8.10.24
Ciao Chicks
I am writing this on a plane. Alone. No family with me and no chicks with me.
I had pictured myself writing this with the glee of knowing I had side-stepped the system and with the added bonus of the best story about when we smuggled French Fry and Hey Hey from Medellin to Santa Marta.
We were so so close, but as Bob Holeness of the Dingbats programme – the actual name has disappeared for the moment from my brain – would say: ‘it’s close, but it’s not close enough.’ (Catch Phrase – It came to me in my read through.)
We were literally at the gate. Somehow the chicks had passed through security undetected through the x-ray machine. All 5 of us were virtually dancing. They sat with us whilst we had a fast-food airport snack. They were with us as we waited to board. I was in the boarding line (Kat, don’t ask me why) with the chicks in their box, as our turn came to go through the final check, I was calling to the kids and Tali to come. I had forgotten that I was sneakily trying to get two chicks on board – and somehow the rule abiding, computer-says-no ground staff asked if there were chicks in the box. I mean, what are the chances? I had to say yes, and there was no arguing with her. So I left, ostensibly “to give the chicks to security” when in actual fact I went to the toilet, took the chicks out of their box, put them in my back pack, covered them with my new poncho, flattened their box and put it in the laptop pocket of my bag and returned to the boarding gate. Mais non, or rather pero no, the rule-abiding, compter-says-no, dream-killer didn’t believe I had given them to someone at security. I was to bring the person I’d given them to…crap. I was busted. The dream-killer also informed us that we couldn’t get on the flight. So off I went again, not exactly cool as a cucumber…removed the chicks from my backpack, replaced them back in the box, returned to the gate and told the children and Tali to get on the plane and I’d do my best to come up with a plan. The gate was closing, so there was no time to think really or to argue. They boarded, with large amounts of tears and questions as to whether I was going to kill the chicks and there I was, left with the two chicks.
I needed to find a space I could think and I could let the chicks stretch their legs – I headed to the toilets again. As luck would have it, there was an enormous family bathroom, just perfect for what was needed. It was like walking into the room of requirement – hark at me Harry Potter fans. I released the chicks from their small box, gave them some water in a bottle lid, gave them some food and let stretch their legs and wings. They actually did that. As soon as they were out, they both reared upwards and flapped. Then did a couple of poos, walked around a bit and came back to roost on me. I so loved watching their instinct driven behaviour.
The options I could see in front of me were as follows:
- Get a bus to Santa Marta, an 18 hour journey, plus the journeys either side to the bus station and then to Minca – our destination
- Buy another flight and put the chicks in the hold, if they let me.
- Buy another flight and dump the chicks
- Buy another flight and try again.
I wouldn’t have minded option 1 to be honest, a long night bus, could have been quite nice from an alone time perspective, but it would have messed up our plans. Plus, Tali is working every morning and the children are in no fit state to be left to their own devices. Either they would be on their devices, they would be killing each other or Tali would have to stop work to be with them. This was not an option. The only way we can sustain this trip is through this mammoth effort of Tali’s to wake up early and work. If Tali can’t work, we’re all in trouble, not just practically, but through the emotional stress of it all. So I vetoed option 1.
Option 2 was out, because that would have been as good as killing them.
Option 3 I wasn’t really keen on. I felt that all avenues had not yet been explored.
So option 4 it was.
It occurred to me that if I buy another flight, with a different airline and then check-in online, I wouldn’t need to go through security again. Winning.
At this point I was beginning to feel bad about blocking the family toilet. I know from experience what a gift those spaces are when you have to change a nappy as well as go to the toilet yourself and manage another one or two kids. People had been trying to get in. It was time to put my plan into action from a different location. I found a suitable spot – back row in a corner not so near any gate, whole row of seats free and no one else that near to hear the constant chirping. Chicks really do chirp a lot. Non stop in fact when they are awake. I had begun to understand what the different chirps meant, happy, hungry or where have you gone and why on earth have you left me alone. Just like tuning into a baby really.
So from my new vantage point, I settled into skyscanner, found a flight almost four hours later with what I think is a Colombian equivalent of Ryan Air. I thought it best to book through the actual company, safer – which it would have been – but found their website so annoying I gave up and booked through a third party. Amazing, job done, I thought congratulating myself. I then tried to check-in. No go. I had to wait for the processing email to arrive with my flight reference/eticket. It said it would arrive within 24 hours. Eek. Job not quite so well done. I decided to wait and be patient. Not one of my strong points. After about half an hour, during which the cleaning staff had come over to collect any rubbish I had – I had a lot. My trusty pouch was full of wrappers, stuffed in by the kids. Why they can’t find a bin is beyond me. I frequently remind them, but equally frequently find lolly sticks, crisp bags, old tissues, half eaten sweets saved for later. I’d taken this opportunity to down-size my rubbish content, which I guess is why the cleaner came over. She spotted the chicks, sat down, tried to give them water. Ideally I’d not draw excess attention to myself, given that I was knee deep in a smuggling scheme, but I couldn’t obviously say that and I didn’t want to be rude, so I went along with the conversation. She was lovely and chatty, asking me where I’m going and that she doesn’t think I can fly with chicks, at least that’s what I think she was saying. Maybe she wasn’t. She then went, I breathed a sigh of relief that I was still undiscovered, but five mins later she returned with her mate who also coo’ed over the chicks, and had a conversation with me that I could only really guess the answers to. She too eventually left me alone.
By this point I’d run out of patience with waiting for the email to confirm my flight and give me the ability to check in. I decided I’d just buy another flight directly from the airline website, so I’d know I could check in. These flights were around the £48 mark. Not bank breaking. Meanwhile, Tali and the kids had landed and Tali had messaged requesting an update. My stomach lurched a bit, because there was no conclusive update and I was just about to buy a second flight, which I knew would not get the seal of approval.
As I write this, I’m beginning to get semi-flashbacks to another ill-thought through plan involving two flights, Edinburgh and New Years Eve Milenium – at least then I could claim youth and inebriation of one kind or another. That’s a story for another time though.
I pressed on looking for the new flight, and Tali rang. She imparted a plan-cracking piece of information. Only two of our cases had come off the plane. The third must have been removed before take off, because I didn’t board the flight and it was checked in under my name. Crap, crap, crap. It just got a whole lot more complicated. I was now forced to leave the safety of the past security air-side of the airport with my now contraband cargo and go and find my case.
I weighed up dumping the case – not an option. I weighed up finding the cleaners who were so into the chicks and getting them to look after them for a while – a big ask, I didn’t want them to ask too many questions or be complicit. I weighed up finding a secret place and hiding the chicks somewhere – I figured an airport is the least likely place to find a little hidden spot – or at least I hope so.
I was going to have to pass through security in the opposite direction. I’ve never done that before. It felt very weird. No one stopped me or asked me why I was leaving. It felt a bit underhand, and not because I had two chicks stowed in a little cardboard box. Thanks to trusty google translate I found my case. I then set off to find the Colombian Ryan air equivalent desk, to see about this new flight I hadn’t managed to check into. There was no desk. I could only do it online. Online wasn’t working. So I headed to the Avianca desk, who my missed flight was booked through. I translated on my phone “I missed my flight and want to get on the next one” and showed it to the lady on the desk, with my old boarding card. Ah, she said, I can see on our system that you you missed your flight because you were travelling with live animals. Crap again, I’d made it onto the system. Erm…yes I said, but I don’t have them now. Lie. The chicks were safely, but not quietly in my backpack in their box. Thankfully airports are very noisy places, so the chirping was drowned out. I paid a little excess and got a new boarding card.
Then I had the dilemma, do I try again, now that I’d been told I’m not allowed to and I’m on the system for trying to do something, maybe not illegal, but definitely against the airline rules – stupid rule, but still a rule – or do I dump the chicks. I really really didn’t want to dump the chicks. I also really really wanted the kudos of getting the chicks on the plane and to Santa Marta (pride is one of the seven deadly sins) and the pleasure in the kids’ faces as they reunited with the chicks.
I had a good 2.5/3 hours till my flight, so I decided to go outside to think, let the chicks out a little and give them some food. I checked with Tali if the Dream Killer at the gate had been on the flight. I thought that If I could guarantee that Dream Killer wouldn’t be at the gate, it might be ok. No go. She must be ground staff.
I had reached the end. I had to be honest. It was either do it and take the risk of getting caught and then in trouble, with Colombian authority and risk I don’t know what penalty, or dump the chicks.
I bottled it. I couldn’t justify the risk. Although I’m so sure I could have done it, but that tiny “what if” was too much for me. So I made a goodbye video of the chicks for the kids. Told them a little white lie that I’d found someone to look after French Fry and Hey Hey and then went off to make the little white lie a truth. I considered leaving them with a note. In reality, I spoke another message into google translate. “I’m not allowed to fly with these chicks. Do you want them?” and approached a taxi driver. Funnily enough, he said no. So I called over the three workmen behind the taxi driver, gestured to my phone and showed them my translated message. They had a little coo over the chicks, a chat to the taxi driver, but ultimately also said no. Then the taxi driver, Douglas aka TCS – The Chick Saver – said he could take them to the office and then take them home after his shift. Result. I handed over the box and TCS put them in his car. I then retuned realising I hadn’t said goodbye. I returned again realising I hadn’t given him their food, or any instructions – which was really only to give them water. I returned a third time – anyone would think I was reluctant to leave – waving some money at the driver. This was guilt-money and hope-money. Guilt that I was giving them up and hope that the money would help TCS to feel kindly towards the chicks and look after them well.
And that was that. I went into the airport and checked through. Bye bye chicks.
We will definitely miss the little chickeys. They were a real asset to the family . We all found joy in them. Negev and I had taken them out to get an egg for breakfast – no joke – that morning. They’d hung out on our shoulders. We’d got them a new large box the previous day and found a small plank and a stick, which we’d prodded through the box, to enable the chicks to exercise their instinct to roost. And they actually learnt to roost. It was amazing. Their pin feathers were growing through, meaning their chick fluff was turning into real feathers and I could just see the beginnings of the comb on their heads developing. We will definitely be owning chicks again and I can’t wait.
Meanwhile this comes under rule two: all for the story.