It was another of those not-so-auspicious starts. First, I had mistakenly paid for a set of visa stamps I didn’t need, as I stumbled through the very unclear visa process – head up to the departure lounge (really?), get a copy of your passport made, take a number, fill out this form, buy the visa stamps from a vending machine (oops, except if you are from the UK or US!), get an 8x11 paper that serves as your visa (don’t lose it!), get your entry stamp, and THEN head downstairs to immigration. Second, I couldn’t, at first, get a taxi driver to take me into town. The first guy, a grizzled old Kuwaiti man in gutra, puffing away on a cigarette, took one look at me, and, before I could explain where I wanted to go,
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