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!