Why I Love Police

Over three months ago I made reservations at the hostel where I stayed previously in Istanbul. Except for the winter it's always high season in Istanbul and I wanted to make sure I got an inexpensive nice place. Well, the guy who took my deposit didn't work there anymore. I put a deposit down for one night but made reservations for two. The new employees had none of this information, it wasn't written down anywhere, and having traveled for nine hours to get from Bozcaada to Istanbul I was not happy.

My deposit was for a four bed bunk room but there wasn't one available. They put me in a cheaper eight bunk bed room. The new employees though friendly were incompetent. I decided to let them think I paid for two night instead of one. Karma would probably get me.

Istanbul is a beautiful city and after I had a shower the rest of my time was enjoyable although, I still couldn't eat. This is not typical behavior for me. If anything I over eat.

The next morning I take an uneventful shuttle to the airport and that's where the uneventful stops.

For most people you pay $20 when you get to Turkey and that's good for three months. People who want to stay longer, leave and pay another 20 bucks when they come back.
When I came back from Georgia I paid 20 bucks and the passport police stamped my passport and I thought I was good for another three months.

NO! I guess whoever took my money didn't do the proper paper work (or any paper work) and I was told at the Istanbul airport that I overstayed my visit. Of course, it wasn't just as simple as that. There was the language barrier. My flight was leaving in a half hour. My backpack was already being loaded on the plane. I was one exit stamp away from heading to my gate.

"Go to the passport control office." "Where's that?" I ask. But those were the only English words he knew. I frantically try to find it and when I do and officer there says I must pay more. "But I left Turkey and paid the 20 bucks when I returned. Here's the stamp that proves it."

"That stamp doesn't count, only the first one," the officer says. I tried to explain. He wouldn't listen. "Go to tourist information." I end up running, literally running to the tourist info desk, the passport contol office, and the chief of the passport control who was near the exit gate - to each of these places three times.

Why, you ask? Well, the fine was $200 and at one point, because I had learned all those Turkish curse words, I had the passport control officer throw my money and passport at me. The scene was getting pretty ugly. I thought they might throw me in jail. Maybe I should act more like a damsel in distress than a Tasmanian Devil.