It was a few nights ago that I made good my escape from Boratistan. I work at an institute there that has the motto ”learn to live” emblazoned on its promotional material. There is a spelling mistake in ”learn to live” – the ‘v’. It ought to be learn to lie.
Boratistan is a byword for ineptitude, lassitude, poor hygiene, crassness, bombast, nepotism, corruption and chauvinism. Enough about their good points.
But of course Turkish Airlines was delayed by an hour. We could have waited for a flight the next morn but fuck that for a game of soldiers. Gettings of of Boratistan is like trying to get out of Alcatraz. The departure area did not have functioning info screens and many announcements were not in English. I met a Persian family whom I knew. Most amiable they are too. The wife even shook my paw. My word – I thought that is tantamount to adultery.
In the airport we met a Romanian businessman christened Mihai. He told us he flew Turkish Airlines a lot. He told me they bring incompetence to a whole new level. ”They are organised like Turks”. Given that Romania has a richly deserved reputation for idiocy, disorganisation, sloth and filth this is saying something.
They used to be known as THY as in their Turkish initials for Turk Hava Yollari which just translates Turkish Airlines. Anyhow THY seems promising but sadly the air hostesses do not show any thigh.
Every last seat was taken on the plane. Seems like everyone else wanted to get the fuck out of Dodge!
We fly on our Turkish kite from the Middle East into Ataturk International Airport. Having come from untamed Asia this should have represented civilisation. Turks never tire of telling us their land is Europe. I can scarcely suppress a snigger of disdain.
Anyhow we landed and hastened unto the transfer desk. Allah smiled upon us and the queue was not long. I spoke to the bloke and explained our problem. We had missed our connection. He acted like this was the first time this had ever happened. He tapped away on the computer. He consulted some colleagues there. he was on his mobile. He was into this office and that.
To my right was a short arsed Briton who was losing it. He had a horrid Brummy accent. His head was semi shaved. He had been there for an hour and a half. The Turks were fucking useless with him. He needed to get to Beirut for his nan’s funeral. He ought not have said nan because these people would not know that means grandmother.
I chatted to this Brummy bloke. I also spoke to a black Swede named Mike spoke perfect ENglish like your typical Swede. He sported a baseball cap and a height of 6’4”. He had left his laptop aboard which was dumb. He said he did not care about that so much as the work on it.
It took about 20 mins for these Turkish to sort me out. Then off to get the luggage and check in anew.
We found our luggage without too much difficulty. Ataturk Airport is very large and surprisingly clean with white marble floors. The shell of the building was almost deserted but noise did not seem to echo through its cavernous void.
On, on to the hotel office. Mihai was nowhere to be seen. He said Turkish Airlines had once ut him up in a hotel 100 km from the airport. It was a 2 hour taxi drive – at least the airline paid. It was winyter and they accommodated him in a beach resort to save lira.
There was the Middle Eastern answer to a queue – a maul. The melee of peopled thronged forward towards the desk. The door to the office was alos open. The more assertive passengers wouldbarge in there and berate the staff. This seemed to work. Turks felt they had the right to shove past everyone else. It was totally chaotic.
Eventually a few people were dealt with. Now and then an airline employee would come out and call out some names and give them back their baording passes. They would be led off to a bus to a hotel. The queue abated somewhwat and I managed to hand my boarding pass stubs to an airline official.
My lady friend was parked on seats courtesy of Stabucks hard by. We never purchased anything and to my surprise the Starbucks waiters were too lakadizekal to shoo us away. Something OF A queue evolved. The Ghanean boy showed up. I chatted to Mike – he got his compute back. He was headed from Sweden to Ghana. He told me he had done military serfvice and liked it. An older black man in a smart threepiece grey suit was listening into our conversation and chipped in now and again. The older chap would repeat the last of our phrases and smile in amusement. Turns out he is Mike’s dad but much shorter than Mike.
I had earlier noticed a husband and wife couple. He had a slightly bushier moustache than her. They were so dishevelled and badly dressed they just had to be teachers. I struck up an amicable conversation with the odd coiuple. These New Zealanders were teaching in Germany. They had been there for 11 years and not mastered the language – they could not get citizenship. They had with them a score of teenage ppupils. Theur charges were likable but kept throwing an American football. I thought secrutiy would confiscate it but the boys managed not to be boorish. The Kiwis were going to Accra as well. They were going to build a school. The project was so popular that they ran two trips a year. This couple had a grown up daughter and son.
I spoke to some balding chap from Ploymouth. I sat on my green leather case on a trolley.
My mind was going hazy. It wasso sleepy. It seemed like a fantasisa this odd cast of characters. We were united only be a hearty loathing of Turkish Airlines. Turkish – never again. They really get the gold medal for incompetence.
I had been there for 2 hours and my mind was befuddled. The babble of Turkish from the Turkish Airlines clowns was unbearable. I strode into the office. Shockingly, they did not stop me. I asked for my boarding cards back. I wanted out of this queue system. Dozens of otthers had been given hotel rooms and there was no little point in going for 4 hours sleep. There was much faffing around from the staff. Some of them were hot chicks who put more time into hair care than their jobs. One had an elaborately folded back quiff to her dyed blonde curls. The others were raven haired. One Turk was an enormous chap with the top of his head quite bald. He was tubby as he was tall. The roly poly Levantine was one of the more phlegmatic of this race given to histrionics. They then asked me to get hence from the office. I said as soon as I had my boarding cards. They dealt with other matters and flanneled around. They asked where I had come from. I told them but thought where I was going to was more important. A brownish chap said I would have them in a minute. I told him I was timing him and looked at the clock. TheI had missed this deadline by a few seconds/
Soon I went to Starbucjs. I pulled up 3 chairs. A racket sounded through the night. Somehow I blocked it out. I did not sleep badly considering.
Later were checked in for our new flight. The check in boy was a study in miscommunication. Somehow, we made it. I mowsied around duty free. My eyes alighted on a couple of blonde milfs.
Ere long I was aboard my bird to Mitteleuropa.