Outrageous excuse delays return of found lost luggage

Bambi Vincent on stage in costume

Bambi Vincent on stage in costume. Lost luggage.

“We can’t export your found lost-luggage because it contains an artificial hand which requires the permission of the ministry of health.”

I’m starting with the punchline of our recent Egypt Air debacle. “Shall we retain the artificial hand and release your bag?”

Lost luggage

We’d flown to Cairo and on to Hurghada, where only two of our bags made it. The lost case contained our stage props, including the gypsy costume you see in the photos. I wear a doll in a sling, which appears to be supported by what is actually a fake arm. The arm is sewn to the doll.

Apparently Egypt’s ministry of health was not concerned about exporting an artificial child.

The missing prop bag was still in Cairo, Egypt Air officials said, and would arrive on the next flight to Hurghada. So next morning, we made the hour-long trip back to the airport and—of course—no luggage.

Promises… delays…. Finally, the bag arrived in Hurghada. A driver was sent to pick it up. It took too long though. By then we were down to the wire. The driver, finally on his way back with the bag, gave his ETA as 20 minutes. But we were forced to move on. We could not wait. After all, we’d come to perform and the show must go on. Props or no props.

The suitcase was passed to DHL, who was to ship it to Dubai, the next stop on our Middle East tour.

“We need a detailed list of what the case contains,” DHL now requested. Our exhaustive reply included “Fake female arm with jewelry and sleeve (stage prop).”

Bambi Vincent on stage in costume. Lost luggage.

DHL piddled around with lazy, ineffective emails and before they were ready to ship, we’d left Dubai, too. It was an unfunny comedy of errors, and we were beginning to wonder if we’d ever see our bag again. Instructions were revised: DHL must now ship the bag to the U.S.

We were already incredulous over this real-life display of inefficiency–and then the punchline came. We figure someone was fishing for baksheesh. “After inspection, we found item like artificial hand. We can’t export artificial hand.”

OMG! Seriously? Are we supposed to offer a bribe, or what? Was this extortion? Was Egypt accusing us of an illegal arms export?

I wrote back indignant: “This is NOT an artificial hand, it is a hollow PLASTIC PROP for our show!” I pointed out that the “fake female arm” was number 22 on the proforma invoice I had submitted, and attached a photo of myself with the artificial hand holding the artificial child.

And that was it. The bag showed up at our house the day after we returned home.

More lost luggage

But that’s not all. We flew home on Qatar Airways. We checked our three bags to our final U.S. destination. Upon landing in Houston, we claimed our three bags, took them through customs, and re-checked them for our US Airways flight. All three went missing!

Two days later, we had them back. So I’m not complaining. Just reporting an extreme travel farce. Travel is glamourous!

© Copyright 2008-present Bambi Vincent. All rights reserved.

Russian Rip-off: pickpockets and thugs, part 3 of 5

Nevsky Prospekt street sign

St. Petersburg—Pseudo-cops!” we thought: bandits who pretend to be police. We’re about to be robbed! At the same time, I thought: no, we’re about to be robbed by real cops of the corrupt variety. The four of us in that deserted alley made a huge commotion.

Bob pointed to the entrance we had come from and shouted “You’re police? Okay, over there!” I shouted “in the public area!” and they shouted in Russian. We had no idea what they wanted. We carried a $1,000 digital still camera, but no video equipment and, thankfully, no hidden video equipment, which might have been considered illegal.

As our captors escorted us back to the art market alley entrance we heard the bleeping of police radios and saw police equipment under their shirts. Yet, knowing they were real cops did not put us at ease. We were still four agitated, confused, and rather scared people, unable to communicate. My thoughts were, get to a public place so we won’t be ripped off; find Mohammed to translate.

Russian men drink about a liter of vodka per day

The cops allowed us to lead them into public view, or they led us. Just outside the alley gate, in the art market, we saw Mohammed on the ground with a gun to his stomach. Four other plainclothes cops had him surrounded. Everyone was yelling and a crowd had gathered. Mohammed was the only one capable of translating for us and he was beside himself, terrified and at gunpoint. As soon as we arrived he was hauled up and shoved against a wall, the gun still at his belly.

My reaction was to grab onto Mohammed. I hugged him, trying to show the cops that he didn’t do anything wrong to us, that he was our friend. Bob tried to reason with the cops, but none spoke English. Then six uniformed cops joined the fracas and our concern escalated. How far could this thing go, and what is it? For a few minutes, the uniforms were more interested in the plainclothes than in the civilians. With machine guns pointed, they demanded IDs from the plainclothes officers and scrutinized them intensely.

Mohammed had told us the previous day that because of his looks, he is frequently stopped and challenged by the police. With everyone still shouting and confused, including him, we couldn’t find out if this was one of those “challenges.” Why did Mohammed have a gun in his stomach? Why were we hauled into this business?

Bob dropped the name of an ex-KGB officer we know, with no idea where it would lead. Like a silent fart mysteriously clearing a room, the officers scattered and disappeared. The only Russian sounds we could dredge up turned out to be powerful, indeed.

“What is the accusation?” I asked Mohammed, several times before he quieted and paid attention.

“They think I robbed you,” he said.

This is part 3 of 5. Part 1 — Video in Part 2