This happened about a month ago and we're leaving the country next week, so I feel safe blogging about this adventure now. Unfortunately, there are several adventures that seem to suggest something insidious, but those will follow.
My trouble with customs in Turkey began when I had two prescriptions sent here. Neither are controlled substances in the US, but they are not available in this country. My insurance company and doctor decided it would be a good idea for me to have ninety days worth, as we'll be travelling so extensively. These are in my name, but when my parents mailed them, we were still in France, so we suggested sending it under Brian's name to the hotel in Istanbul.
Once I arrived, I contacted the US postal service with our confirmation number, trying to see how far they had gotten. They told me that they did indeed arrive in Turkey, had cleared customs, a delivery was attempted once, then they went back to the Turkish post office. Unfortunately, that was as far as they could help me.
This status remained the same for two weeks. I became great friends with the Concierge desk, as I'd spend an hour or so each afternoon with them as they tried calling various offices in Turkish. We couldn't seem to find my medicine. I asked the USPS to try to recall them, but again, was told that they could not.
Finally, after twenty-three days, my friend, the concierge, called my room with great news. They located the office! I needed to pick the medicine up in person, and if I came down right now, I might be able to make it there before they close.
I grabbed my passport, all of the cash I had, (three fifty lira bills), and ran downstairs. The valet told me he knew what was going on and said that we were heading across the city to a rough spot of town, so he'd ask the driver to stay with me as long as necessary. That worried me a bit, but the hotel taxi drivers are all friendly, and sweet fancy moses--I needed this medication. In the taxi, I slipped one fifty behind my passport, in this special wallet I have for it, one fifty in my pocket, and one in my purse.
Istanbul is extremely large. It's like the entire bay area, but all considered a single city. We drove for about fifty minutes, finally ending up in this industrial area with lots of warehouses. After asking directions three times, we found the building. My driver assured me he'd wait in the parking lot and wished me luck. (I was very glad for this, because I hadn't seen another taxi for miles.) Although, I was concerned about the fare amount because I didn't have any more cash in the room and they don't accept cards. It was 48.90 just to get there.
I go into this building that I can only compare to...maybe a DMV office from the 70's..in Honduras. Luckily, even though it was a balmy 78 degrees, I had the idea to wear a long sleeved turtle neck and slacks. I didn't see any women the entire time I was there, though lots of men gave me funny looks. Not in a sexual or threatening way, more of a "what do you think you're doing here?"
I get in line, clutching the small piece of paper the Concierge was so thoughtful to have given me, with instructions in Turkish as to who I was and what I wanted. I gave it to the man at the window and he began rapidly speaking in Turkish. I apologized in English and he called for someone else. Again, he reads the note, then speaks to me in Turkish. Seriously. The third guy finally tells me to leave this office and go to the big creepy warehouse behind the building.
In the next building, I entered this hallway with exposed light bulbs and yellowing wallpaper. I think, thank god I bugged the desk so much, at least he really knows my name now..in case I disappear. I get into line and repeat the process. This man gives me a stern look and says I have to pay a fifty lira customs tax. I pull out the bill from my pocket, receive a receipt, and he tells me to go to another line. Once I get to that window, he reads my papers and gruffly tells me to sit down and wait. I wait until a man comes in and points at me to come, then I follow him into an interrogation room. It was a tiny room with a table and two chairs on either side. We sit and he starts asking questions in Turkish in a demanding tone. I repeat four or five times that I don't speak Turkish and that getting louder isn't going to help. By this point, I'm frightened and my eyes are tearing up. He says something then leaves me alone in the room.
Maybe ten minutes go by and then another man comes in, holding a small USPS package. I spot my father's beautiful handwriting and eagerly nod--yes! That's mine! He opens it and says, "these are drugs."
"Yes, there should be two prescription medications." I carefully answer. He then asks to see my doctor's prescription for them. I panic slightly because--I gave those to the pharmacy! There was an envelope in the box and I opened it. It had some official looking letterhead from my insurance company, with the medication names, amounts, and my doctor's name, so I gave it to him.
He read them for a few minutes and then the questioning began. Essentially, the issue was that these medications were not available here, they were prescribed to me, and addressed to Brian. He wasn't with me and since we're not married, we had different last names and of course, no marriage certificate like the man requested. It was a large quantity of foreign 'drugs' and I couldn't prove I knew Brian.He asked the same questions over and over again, with me repeating the same answers. Forty minutes later, I'm weepy at this point, and he asked to verify my passport. I struggle to pull it out of the wallet and out pops my hidden fifty lira bill. He roars at me, insinuating I'm trying to bribe him. I break out bawling and plead for it back--it was an accident and for god's sake, I need it for the taxi ride home!!!
I know I was a mess at this point (one of the medicines is for anxiety, after all), so he tells me to come back and either bring my husband, or a copy of his passport and our marriage certificate. He walks me out of the room, back to the lines, and releases me. I fled down the hall out to the parking lot and fling myself into the taxi. The driver looked concerned and asked if I got my package. I woefully say no, we take off towards home, and I call Brian in tears. We make arrangements that he'll come back with me on Friday.
Due to traffic, I knew the bill would be over the remaining 100 lira I had, and I really wanted to tip the nice driver. I explained and asked him to stop early and point me in the direction of the hotel. He was so kind, he quietly turned the meter off and took me all the way home. We did finally get my medicine and the front desk actually clapped when I told them.
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