The ID Card

The Police scrutinise Paul’s new ID card

Paul taking a break from training

The policeman looked at me, then at the ID card, and at me again. He turned the card over, my heart stopped, had the plan had failed?

We had been stopped at one of the numerous checkpoints dotted throughout Kyrgyzstan. I was told to get out and stand by the side of the road. I don’t think the policeman or his team had even seen a westerner, and what they saw did not impress them. It was all the fault of the ID card, I told myself.

This began weeks before when my joining instructions for my latest journey to Kyrgyzstan said that under no circumstances must I give my passport to the police at a checkpoint. What would happen was never mentioned but I could guess, and it wasn’t good. Problem was, I was in the UK and British people at this time would, under no circumstances except the idea of an ID Card.

I tried everything to get identification other than my passport but I couldn’t find anything that required my photo. Then, one day, I read a story in my local paper. Tullie House, the local museum, was introducing a one-year membership and its one stipulation was a passport photo was required for the pass to be issued. Looking back, this wasn’t one of my best ideas, but I was desperate. So, undaunted I went to a local photo-booth (no camera phones back then) and had two photos taken then turned up for my membership. This, I thought could be the answer.

The lady who made the cards looked at me very strangely when I insisted that my full name appear and “could I please have British Citizen printed underneath my name?” Thankfully, she smiled and added the extra detail. Ok, I thought, it did say Tullie House on the front but their logo looked pretty impressive and anyway I had no other choice. I convinced myself it would probably never be required.

So, I merrily set off half-way around the world with a one-year pass to a museum as my ID.

All went well, until that fateful day I was stopped, and found myself looking at a group of suspicious and very unfriendly policemen.

I tried to look confident and innocent as, along with my colleague’s, we handed over our IDs.

The policeman looked at my travelling companion’s with barely a glance. Well to be fair they were actually ID cards. Then he came to mine. I could see him look, then carefully examining the impressive museum logo, the photo and, I hoped the words “British Citizen.”

It was when he turned it over I really started to sweat. Could he read English? Seconds passed. He looked at the card, then at me, then at the card again. What was going through his mind? I was starting to look shifty and nervous. What had possessed me to think this was a good plan?

Then, suddenly, he handed it back and jerked his thumb to the car. We were free to go!

Why was I so nervous? Because, while the fake ID card from the front looked pretty good, on the back was written only one sentence:

“After your visit to our lovely museum, why not treat yourself to a nice cup of tea in our garden room.”