My Reenactment of the Exodus
So leaving Ethiopia is never easy. Saying goodbye to friends, favorite places, and such exotic experiences is never easy, but who knew it would be so difficult for me to escape this year....
My initial flight from Addis to Beirut was delayed by an hour. As a result, I was bumped from my Beirut-Istanbul flight (even though they seated me on the plane, then pulled me off and let 30 other ppl take my seat). At 3:30 AM, I am not a happy person, and I am a very unhappy person when I'm kicked off a flight I should be on. I argued with the Turkish Air manager for an hour, demanding some form of compensation (miles, flights, lounge pass, food, heads to roll) to no avail. They offered to put me in a hotel for the night but without any guarantee of flying out within the next 3 days...I don't think so. Instead, I brilliantly took their offer of taking a cab to Damascus (which is in Syria as I conveniently forgot at the moment of truth) and flying from Damascus-Istanbul. At this point it's 5 AM, I listen to Norah Jones's "Sunrise" as the sun rises over Beirut, and then passed out until we hit the Lebanon border. No problems at the border because Lebanon is a lovely country filled with lovely people.
Fast forward twenty minutes until we hit the Syria border...and the fun began. They took my passport, sent a fax off to Damascus, and told me to wait for 1,2,3,4, or 5 hours. The 50 year-old border guard who looked like he hated life (or maybe just me) was not lying....it took 5.5 hrs before I could leave. I passed the five hours reading, watching everyone else come and go, lamenting the melting of my lone Snickers bar, and crying inside. After two hours, my driver decided he wasn't be paid enough to stay, took my bags out of my car, and tried to drive away. I was in no mood to be abandoned and proceeded to yell at him in English, him at me in Arabic, both trying to kill the other with lightning bolts from our eyes. To summarize the situation, I talked with an American-Lebanese lady who already had her Syria visa and when she found out I didn't speak Arabic and the driver didn't speak English, she told me, "You're screwed." Yes I was.
I finally got my visa at 12:30. Maybe if I had slipped the border guard a $20 like the guy beside me it would have sped things up but doubtful. Happy to be free, terrified they were going to find some problem and keep me there, we hightailed it into Damascus. I passed out, waking up once we arrived @ the Turkish Air office. Some technological glitches aside, everything was ok and set and I was able to call home and update the parentals (little did I know that I was sending Debi into Defcon 5 mode). They gave me a cab to the airport but I forgot that I was flying out of Terminal 2, not Terminal 1. And so I walked into a crowd of 400 people pushing to get through a single door in sauna-esque heat and chaotic riot conditions. Somehow I made my way to the door where I was informed that I had to go 300 yds to Terminal 2. I spun around with my four bags and ran over any Syrians foolish enough to get in my way. Don't mess with an angry, frustrated, bag-laden Sar. Dripping with sweat, I encountered the same scene in Terminal 2. I made my way to the front of the line, bribed the baggage man and got through the door. I was a man on the mission in an emotionally fragile state and willing to do whatever it took to get out of that hell-hole. I checked in and encountered another obstacle when I tried to pay the exit visa tax with a travelers cheque. The teller looked at it, looked at me, and completely serious asked what it was. I explained that it was a check and worth $50 USD and he asked if it was some new kind of money. Really? Even Ethiopia takes travelers cheques. This spun me into a whole new dimension of pissed off that I have rarely been in before. I cursed him, Turkish Air, my situation, and everything else I could think of. When Turkish Air refused to cash the check I returned to the teller's desk and tried begging again. For whatever reason, he had little/no sympathy for this short jewish boy without any "real" money. Luckily the Syrian-British guy standing next to me took pity and offered to pay for my visa. I gladly signed over my check to him, grabbed the visa, ran through passport control and nearly weeped for joy while sitting at the gate. I was one of the first on the plane, I buckled my seatbelt and privately refused to move come hell or high water. We took off, Istanbul bound, and I was a free man!
In Istanbul my largest troubles were over but smaller snafus still awaited. The small straws didn't break the camel's back (almost but not quite) and I lived to fight another day. Compared to my middle east adventure the Istanbul events aren't too noteworthy and can be filled in when I see you all in person. Just let it be duly noted for the record that I have no desire to ever visit Syria again, I will think twice before I fly Turkish Air again, and I will always expect my journey to/from Ethiopia to take three or four times longer than expected.
But I made it, I've spent the last 3 days on the beach in Turkey, and I feel mildly rejuvenated and increasingly thankful to have made it out of the Middle East with all of my limbs, shreds of my dignity, and at least $10 in my pocket. :-)
My initial flight from Addis to Beirut was delayed by an hour. As a result, I was bumped from my Beirut-Istanbul flight (even though they seated me on the plane, then pulled me off and let 30 other ppl take my seat). At 3:30 AM, I am not a happy person, and I am a very unhappy person when I'm kicked off a flight I should be on. I argued with the Turkish Air manager for an hour, demanding some form of compensation (miles, flights, lounge pass, food, heads to roll) to no avail. They offered to put me in a hotel for the night but without any guarantee of flying out within the next 3 days...I don't think so. Instead, I brilliantly took their offer of taking a cab to Damascus (which is in Syria as I conveniently forgot at the moment of truth) and flying from Damascus-Istanbul. At this point it's 5 AM, I listen to Norah Jones's "Sunrise" as the sun rises over Beirut, and then passed out until we hit the Lebanon border. No problems at the border because Lebanon is a lovely country filled with lovely people.
Fast forward twenty minutes until we hit the Syria border...and the fun began. They took my passport, sent a fax off to Damascus, and told me to wait for 1,2,3,4, or 5 hours. The 50 year-old border guard who looked like he hated life (or maybe just me) was not lying....it took 5.5 hrs before I could leave. I passed the five hours reading, watching everyone else come and go, lamenting the melting of my lone Snickers bar, and crying inside. After two hours, my driver decided he wasn't be paid enough to stay, took my bags out of my car, and tried to drive away. I was in no mood to be abandoned and proceeded to yell at him in English, him at me in Arabic, both trying to kill the other with lightning bolts from our eyes. To summarize the situation, I talked with an American-Lebanese lady who already had her Syria visa and when she found out I didn't speak Arabic and the driver didn't speak English, she told me, "You're screwed." Yes I was.
I finally got my visa at 12:30. Maybe if I had slipped the border guard a $20 like the guy beside me it would have sped things up but doubtful. Happy to be free, terrified they were going to find some problem and keep me there, we hightailed it into Damascus. I passed out, waking up once we arrived @ the Turkish Air office. Some technological glitches aside, everything was ok and set and I was able to call home and update the parentals (little did I know that I was sending Debi into Defcon 5 mode). They gave me a cab to the airport but I forgot that I was flying out of Terminal 2, not Terminal 1. And so I walked into a crowd of 400 people pushing to get through a single door in sauna-esque heat and chaotic riot conditions. Somehow I made my way to the door where I was informed that I had to go 300 yds to Terminal 2. I spun around with my four bags and ran over any Syrians foolish enough to get in my way. Don't mess with an angry, frustrated, bag-laden Sar. Dripping with sweat, I encountered the same scene in Terminal 2. I made my way to the front of the line, bribed the baggage man and got through the door. I was a man on the mission in an emotionally fragile state and willing to do whatever it took to get out of that hell-hole. I checked in and encountered another obstacle when I tried to pay the exit visa tax with a travelers cheque. The teller looked at it, looked at me, and completely serious asked what it was. I explained that it was a check and worth $50 USD and he asked if it was some new kind of money. Really? Even Ethiopia takes travelers cheques. This spun me into a whole new dimension of pissed off that I have rarely been in before. I cursed him, Turkish Air, my situation, and everything else I could think of. When Turkish Air refused to cash the check I returned to the teller's desk and tried begging again. For whatever reason, he had little/no sympathy for this short jewish boy without any "real" money. Luckily the Syrian-British guy standing next to me took pity and offered to pay for my visa. I gladly signed over my check to him, grabbed the visa, ran through passport control and nearly weeped for joy while sitting at the gate. I was one of the first on the plane, I buckled my seatbelt and privately refused to move come hell or high water. We took off, Istanbul bound, and I was a free man!
In Istanbul my largest troubles were over but smaller snafus still awaited. The small straws didn't break the camel's back (almost but not quite) and I lived to fight another day. Compared to my middle east adventure the Istanbul events aren't too noteworthy and can be filled in when I see you all in person. Just let it be duly noted for the record that I have no desire to ever visit Syria again, I will think twice before I fly Turkish Air again, and I will always expect my journey to/from Ethiopia to take three or four times longer than expected.
But I made it, I've spent the last 3 days on the beach in Turkey, and I feel mildly rejuvenated and increasingly thankful to have made it out of the Middle East with all of my limbs, shreds of my dignity, and at least $10 in my pocket. :-)
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