20 September 2011
By the time I boarded the plane this morning I was deliriously tired. I hadn't even taken note of how long the flight was- but had every intention of sleeping from the minute I sat down. And that I did. I was out like a light and the flight attendant struggled to wake me up as we prepared for landing.
Istanbul welcome me at 11:30am with warm humid air- a refreshing change from the brief stay we had in chilly Munich where winter coats were starting to make appearances. I purchased my tourist visa for Turkey, costing 45 euro. The border police let me in with no questions asked- and I took note of the fact that they didn't electronically scan my passport- a good sign for my chances in Cyprus.
With bag in hand, my first stop was the Atlasjet ticket office, a low-cost Turkish carrier offering direct service from Istanbul to Cyprus. I was cutting out the bigger name airline of Turkish Airways in an attempt to find someone who might fly me there without any knowledge of the rules that my restrict my entry. That said, as adventurous as I may be, paying for a flight to the island only to be turned around again was hardly a fun ending.
I approached the man at the Turkish airways office first- it seemed to be a mother company for Atlasjet. Shoot... they might have the same system as in Munich that brings up a message saying that I can't fly... I asked anyway,
"I want to fly to Cyprus, but want to make sure that my passport is valid for travel. It is currently valid, and will be for the duration of my stay- and I have purchased my Turkish visa."
He only spoke a bit of english and it was clear he had understood just bits and pieces of what I was asking. To the unknowing, it sounds like a really stupid question... I just pretended like I didn't know what Turkish airlines had told me about the three month rule, and went on,
"Online it just says that your passport needs to be valid. It's just that some countries- or areas- have different rules."
He had no idea- and directed me towards the border police back in the other terminal where I had come in. He confirmed that there were in fact flights to Cyprus that evening.
I treked back to the main terminal but couldn't get past the arrivals security barrier that separates the baggage claim from the general public arcade. I asked at the information booth- the middle aged man non-chalantly advised that I should have no problem entering Cyprus with a valid passport and a visa in hand. I still wasn't entirely convinced and wanted someone with a bit more credibility than the information booth staff to provide similar reassurance. I'm all for the "ask for forgiveness rather than permsission" mentality, only using it for border crossings was pushing the limit just a bit.
"Ok, thank you," I say to the information office staffer. "But where can I find the police, so I can check with them?"
He pointed me to the security area. I stood outside the frosted glass door that said "Authorised Personnel Only"- or something like that, but in Turkish. I waited until someone looking like an authority came out.
A group of men standing out in the waiting area I was in were dressed in white pholo t-shirts and black trousers with lanyards and ID tags. They looked like tour guides or airport staff. I guess I wasn't being very discreet in my looking at them to figure out if I should approach them, as one sauntered over to me.
"Do you speak English?"
"Yes, little bit," replies the man, smiling.
"I'm looking to find out if my passport is valid for entry to Cyprus."
"Hm."
I don't think he completely understood the question. I repeated it, speaking very slowly, gesturing with my passport, showing the Turkish visa I already had.
"I don't know. Here, come."
He led me to the frosted glass door and buzzed us both through. The door opened up to the customs declaration area, where he and I stood opposite two young police who were standing on the other side of a bag scanning machine. The man in the white polo spoke quickly in Turkish to the other two. At this point another officer had come over to catch wind of the action. I was standing in a circle with these four turkish authorities- three police and one..well...the white polo shirt guy. I don't know what his job is. As the polo shirt man explains, they all keep looking at me. They were all very young looking- my age if not younger... As he explained, yet ANOTHER guy came over. They were all smiling and keen to try to figure out the problem. I think is one of those situations where being a female on my own worked to my advantage.
Once the initial explanation was over, the two police turn to me and I begin to describe the question again, phrasing it as simply as possible.
The taller one stops me halfway through,
"Whoa whoa, slow down, please."
I reverted to speaking as slowly as one can while still making a sentence- and they managed to follow along well.
As I said, if you're not aware of the possibility of a three month rule for passport validity, it sounds like a very silly question. I could see them replaying it over in their minds. I showed them my passport- they asked about where I had come from and where I was going next. They all shook their heads, stuck out their lower lip,
"I don't think it is a problem." They were all convinced it was fine. One of the quieter one chirps up,
"Check with your consulate," he says.
Right. Thank goodness for thinking on my feet.... I came up with a semi-true reply:
"The Canadian consulate does not provide information on travel to northern Cyprus. They say to check with local authorities."
I didn't want to offend these young men by explaining why- I just hoping that they understood. Canada does not offer information as it does not recognise northern Turkish Cyprus- they simply recommend traveling to Cyprus in the south- which I apparently couldn't do. It did not say to check with local authorities, but heck.... in my mind it made sense. They ought to know who they will and won't let into their own country.
The four police chatted some more- I heard "England" and "Canada" tossed into the mix but understood little more than that.
It seems they can't reach a consensus, so they turn to me and say
"We'll take you to our colleagues- to passport control."
As I follow them up the ramp, back toward the border security I had passed through 45minutes earlier, they start with some small talk- am I on holiday? Am I traveling alone? Don't I get lonely? Where are my friends?
We approach a big sign saying "Passport Command Central." Well if there is one place that should have an official answer, I would think it was these guys. We turn down a short hallway and into a big, dimly lit office with a big modern L-shaped desk and office chairs lined up in front. Sitting behind the big desk with a large computer in front of him was another police- this guy had braces. My helpers thus far explained the question to their colleague in Turkish. They chatted. Hip hop was playing quietly on the computer. I wouldn't be surprised if video games were on pause on his screen.
My helper translated to me,
"We don't think it will be a problem. You are okay to go."
They chat some more briefly.
"But check with Turkish airlines, too," he goes on, "They might know for sure."
I smile, "Haha, okay, but they told me to check with you."
They laugh.
Now what?
The one that had escorted me turns and ushers me out of the passport control centre, then pointing me in the direction of the airline ticket booths- the "authorities" on passport control, according to passport control. At this point I had spoken to 7 official police, all of whom agreed- never with certainty- but agreed nonetheless, that I would be okay getting into northern Cyprus. I headed to the Atlasjet ticket booth and asked the ticket agent about passport validity. She said I should ask at passport control. I told her that they adivse I check with her, but that the passport office and border police thought I would be okay.
"If they're okay with it, then we're okay with it," she replies cooly.
Alrighty.
To Turkish Cyprus I go! Forunately the tickets weren't a fortune, costing approx 100 euro rountrip. Enough to risk the adventure...so long as I don't get arrested or anything... or according to my mother, who I called from Munich, "Right, you're going to get into southern Cyprus from the north. I can see you trying that," she pauses, "and then getting shot!"
"Be careful," she advised. "But you're a big girl, you'll figure it out."
As the ticket agent worked on the computer- telling me it would be ten minutes for her to sort it out- I sat down on my bag nearby. It occured to me I wasn't even sure what city I was flying into. Whatever... it's not a big island. I'll figrue it out. She called me over and handed me the tickets- I was on standby for a 4pm flight that afternoon, and if that flopped, I was confirmed for a 9:30pm flight that evening to Erkan, Northern Cyprus.
I approached the check in desk at 3pm, as instructed, and waited to see if there would be a spot on the 4pm flight. A russian girl about my age stood next to be and through broken english, I learned she too was waiting on standby. We agreed that if neither of us made the 4pm flight, we'd head into Istanbul together to kill a few hours.
While I did have a booked ticket, I was still racked with uncertainty- I needed a boarding pass, I needed to get through Turkish border control in Istanbul and most importantly, through border control in northern Cyprus. Crossing the border to the south of Cyrpus would be another adventure unto itself.
As the ticketing agents tracked the number of checked in passengers, they made the decision at 3:30pm to issue the Russian and I boarding passes for the 4pm flight. It's amazing how exciting such things can be when you stop taking them for granted!
I checked my bag and made a mad dash toward the passport control and security. Yes, I now had a boarding pass, but I could still miss the flight. The lineup at security snaked across an open atrium- I would certainly miss the flight if I waited in that queue. Thank goodness for my Russian friend, who also spoke Turkish, as I spotted her speaking to the security agents and explaining the rush. I shuffled up next to her. She glanced over her shoulder and I suspect said something like, "Her too!" The security agents pointed her further down the terminal where the next passport desks might be less crowded.
In between sprints, I was trying to load my mobile with credit so that I could let the core adventurers (Paul, Ally, Costas- those who had actually MADE it to Cyprus on Monday evening) know that I would be arriving in Cyprus in mere hours. For all the luck I'd been having since my massive blunder in Munich, I suppose the fact that Orange's mobile top up service was "down" and I would need to "try calling again later" was fair game.
I was one of the last to trickle on board, and as I found my seat, the Russian and I exchanged relieved smiles. It wasn't until I sat down that I realised, "Sure, I now know the name of the city that I'm flying to, but I haven't a clue where 'Ercan' is in Cyprus, nor how far it is from Istanbul...or the Cypriot border, for that matter." As a domestic airline, Atlasjet is a low-cost option, but with that comes little english from the flight attendents. By chance, ditto went for the travelers on either side of me. I guess I'd just have to wait and see...and look at a map when I landed.
The day's drama aside, I had some real characters on either side of me. The man to my left was in his early 30s and had long black curly hair and was wearing a pink tshirt and hippy sunglasses. He dosed in and out of sleep for the entire 1hr50min flight- and was so deeply asleep that he started talking! In turkish, of course, so no further entertainment value there... To my right was a middle-aged woman, who despite knowing that I did not speak Turkish, chatted away to me for much of the flight. I felt like I understood her; when the tv screens came down,
"Oh I see. There might be television for the flight. Maybe a movie?"
And when the attendants were coming down the aisle with the cart, "Oh good, coffee!"
And when she tried the cheese and mystery orange spread sandwich, "Oh ew... this isn't very good. The cheese is
a bit off and the bread, well...it's soggy."
I just nodded and smiled.
We landed around 5:30pm in the 30 degree heat of Cyprus- I don't think I had been this excited to land somewhere in a while! Now I just had to make it through the passport check. I stood waiting, heart racing yet again. I think the day's stress produced as much sweat as a solid 10km run.
They let me in.
The Turks have been exceptionally friendly during my brief stay- from finding phone adaptors in airports, to getting directions, and when I landed, purchasing a phone card so that I could call Costas to let them know I'd arrived. I approached the security guards and asked,
"Where might I find a telephone?" holding my banana hand up to my ear. Two guards nearby chimed in, speaking Turkish, and an older one stood up, waving his hand for me to follow. He leads me through the small airport up to a vodaphone booth and says something to the young girl working behind the counter.
Oh no. He thinks I want to buy a phone.
I try to clarify, acting out putting money into a phone box and then picking up the phone. They nod their heads vigorously and the salesgirl sets a plastic-wrapped calling card on the counter.
"Ahhh! For the payphone," I say, smiling.
"15 Lira," says the girl.
That converts to around 6 euro, which was certainly more calling than I needed. The security guard was standing next to me and sensed my hesitation. He said something to her in Turkish.
She then produced a card that read 100- for 100minutes. "7 lira," she says.
Wow. This security man was great!!
I pulled out my wallet while the security man hovered over my shoulder. A bit awkard as I dug through receipts and euros to find the right currency. I found a five note, and then dug out my change from my pocket- I had only one lira coin. To my utter shock and surprise, the incredibly helpful security guard reaches into his pocket and quickly tosses another one lira coin on the counter. I try to insist not, handing over one of my bigger notes.
He was having none of it, and ushered me away, phone card in hand.
I'm now sitting here in the Turkish Cypriot airport, with a glass of- dare I say- hard earned wine, waiting to reunite with the dream team. There remains one more border crossing, so I'm not fully convinced I've made it... but boy, what a time I've had trying!
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