoying being on the bike at any opportunity, with the heat and dust I am slightly relieved when Faisal tells me we won't need to take the bike for de-registration, just its number plate and my documents.  "We can go in my car," he says, "it will be fine."

I ride the now well-known route to Shuwaikh and we park the bike in the cool of the air conditioned showroom to remove its plate, then head off to a municipal governorate called Mubarak Al-Kabeer to the south of Kuwait City in Faisal's Toyota Tundra.

This thing is HUGE!  It's based on the same platform as the behemoth that is the Sequoia SUV, previously only available in the US, but recently introduced to the lucrative ME market.  Faisal explains the Tundra is slightly longer even than the Sequoia because of its crew-cab and pick-up bed.  I suggest that parking it must be like piloting a supertanker and he agrees, bemoaning the fact it has no parking assist and that he's looking at installing a rearview camera.  

He's an interesting guy and we chat away while heading south. He's a biker through and through and currently owns four - all BMWs apart from a Vespa scooter (ok, three bikes and a scooter).  He spent time in the UK while studying and owned a car there and is a great admirer of UK laws that demand the need for motor insurance – though not the resultant cost.  Motor insurance does exist in Kuwait, but it's cheap and not really worth the paper it's written on.  Faisal explains it really only covers administrative costs for the police to determine who's at fault in an accident and has nothing to do with the value of vehicles involved.

With the help of some directions fed over his mobile phone, Faisal finds the Mubarak Al-Kabeer traffic licensing office and we get on with the paperwork merry-go-round.  It's the usual toil of moving from one desk to another collecting papers, signatures and stamps – both rubber and revenue - on the way.  This exercise requires stamps worth KD8.00, available from vending machines that I have seen nowhere but in Kuwait. 

Knowing all about my trip and my blog, Faisal has been explaining to anyone who asks that I'm exporting the bike to 'Scotlanda'.  This is fine till we reach a computer operator who inputs the details then pulls up short.  "Wain Scotlanda?" (Where is Scotland?) he asks with upturned palms and a frown at his screen.  As usual, Scotland has failed to appear in the list of countries held in cyberspace, and all is confusion till I explain it is 'part of the UK'.  Ah well, perhaps one day we will re-assert our rightful place as a nation of the world.

We have been severely warned by Mr Amer of Saif Transport that the final clearance certificate must bear two signatures and an embossed stamp of the seal of the traffic department.  Thus equipped and after handing over my bike's registration plate, we head downstairs to a small office manned by an old guy in dishdash and long grey beard.  The room is lined with shelves bearing boxes full of registration plates.  Faisal hands over my sheaf of papers which collect another stamp or two and a signature, and I'm handed two mud-spattered export plates, blue with black lettering, and we're finally done.  Heading back I ask Faisal if I will have to return these plates or if I can keep them as a souvenir.  He gives a characteristic Arab shrug and says he doesn't think I'll need to send them back saying: "You paid eight KD, they should be yours."

We take the all-important Clearance Certificate back to Saif in Shuwaikh where Mr Amer tells me, through Faisal, that he'll get it and the other documents translated into English, making much of the fact that I will need this as I progress beyond Arabic speaking nations on my journey and that this is all part of the service.  He says to bring the bike back at 3:00pm to load it on the truck and collect the translated papers.

Back at Tristar I attach a number plate (which Faisal has kindly rinsed clean) to the back of the bike, slipping the second un-needed one into my topbox.  Faisal makes a call to organise John, Tristar's Indian driver, to meet me at their workshop and accompany me back to Saif that afternoon.  "John has good ideas," he explains, "he will make sure your bike is tied safe in the truck."

I head home to reorganise my packing one last time, feeling excited that all the arrangements are finally coming to a conclusion and that I should soon be on the road.