I hate to say it, but I ended up leaving the desert country on a "I HATE THIS PLACE!!!" day.
Everything got finished, because God is good, and I made it to the airport exactly two hours before check in. I'd already gone to the airport twice in the last two weeks to double check the luggage situation. I was assured several times that my luggage to Turkey could weight 32 kilos (70 pounds), and from Turkey to the US 23 (50 pounds). They said my 6 foot tall piece was no problem, having an extra piece no problem, yadda yadda yadda. All was good and right in the world.
Then I actually showed up with the luggage.
It was then that I was informed that because I am holding an American passport, I am only allotted 30 kilos TOTAL. TO-TAL. I had 80. And they wanted to charge me $600 for the excess weight. I immediately began crying. I finally came to the conclusion that I would have to leave the 6 foot tall piece, and just suck it up and pay for the two suitcases. This made for a new flow of huge tears, which flustered the woman at the checkout counter. (She didn't realize that the tears were built up from lack of sleep, a stress filled week, a hundred emotions about leaving, and having JUST said goodbye to Miss Sally.) She asked her supervisor if there was anything they could do, and he cut the charge in half. I guess the emotional scene got me somewhere.
I still paid $135. Doesn't seem bad until I remember that I have to pay it all again in Turkey, plus pay for one more piece of luggage I'm picking up here. Sigh of slight frustration.
So I rush from that counter to another part of the airport to leave the 6 foot tall piece behind for Miss Sally to come pick up. I got lost while doing that, and after finding it, still had to race back over to the departures gate and go through security again. I headed towards passport control, happy that the line wasn't too long.
Then my day got worse.
The passport control man flipped through my passport once, and then a second time. The third time he went very slowly, looking at each page. He asked me where my entry stamp was and I showed him--from when I went to Oman in October.
"La. (No) That exit stamp." I looked down and sure enough it was. I flipped through and wouldn't you know--I had no entry stamp. I was there without a visa. Bad news.
"You go immigration office."
Did the tears ever start flowing then! I stood in line at the immigration office just whimpering. A little girl stared at me bewildered, and I think her mom wanted to come hug me if it would have been appropriate. All I could think was, "They're not going to let me leave! They're going to force me to stay in this stupid country. I'm going to miss all my flights, all my visits, loose all my money, and my luggage (which was checked and paid for), and I'm going to go to jail, and I don't even have my phone to call Miss Sally for help." TEARS.
I walk up to the desk and hand over my passport, still crying non-stop, unable to speak. Praying that they let me leave and that I don't miss my flight. (I still hadn't even made it through the main security check yet!) He flips through my passport several times, and then stamps my boarding ticket, but not my passport. I asked if I would get in trouble for not having an exit stamp in my passport, and he said, "You have no entry stamp. How can we give you an exit if you were never here?"
I nod, and run through security and away from passport as quickly as possible. I'm writing from Turkey, so I guess it's all okay.
On the airplane, the flight attendant forgot to feed me. I was trying to wait patiently (I was literally in the very last row), but I suddenly realized that everyone--even the people next to me had finished their food and I still hadn't been served. When I looked around to see if the cart was headed my way, and saw no cart, I turned my red, swollen from crying eyes toward the flight attendant and he very quickly brought me some food.
Are you picking up on the fact that it was NOT a good flying experience?
I won't bother telling about the two fights I almost got in with women at the Turkish airport for invading my personal space. Or how I almost died in the taxi as he went 140 kpm during rush hour traffice (not exaggerating).
However...
I'm in Istanbul! It's 40 degrees cooler (at least). I rode with the window down in the taxi just to feel the cool air. It rained as I walked down the Istaklal. Rain... Happy sigh. I had coffee with my old Turkish friend, Nina, which was wonderful. I had dinner with friends from grad school--wonderful, but wierd worlds colliding moment. And I'm now sitting with Schroomie #1. Big smiles and no tears. We won't think about how much I have to pay in the morning to get all my junk back to the US.
Because the positive side is--I'm going back to the US. Happy sigh.
