Here it can be very cold and snow hard.
Look how
http://web.tiscali.it/ilse.vdk/Sneeuw
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Front door.
Saturday night 01:30 am. I’m back at home after a dinner with my colleagues, a present of the boss for the good sales figures of January. It snows; there is already 10 cm on the ground. And it’s cold.
A colder shiver comes over my back when I come to my front door (3rd floor). One of two lockers has disappeared. The other is still there and locked, I twist the key twice: the door doesn’t move. Still locked. How will I get in now?
I call Filiz, 5 minutes later she arrives, with her father. Clearly the work of burglars. She calls the Police. Yes, they will come.
Also Ömer comes to give me moral assistance.
I am a bit impressed: why my apartment, third floor? Has nobody seen something? And the man of the ground floor, he was fixing the front door of the building a couple of days ago. But this morning it still didn’t close properly.
The police man arrive and Filiz’ father opens the door with another lock. First they go in to check if nobody is hidden inside. Than it’s my turn: “Don’t touch anything”, the young police man warns me, first check if nothing is missing. With his club he switches the light on in my bedroom. My computer is still there, my money lies there too. A quick inspection around the house but everything is okay, nobody has been inside. The broken lock lies on the ground.
"You can drop in on Monday for a declaration," And they are gone.
I’m a bit upset and Filiz offers to come to her house for the night.
We talk about it: probably it’s pure coincidence that I am the victim. Probably it was a kind of small burgling, in search of what money or precious to sell so they can buy to eat. Probably they were surprised by some noise or couldn’t get it because of the second lock. Probably... I will never know it. And such things will occur everywhere, aren’t they?
But the message is to keep well locked the doors.
A colder shiver comes over my back when I come to my front door (3rd floor). One of two lockers has disappeared. The other is still there and locked, I twist the key twice: the door doesn’t move. Still locked. How will I get in now?
I call Filiz, 5 minutes later she arrives, with her father. Clearly the work of burglars. She calls the Police. Yes, they will come.
Also Ömer comes to give me moral assistance.
I am a bit impressed: why my apartment, third floor? Has nobody seen something? And the man of the ground floor, he was fixing the front door of the building a couple of days ago. But this morning it still didn’t close properly.
The police man arrive and Filiz’ father opens the door with another lock. First they go in to check if nobody is hidden inside. Than it’s my turn: “Don’t touch anything”, the young police man warns me, first check if nothing is missing. With his club he switches the light on in my bedroom. My computer is still there, my money lies there too. A quick inspection around the house but everything is okay, nobody has been inside. The broken lock lies on the ground.
"You can drop in on Monday for a declaration," And they are gone.
I’m a bit upset and Filiz offers to come to her house for the night.
We talk about it: probably it’s pure coincidence that I am the victim. Probably it was a kind of small burgling, in search of what money or precious to sell so they can buy to eat. Probably they were surprised by some noise or couldn’t get it because of the second lock. Probably... I will never know it. And such things will occur everywhere, aren’t they?
But the message is to keep well locked the doors.
10 boxes and a bicycle.
I spent a week in "Europe" (27/01 – 03/02).
5 days in Italy and 3 days in Belgium. The three days in Belgium served to relax in a holiday house in the Flemish Ardennes. The days in Italy were filled with reassuring friends that I'm really fine in Turkey, with singing once more a concert and with filling boxes.
10 boxes I’ve filled, for totally 160 kg. And my bicycle, wrapped in plastic with air bolls: 15 kg. On Thursday those 175 kg were picked up from my apartment in Poggibonsi. In the end, transport by air was quicker and also cheaper.
On Monday everything will be in Istanbul they promised. And so it was. Therefore on Tuesday morning Ömer, Barish, me and a man of the transport company went with a minibus to the airport to pick up everything. I had taken along only my passport and the paper, which they had send me by e-mail.
Turkish Airlines Cargo, second floor. A nice policeman refers us to the building outside the airport area.
Second floor: do you get there by car or on feet?
In the building we are sent from one office to another, climbing up dirty stairs, going down stinking stairs. Passport control and recording of our entrance and we arrive at last at the Turkish Airlines warehouse office.
Ömer speaks with a nice lady, and though I do not understand a word of it, I immediately feel that there is a problem. She weaves with some papers, writes a little note, makes a phone call but the answer is no: no boxes today.
Ömer tries to explain me: in Italy they have issued the air way bill with the data I have given them (my addresses in Italy and in Turkey) but for the Italians the address in Turkey was so long and complicated, that they thought that somewhere hidden in-between there was also the name of the destiny. Of course there isn’t. And so on the AWB there is an address but no destiny.
And therefore according to the Turkish customs authorities those boxes can be of everyone, so they are of nobody. And therefore they are given to nobody. That’s it! Although my name and address as shipper and as destine are on the boxes and on my bicycle, I looked after it myself.
The procedure to follow now is considerably complicated: a new AWB must be issued by the Italians, than it must be certified by the Turkish embassy or consulate in Rome that it is replacing the original one that was issued with a mistake on it. Original copies must be sent to Turkey so no copy by means of e-mail.
Once back in the TT office I try to explain to the Italian people what happened and what’s to do now and they hardly believe it. Only in the late afternoon, when they have asked at Turkish Airlines Company, they realize what mistake they committed. They promise to settle everything as soon as possible. But in the meantime I can expect a fine of about of 250 YTL (approx. 150 Euro). And I’ll have to pay for every day the boxes remain in the warehouse.
Tuesday: the papers from Italy arrived. Ömer tries to get in contact with the custom lady as well as with the warehouse lady: both have a day off.
A new attempt on Wednesday morning: yes, everything seems to be OK now.
Thursday morning, Ömer and I go to the airport. Without renting a van… you never know.
Though we want to get everything today. Tomorrow, Friday, the local market is hold so for the whole day no car can come to my house. On Saturday and Sunday nobody is working at the warehouse and the customs, therefore then we can go back at earliest on Monday.
Second floor, climbing up dirty stairs, going down stinking stairs. Passport control and recording of our entrance. At the warehouse everything goes smoothly, also the paying of 85 YTL… And I get some papers.
Upstairs downstairs to go to the customs authorities. We need to search but most people are very friendly and explain where to go.
The papers look okay; we just should copy them all 3 times. Some confusion with my passport: it holds an entrance stamp dated 2003, but how can that be if my passport is issued only in 2004. The 8 is printed bad, so it is the entrance stamp of 2008.
Ömer asks me to wait in the office of the gentle custom employee. He speaks a bit English. And than he calls me: the manager wants to see my face, live. "Vandekerkhove" he stumbles as he has heard that name before.
Yes, I say, Willie and René, the famous football players. They are my uncles.
It works, we get the necessary stamp and signature. 30 lira please.
We go down again, to the warehouse. Again we ask "what now?", again someone helps us.
Another stamp, another piece of paper, another recording, and waiting. Finally a man on a handler comes by and brings me my belongings: 10 carbon boxes and a bicycle. The boxes are a bit collapsed, the front wheel of my bike has been removed. But everything seems to be okay.
Come, do I say to Ömer, we can finally go. NO. First a custom inspector needs to check if there are no commercial goods in the boxes. They should contain only personal stuff.
The custom inspector and his help come by. They start with the bike:
“What is she gonne do with that?”, the help asks.
"We wonder too" Ömer says.
I reply: "Belgica, Eddy Merckx?"
No reaction: they have never heard of Eddy Merckx before.
The boxes are opened to be inspected on contents. After this operation Ömer will tell me that this was the most difficult moment of the complete operation because approval or blame can depend on the mood of the custom inspector. Some of them consider personal belongings more commercial than we can imagine. But for this one there is no problem, so the boxes get closed again with "approved by the customs authorities" tape.
Let’s go now! Still not.
There are still some papers to be stamped and copies made. Back to the office of Turkish airlines, second floor, climbing up dirty stairs, going down stinking stairs. To tell that we will take along the boxes.
That is okay, once more 85 YTL please.
For the last time we are on the dirty stairs. No logics in the structure of this building.
Once downstairs... my boxes are gone!?. Ah yes, they have put them back on the shelf, they didn’t know I would take them with me today.
The handler man comes by to bring them outside the building. Finally they are mine again.
What now though? Ömer negotiates with a van transporter.
200 Lire, what are you talking about.
We accept 110 liras, a reasonable price to bring everything to my home. But instead of a van, they lead us to a station wagon, an old renault 12 from the seventies. The 10 boxes fit good, the bike goes on top.
And what about us?
Ah, we just do it in a Turkish way, Ömer says. We both go in the front on the passenger seat. It’s a bit narrow, but who cares. Finally I have my boxes. And my bike.
And Ömer? For me he’s the hero of the day!
5 days in Italy and 3 days in Belgium. The three days in Belgium served to relax in a holiday house in the Flemish Ardennes. The days in Italy were filled with reassuring friends that I'm really fine in Turkey, with singing once more a concert and with filling boxes.
10 boxes I’ve filled, for totally 160 kg. And my bicycle, wrapped in plastic with air bolls: 15 kg. On Thursday those 175 kg were picked up from my apartment in Poggibonsi. In the end, transport by air was quicker and also cheaper.
On Monday everything will be in Istanbul they promised. And so it was. Therefore on Tuesday morning Ömer, Barish, me and a man of the transport company went with a minibus to the airport to pick up everything. I had taken along only my passport and the paper, which they had send me by e-mail.
Turkish Airlines Cargo, second floor. A nice policeman refers us to the building outside the airport area.
Second floor: do you get there by car or on feet?
In the building we are sent from one office to another, climbing up dirty stairs, going down stinking stairs. Passport control and recording of our entrance and we arrive at last at the Turkish Airlines warehouse office.
Ömer speaks with a nice lady, and though I do not understand a word of it, I immediately feel that there is a problem. She weaves with some papers, writes a little note, makes a phone call but the answer is no: no boxes today.
Ömer tries to explain me: in Italy they have issued the air way bill with the data I have given them (my addresses in Italy and in Turkey) but for the Italians the address in Turkey was so long and complicated, that they thought that somewhere hidden in-between there was also the name of the destiny. Of course there isn’t. And so on the AWB there is an address but no destiny.
And therefore according to the Turkish customs authorities those boxes can be of everyone, so they are of nobody. And therefore they are given to nobody. That’s it! Although my name and address as shipper and as destine are on the boxes and on my bicycle, I looked after it myself.
The procedure to follow now is considerably complicated: a new AWB must be issued by the Italians, than it must be certified by the Turkish embassy or consulate in Rome that it is replacing the original one that was issued with a mistake on it. Original copies must be sent to Turkey so no copy by means of e-mail.
Once back in the TT office I try to explain to the Italian people what happened and what’s to do now and they hardly believe it. Only in the late afternoon, when they have asked at Turkish Airlines Company, they realize what mistake they committed. They promise to settle everything as soon as possible. But in the meantime I can expect a fine of about of 250 YTL (approx. 150 Euro). And I’ll have to pay for every day the boxes remain in the warehouse.
Tuesday: the papers from Italy arrived. Ömer tries to get in contact with the custom lady as well as with the warehouse lady: both have a day off.
A new attempt on Wednesday morning: yes, everything seems to be OK now.
Thursday morning, Ömer and I go to the airport. Without renting a van… you never know.
Though we want to get everything today. Tomorrow, Friday, the local market is hold so for the whole day no car can come to my house. On Saturday and Sunday nobody is working at the warehouse and the customs, therefore then we can go back at earliest on Monday.
Second floor, climbing up dirty stairs, going down stinking stairs. Passport control and recording of our entrance. At the warehouse everything goes smoothly, also the paying of 85 YTL… And I get some papers.
Upstairs downstairs to go to the customs authorities. We need to search but most people are very friendly and explain where to go.
The papers look okay; we just should copy them all 3 times. Some confusion with my passport: it holds an entrance stamp dated 2003, but how can that be if my passport is issued only in 2004. The 8 is printed bad, so it is the entrance stamp of 2008.
Ömer asks me to wait in the office of the gentle custom employee. He speaks a bit English. And than he calls me: the manager wants to see my face, live. "Vandekerkhove" he stumbles as he has heard that name before.
Yes, I say, Willie and René, the famous football players. They are my uncles.
It works, we get the necessary stamp and signature. 30 lira please.
We go down again, to the warehouse. Again we ask "what now?", again someone helps us.
Another stamp, another piece of paper, another recording, and waiting. Finally a man on a handler comes by and brings me my belongings: 10 carbon boxes and a bicycle. The boxes are a bit collapsed, the front wheel of my bike has been removed. But everything seems to be okay.
Come, do I say to Ömer, we can finally go. NO. First a custom inspector needs to check if there are no commercial goods in the boxes. They should contain only personal stuff.
The custom inspector and his help come by. They start with the bike:
“What is she gonne do with that?”, the help asks.
"We wonder too" Ömer says.
I reply: "Belgica, Eddy Merckx?"
No reaction: they have never heard of Eddy Merckx before.
The boxes are opened to be inspected on contents. After this operation Ömer will tell me that this was the most difficult moment of the complete operation because approval or blame can depend on the mood of the custom inspector. Some of them consider personal belongings more commercial than we can imagine. But for this one there is no problem, so the boxes get closed again with "approved by the customs authorities" tape.
Let’s go now! Still not.
There are still some papers to be stamped and copies made. Back to the office of Turkish airlines, second floor, climbing up dirty stairs, going down stinking stairs. To tell that we will take along the boxes.
That is okay, once more 85 YTL please.
For the last time we are on the dirty stairs. No logics in the structure of this building.
Once downstairs... my boxes are gone!?. Ah yes, they have put them back on the shelf, they didn’t know I would take them with me today.
The handler man comes by to bring them outside the building. Finally they are mine again.
What now though? Ömer negotiates with a van transporter.
200 Lire, what are you talking about.
We accept 110 liras, a reasonable price to bring everything to my home. But instead of a van, they lead us to a station wagon, an old renault 12 from the seventies. The 10 boxes fit good, the bike goes on top.
And what about us?
Ah, we just do it in a Turkish way, Ömer says. We both go in the front on the passenger seat. It’s a bit narrow, but who cares. Finally I have my boxes. And my bike.
And Ömer? For me he’s the hero of the day!
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