At the custom things go more smoothly than at arrival. The fearsome officer from Friday is not there, just a nicer one: I finally get back my passport. I will definitely make a copy of my documents before leaving in the future (you never know).
They accompany me until I am onboard the “special plane”: an actual merchandise cargo, short and stocky. I esteem very low chances of a successful take-off. I get up the stairs to a large entrance on the backside (and not on the side), I pass through the huge hold, charged with a bit of everything; behind a sliding curtain there are around ten passenger and then the pilot’s cabin. The seats are not numbered: I sit in the only free one, next to a guy who looks at me head to toes and then goes back to reading his newspaper.
We wait for a long time,
