He said. At least that's what the driver sounded like to me. Actually,it was more like a desperate pouting from his greying head. Yeah yeah yeah. I'm coming dude. And with that he stomps off to the bus and leaves me there with the Bulgarian customs officer, who had just thrown my passport down in disgust. That was right before he walked off with it across the highway.
I would have worried a bit more had the Bulgarian woman not rushed up to me and say soothingly through her tar teeth and hoarse throat, "No problem!" She was the coach attendant-- the coach which engine was being revved up and the coach whose driver was yelling at me. That's one of the minor inconveniences of filling up your passport with stamps from around the world -- it's never exotic to baffle the border patrol.
I had just crossed over from Turkey and was headed to, well, Turkey. It was one of those visa runs you learn how to do from reading the forums on Dave's ESL cafe. We have to do it every 3 months to teach here. Some say the Ministry wants to keep unemployment down by retorting, "Why hire native English teachers at your school when you can hire Turkish English teachers?" That's a good question. I'll think about that on my way to Bulgaria and back.
I heard in Greece they want you to stay a night before going back, but in Bulgaria you can just go back immediately, which is clearly what the bus driver wanted. I was getting ready to give them some sob story about my girlfriend's in Turkey and I have to get back -- after all I'm not trying to do anything illegal. Not like the leather jacket smuggler on the bus from Istanbul. They call the highway up to Bulgaria the Laundry Line, due to all the illegal trafficking of clothes. This guy on the bus schmoozed me with a very warm polite conversation before asking me to to carry two leather jackets for him through customs.
"How many do you have?" I asked. There was no way I was gonna do it. He could have like heroin sewn in there somewhere. I've seen that movie.
"Four," he said.
"Just tell them they're for your family," I suggested.
"Yes. Tell them they for your family," he suggested.
"No. From YOUR family! Look man, maybe you can ask somebody else," I said. "I'm trying to get back into Istanbul squeaky clean."
"Yeah. I ask somebody else. No problem." he said amiably enough twisting to the guys seated behind us.
Nice guy. That is until my girlfriend called to check up on me and overheard their conversation.
"By the way, who's sitting next to you Jack?" she asked.
"Just some Turkish guy. He's ok."
"He's complaining about how foreigners are very rude to Turks."
"He just asked me to take some jackets through customs for him."
"DON'T DO IT!!!"
"I know, I know. I've seen that movie."
"Ahh. The hell with that movie!" None of the Turks are happy about that movie. What's the movie? I'll give you a hint: What's the only movie you have seen about Turkey? -- Which is precisely why they aren't pleased with it.
The bus driver revved it up again. He was stressed out trying to keep to his schedule. Finally, the same Bulgarian woman cajoled the customs guy to hand over my passport and let me get on the bus. So ZOOM we were off!!!
50 feet and we had to get off again and then I had to keep the driver waiting again because I was the only one who had to go to the police for a visa (which clearly states "Employment Prohibited"). Then I had to walk over to the white shack to pay for it. Then I had to go back to the polis (police) for a stamp. Then I ran back on the bus and ZOOM we were off!!!
50 feet and we had to get off again for the baggage inspection. And before I knew it I was back in Istanbul for a glass of wine, a glass of cognac and 6 glasses of beer.
Awaiting bag inspections (Background: burning trash, smells good) 
6 comments:
Gültlik birciclik Ecevit Shmeschevoot. Garble garble. Are you learning any turkenstein languo? If so, good luck. I only know Üsküdar, lahmacun, sikdirlan.
that last one is supposed to be an insult, and the second one is a thing to snack on. the first one is an old drunken toad pissing on his dead nephew's toes at a shotgun funeral. Or I;/m holding the dicktionaree uppinside down.
Good job, Jack Knicksknox!
We all waiting for new adventures, good job jack :)
love, a faithful reader
just another weirdo blogging up the blogoshpere...don't you have anything else better to do other than bother the good people of Turkey??? Spare us all your self-promotion and meglomania...
Wow, some people take this pretty seriously....I for one find it extremely fascinating. Sort of like the chemistry of a kentucky-californian turkish english teacher perhaps. Write on, don't let the music stop playing.....
is that what you need, strength coming from someone else other than from within??? fight your own battles, you f-ing cry baby...
"don't you have anything else better to do other than bother the good people of Turkey???"
Please dont talk for other people
I am a turkish girl who lives in turkey and who knows jack and whose friends know jack and nobody told me that he bothers them Thank you for saying that good people for my people (do you know any turkish??) Yess we are kind and welcoming people and do you know what??? so is Jack Please, we can talk for ourselves if we need to say something. By the way dont take it too serious if you dont have sense of humour dont bother yourself to read this blog.
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