Ouch. Just bloody fucking good old OUCH. If one word could encapsulate an afternoon, that would be mine. Most of you probably know where I am, but some of you don't. Would it help if I started at the beginning? Yes it probably would. It's just my mouth you see, it's so bloody...well, ouch.
I write you from the 4th floor of the glamorous Hotel Sozer along the seafront in Kusadasi, an hour outside Izmir in Turkey. It would be fair to say that until this idea landed on my lap, I never planned on visiting this country, so I'm as surprised to be here as anyone. The tale begins when I was just a lad - 11 years old to be precise. I was at a football match with my buddy Stephen (known as Lush now, at least to his friends). I was chewing on a pack of silvermints. Popped one into my gob and went to chew it, but this was a particularly sturdy little bugger, and didn't want to break. With all my might, I bit down HARD. It broke. But something else broke too. As I swallowed and started coughing at the feeling of something sharp in my throat, I immediately knew what had happened. "I broke a tooth", I thought to myself. Once the rubble was cleared I started exploring the remains with my tongue. Yup, there it is, on the top left. I'd only gone and broken a molar, the biggest teeth you have. But wait...there's more. As I was flicking my tongue over it I felt a little knick on the bottom half of my tongue. And then I realised - this fucking silvermint hadn't broken my tooth, it had broken my teeth! 2 of them to be precise. I had been to the dentist a few times in my life and it was a horrendous experience. People forget how far dental work has come. When I was a kid, it was excruciating. I do not remember specifics I just remember pain, as well as my giant fear of needles. This was enough to put me off. I told no one about my broken teeth. "I'll just use the molars on the other side from now on. What harm can that do?". I bet you can see where this is going...
Fast forward a decade or so, in 2007 I was experiencing great pain and soreness with my teeth. I had not been to the dentist since I was 11, so 12+ years at this point. The pain was too much to bear, so I went in. I was advised I'd need to have the two cracked teeth, which had further eroded in the ensuing decade, removed. There was also a rotten right upper molar (Apparently, doing all my chewing on one side was problematic after all..who'd have guessed!?), and the lower molar directly underneath it needed a massive root canal. I needed a wisdom tooth removed too. So in I went, under the knife. Four teeth and a root canal. Boom. I thought that was that. Not so. Over the following years, I needed 3 more root canals, all on the exact same side, the right side, of my mouth, where I'd done all my chewing since that bloody silvermint (which I can only assume was made of actual silver).
So fast forward to 2015 and I have 3 big holes in my mouth along with multiple teeth that need crowns in place of fillings because they've had the root canal treatment. The cost of replacing the missing teeth and getting the crowns in Ireland is prohibitively expensive, ergo I have never even really bothered to explore it. Enter...Some Guy. Yes, the story would be better if Some Guy had an actual name but I don't know his actual name. Anyway, the point is, Some is one of MT's patients in the Coady Surgery in Tallaght. One day when he was in getting his bloods done, he told her he was just back from Turkey where he'd had all his teeth fixed. He gave MT the card of the dentist responsible. MT passed it on to me. I looked. I was intrigued. I was able to establish that the dentist did consultations in Ireland a couple of times a year. This was very appealing to me. It would be one thing just to travel and hope for the best, but this was I could get an exact price and know exactly what I'd need done. I met Serhan about 6 weeks ago. I liked him immediately and I knew this could be a realistic option. For just over €2000, he would replace the missing teeth and put crowns in all the ones that had root canals. This work would cost me 4 - 5 times as much in Ireland. It was a no brainer.
Of course I had no idea at the time I'd be here a month or so later. Circumstances dictated that. I couldn't really put it off too long because with a second child on the way, I'm not getting many chances to leave the country on my own again, and with holiday time to take off work before the end of the year, it all made sense. Add to that the fact that flights are only €230 at this time of year and that in the off season, the cost of the dental work covers the cost of accommodation too. It all just seemed like a fit.
And so I type this from my Turkish palace. Of course, as smooth and easy as arranging the whole thing was, the journey over was the polar opposite. Dear reader, it will cause me more pain relieving that experience then the throbbing in my teeth right now. So please, read this and feel my pain:
My morning began in frustration at 9am in Dublin Airport at the security gate. I am now going to give you a possibly terrifying look into how OCD my mind works. When I am traveling, I pack for convenience and practicality. That convenience includes getting through security conveniently and practically. My carry on has to have 4 compartments - a main one for bigger items - plugs & cables for phones, laptop, kindle etc, some clothes, hoodie, snacks etc. A second copartment for my macbook and kindle. Two small compartments - one for travel documentation and storing phone, wallet etc as I go through security, the other for meds (can't fly without painkillers, it's negligent!) and adapters (for the plugs, see?). Ergo, when I get through security I am baffled at how other peoples brains work. I have left the house with EVERYTHING - belt, wallet, phone, change - already in my carry on. I just walk up to security, use the trays and stroll through. Imagine my consternation at the behaviour of most people. We've all seen them. The guy who gets to the top of the line. Shock and surprise cross his face as he is confronted with the news that he needs to take his belt off. He is stunned when he's told he has to put his phone and wallet in a tray. This man has presumably never traveled before in his entire life, and experienced temporary blindness and deafness while standing in line for 15 minutes watching everyone else go through. He tries to walk through. Beeper goes off. "OH, I HAVE TO TAKE OUT MY CHANGE AS WELL?". Keep in mind, as all this is going on, I am lost in a daydream in which I pull a 47 magnum out of my backpack and just start spraying bullets at anyone and everyone who pulls this shit at security. The dude yesterday was even worse. Having gone through all the above, he then had to come back through as he had LEFT HIS LAPTOP IN HIS FUCKING BAG!!! But it gets worse. They told him to take it out. He looks confused. He starts to sweat. I do too. "I can't find it" he tells the security lady. "He can't find it?" I think. "HE CAN'T FUCKING FIND IT!!!??? WHERE THE FUCK DID IT GO!? THE BAG IS BARELY LARGER THAN A FUCKING LAPTOP IN THE FIRST PLACE! WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE!? HAS IT GONE FOR A SMOKE OR A PISS!?? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH". Just as my brain almost literally explodes out of my skull, the laptop is located. It was in the front pocket. There was ONE pocket on this bag, about the size of a laptop, with a laptop shaped bulge in it. Just for the record.
After laptop-gate, everything seemed pretty smooth. I got to the gate in good time, waited and watched everyone board, very chilled. This is another pet peeve of mine. The people who stand up and queue to get onto an airplane when they have an assigned seat. Exactly what are you queuing for? Your seat is not going anywhere. I allow the masses pile on, stroll calmly down to 27C, unpack the essentials (Macbook, phone, kindle, snacks, water), dump my hand luggage above and strap in. Even better, having downloaded a ton of movies in case there's little selection on the flight, or no WiFi to watch TV on in the hotel, I find that Turkish Airlines have about 100 movies to choose from. 4 hours pass neatly as I take in a pair of 'whodunnit' thrillers starring Kate Beckinsale and Michael Douglas respectively. "Whiteout' and 'The Sentinel' probably didn't win many awards but they passed the journey adequately. Around 3pm Irish time, six hours after I left the house, we were due to start descending into Istanbul. Turkey is 2 hours ahead of us,and we were due to land in the Turkish capital at 530 local time, giving me 90 minutes to make my connection to Izmir. My Spidey sense started tingling when the plane wasn't lowering at all by 520pm Istanbul time. Sure enough, the pilot announced we'd narrowly missed our landing slot but would have another one at 6pm. We would circle until then. This worried me. I assumed that 6pm - 7p gave me enough time to connect, but you never know with these foreign airports. It was all immaterial anyway, as 6pm became 610, then 620 and so on. We landed in Istanbul at 650pm. As it turned out, even if we had landed at 6 it would have been a tight squeeze. At Istanbul airport, you arrive in the international terminal, cross through passport control which takes a good 20 minutes or so, commute to the domestic terminal, go through security all over again and find your gate. This is a length process. As it was, I came out of international and went into the main Istanbul airport. My flight to Izmir was in the sky so my goal was to find the Turkish Airlines representatives and exchange my ticket for a later flight. I found a ticket sales desk. I explained what happened, and they said I needed to go to the customer services desk. I did. I queued and went up. They told me that it wasn't enough to stand in line, I had to take a ticket and I'd be served when my number was called. I looked around. There were 3 free service reps, and no other customers. Still, I was made go, get a ticket and be called back up 30 seconds later. WHY!? After two or three minutes, this lady told me I wasn't at the right desk. "Go to L15, they will help you". Istanbul is a busy airport and it's poorly signposted. It took me a while, but I found check in gate L15. It was a mess. There were two different entrances to this little cordoned off area where people were lining up to change tickets. I went to the back of the line, by one entrance. Meanwhile, there was another entrance, at which people would just walk in and skip the queue. There was no one around to stop this. By now it is nearly 8pm Istanbul time, 9 hours after I've left the house, exactly when I should be arriving in Izmir, and I am not in good form. This rigamarole is ENOUGH already. Eventually after half hour, I get to the top of the queue. They aren't putting me on the 9pm or the 930. I'm on the 10pm, the last flight to Izmir. It'll do, I guess.
Now I need food. I hunt but there are NO cash machines in this airport. Several places tell me they don't accept cards (yes, in 2015). Eventually Sbarro pizzeria takes my card and I buy two big bottles of water and a slice of pizza. Keep in mind, I have a bad cold and I find myself incessantly dehydrated. But because I'm travelling I am watching what I drink. On airplanes they will often have the seatbelt sign on and bar you from using the toilet. Too many times I've sat there in agony for hours. So by the time I get this water, I am parched. Between 8 and 10, I drink all this liquid. As I'm waiting at the gate around 930, the departure time changes from 10 to 10:10. Hmm, this isn't good. I knew exactly where this was going, but still found it remarkably frustrating. The delay increased by 5 minutes every 5 minutes. So at 9:35, it said 10:15. At 9:40, it said 10:20. And so on. It goes to 10:45 and stops there. We board about 10:50. I'm in a middle seat, jammed between two big people, uncomfortable, tired and pissed off. it's now a full 12 hours since I left Dublin. While we are taxi'ing, the pilot announces we are cleared for take off "at 11:20pm". WHAT!? WHY THE FUCK DID YOU PUT US ON THE PLANE THEN!?". This might not bother me so much, but that water has gone thru me and suddenly I am BURSTING. I have a very small bladder and am notorious for using the bathroom 50 times a day. So this is a serious issue for me. They won't let us use the facilities until we are airborne. Eventually at 11:40 when I've been sitting in my seat for 50 minutes squirming, I go. Sweet Jesus, the misery is nearly over. I'll be in Kusadasi by 1. Right?
We land in Izmir. Turkish airport fun continues. I am standing at the baggage claim after getting off the plane. I notice signs for the 'international terminal', including one for international baggage claim. I see no sign of my bag, I am assuming it's going to come on this carousel which is for the domestic flight I've just gotten off. But I am not convinced, given how my journey has been so far. I ask someone. He tells me I need to go to the international terminal and find it at international baggage claim. I cannot comprehend this, after 13 hours+ of travelling.
"So you're telling me my bag was on the Istanbul - Izmir flight with all those bags on that carousel, and it was taken and separately moved to a completely different terminal?" I ask.
"Yes" comes the stone faced reply.
Back out through security I go, and back IN through international security I go. Usual rigmarole - belt off, wallet out etc. More queuing and waiting. At this point I am fit to explode. The international terminal is a good ten minutes walk. If I had flown directly from Dublin, I'd understand. But why separate the bags in this airport? Who benefits? I stand at the only carousel running in the international terminal for 25 minutes. Nothing. I am about to go and speak with someone when I spot another carousel operating about 100 yards away, behind 5 that are switched off, at the exact opposite end of the room. I go down and see two lonely bags going round and round. Thank GOD IN HEAVEN, one of them was mine. It is now 01:10am.
Out I go to meet the taxi driver that's been arranged for me and the other person traveling over to see this dentist. He tells me we have to wait for the other lady. And then it dawns on me. She is probably standing at the domestic baggage claim like I was because unless you were specifically told, or you asked someone, you'd assume that was where your bags were. Oh, and if she had been lucky or bright enough to work it out and come to the international terminal, she was probably standing at the wrong carousel, like I had been. He is ringing and ringing this lady, but her phone is off. At 01:45, I give him my theory about the domestic terminal. He says he will go and check that terminal, I wait here. Five minutes later, out walks an Irish lady with that lonely bag that had been on the carousel with mine. She's looking for someone. I take a punt. "Marian?" I shout. It's her. Of course, now the only problem is our taxi driver is 10 minutes away looking for her in domestic. At 02:05, he returns. It's an hour to Kusadasi. Three strangers sitting in a car together = one thing. Small talk. So there I was, 15+ hours after leaving Dublin, discussing Irish weather, the budget and broken fucking teeth with a middle aged Irish woman and a Turkish cabbie with little English. OH JOY.
We arrived at the hotel at 02:55. At this point in the story, you should be able to write it yourself. When I gave the lady my name, did she say:
1) "Oh, Mr Murphy, you've been delayed you poor thing. Here's your room key and we will arrange breakfast in bed for you tomorrow.
2) "Ok Mr Murphy, I see your reservation here. Here are your keys, thanks"
3) "I have no reservation here for a Mr Murphy"
??????
You got it. God only knows how this happened, but they had two reservations - one for the lady I was travelling with, and one for Jason someone or other. I begged and pleaded. Eventually they took my word that somehow the name had gotten mixed up.
03:05am. SIXTEEN hours after leaving Dublin for what I believed would be a NINE hour journey, I unlocked the door to my hotel room, walked in and collapsed onto the bed.
To be continued...
I write you from the 4th floor of the glamorous Hotel Sozer along the seafront in Kusadasi, an hour outside Izmir in Turkey. It would be fair to say that until this idea landed on my lap, I never planned on visiting this country, so I'm as surprised to be here as anyone. The tale begins when I was just a lad - 11 years old to be precise. I was at a football match with my buddy Stephen (known as Lush now, at least to his friends). I was chewing on a pack of silvermints. Popped one into my gob and went to chew it, but this was a particularly sturdy little bugger, and didn't want to break. With all my might, I bit down HARD. It broke. But something else broke too. As I swallowed and started coughing at the feeling of something sharp in my throat, I immediately knew what had happened. "I broke a tooth", I thought to myself. Once the rubble was cleared I started exploring the remains with my tongue. Yup, there it is, on the top left. I'd only gone and broken a molar, the biggest teeth you have. But wait...there's more. As I was flicking my tongue over it I felt a little knick on the bottom half of my tongue. And then I realised - this fucking silvermint hadn't broken my tooth, it had broken my teeth! 2 of them to be precise. I had been to the dentist a few times in my life and it was a horrendous experience. People forget how far dental work has come. When I was a kid, it was excruciating. I do not remember specifics I just remember pain, as well as my giant fear of needles. This was enough to put me off. I told no one about my broken teeth. "I'll just use the molars on the other side from now on. What harm can that do?". I bet you can see where this is going...
Fast forward a decade or so, in 2007 I was experiencing great pain and soreness with my teeth. I had not been to the dentist since I was 11, so 12+ years at this point. The pain was too much to bear, so I went in. I was advised I'd need to have the two cracked teeth, which had further eroded in the ensuing decade, removed. There was also a rotten right upper molar (Apparently, doing all my chewing on one side was problematic after all..who'd have guessed!?), and the lower molar directly underneath it needed a massive root canal. I needed a wisdom tooth removed too. So in I went, under the knife. Four teeth and a root canal. Boom. I thought that was that. Not so. Over the following years, I needed 3 more root canals, all on the exact same side, the right side, of my mouth, where I'd done all my chewing since that bloody silvermint (which I can only assume was made of actual silver).
So fast forward to 2015 and I have 3 big holes in my mouth along with multiple teeth that need crowns in place of fillings because they've had the root canal treatment. The cost of replacing the missing teeth and getting the crowns in Ireland is prohibitively expensive, ergo I have never even really bothered to explore it. Enter...Some Guy. Yes, the story would be better if Some Guy had an actual name but I don't know his actual name. Anyway, the point is, Some is one of MT's patients in the Coady Surgery in Tallaght. One day when he was in getting his bloods done, he told her he was just back from Turkey where he'd had all his teeth fixed. He gave MT the card of the dentist responsible. MT passed it on to me. I looked. I was intrigued. I was able to establish that the dentist did consultations in Ireland a couple of times a year. This was very appealing to me. It would be one thing just to travel and hope for the best, but this was I could get an exact price and know exactly what I'd need done. I met Serhan about 6 weeks ago. I liked him immediately and I knew this could be a realistic option. For just over €2000, he would replace the missing teeth and put crowns in all the ones that had root canals. This work would cost me 4 - 5 times as much in Ireland. It was a no brainer.
Of course I had no idea at the time I'd be here a month or so later. Circumstances dictated that. I couldn't really put it off too long because with a second child on the way, I'm not getting many chances to leave the country on my own again, and with holiday time to take off work before the end of the year, it all made sense. Add to that the fact that flights are only €230 at this time of year and that in the off season, the cost of the dental work covers the cost of accommodation too. It all just seemed like a fit.
And so I type this from my Turkish palace. Of course, as smooth and easy as arranging the whole thing was, the journey over was the polar opposite. Dear reader, it will cause me more pain relieving that experience then the throbbing in my teeth right now. So please, read this and feel my pain:
My morning began in frustration at 9am in Dublin Airport at the security gate. I am now going to give you a possibly terrifying look into how OCD my mind works. When I am traveling, I pack for convenience and practicality. That convenience includes getting through security conveniently and practically. My carry on has to have 4 compartments - a main one for bigger items - plugs & cables for phones, laptop, kindle etc, some clothes, hoodie, snacks etc. A second copartment for my macbook and kindle. Two small compartments - one for travel documentation and storing phone, wallet etc as I go through security, the other for meds (can't fly without painkillers, it's negligent!) and adapters (for the plugs, see?). Ergo, when I get through security I am baffled at how other peoples brains work. I have left the house with EVERYTHING - belt, wallet, phone, change - already in my carry on. I just walk up to security, use the trays and stroll through. Imagine my consternation at the behaviour of most people. We've all seen them. The guy who gets to the top of the line. Shock and surprise cross his face as he is confronted with the news that he needs to take his belt off. He is stunned when he's told he has to put his phone and wallet in a tray. This man has presumably never traveled before in his entire life, and experienced temporary blindness and deafness while standing in line for 15 minutes watching everyone else go through. He tries to walk through. Beeper goes off. "OH, I HAVE TO TAKE OUT MY CHANGE AS WELL?". Keep in mind, as all this is going on, I am lost in a daydream in which I pull a 47 magnum out of my backpack and just start spraying bullets at anyone and everyone who pulls this shit at security. The dude yesterday was even worse. Having gone through all the above, he then had to come back through as he had LEFT HIS LAPTOP IN HIS FUCKING BAG!!! But it gets worse. They told him to take it out. He looks confused. He starts to sweat. I do too. "I can't find it" he tells the security lady. "He can't find it?" I think. "HE CAN'T FUCKING FIND IT!!!??? WHERE THE FUCK DID IT GO!? THE BAG IS BARELY LARGER THAN A FUCKING LAPTOP IN THE FIRST PLACE! WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE!? HAS IT GONE FOR A SMOKE OR A PISS!?? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH". Just as my brain almost literally explodes out of my skull, the laptop is located. It was in the front pocket. There was ONE pocket on this bag, about the size of a laptop, with a laptop shaped bulge in it. Just for the record.
After laptop-gate, everything seemed pretty smooth. I got to the gate in good time, waited and watched everyone board, very chilled. This is another pet peeve of mine. The people who stand up and queue to get onto an airplane when they have an assigned seat. Exactly what are you queuing for? Your seat is not going anywhere. I allow the masses pile on, stroll calmly down to 27C, unpack the essentials (Macbook, phone, kindle, snacks, water), dump my hand luggage above and strap in. Even better, having downloaded a ton of movies in case there's little selection on the flight, or no WiFi to watch TV on in the hotel, I find that Turkish Airlines have about 100 movies to choose from. 4 hours pass neatly as I take in a pair of 'whodunnit' thrillers starring Kate Beckinsale and Michael Douglas respectively. "Whiteout' and 'The Sentinel' probably didn't win many awards but they passed the journey adequately. Around 3pm Irish time, six hours after I left the house, we were due to start descending into Istanbul. Turkey is 2 hours ahead of us,and we were due to land in the Turkish capital at 530 local time, giving me 90 minutes to make my connection to Izmir. My Spidey sense started tingling when the plane wasn't lowering at all by 520pm Istanbul time. Sure enough, the pilot announced we'd narrowly missed our landing slot but would have another one at 6pm. We would circle until then. This worried me. I assumed that 6pm - 7p gave me enough time to connect, but you never know with these foreign airports. It was all immaterial anyway, as 6pm became 610, then 620 and so on. We landed in Istanbul at 650pm. As it turned out, even if we had landed at 6 it would have been a tight squeeze. At Istanbul airport, you arrive in the international terminal, cross through passport control which takes a good 20 minutes or so, commute to the domestic terminal, go through security all over again and find your gate. This is a length process. As it was, I came out of international and went into the main Istanbul airport. My flight to Izmir was in the sky so my goal was to find the Turkish Airlines representatives and exchange my ticket for a later flight. I found a ticket sales desk. I explained what happened, and they said I needed to go to the customer services desk. I did. I queued and went up. They told me that it wasn't enough to stand in line, I had to take a ticket and I'd be served when my number was called. I looked around. There were 3 free service reps, and no other customers. Still, I was made go, get a ticket and be called back up 30 seconds later. WHY!? After two or three minutes, this lady told me I wasn't at the right desk. "Go to L15, they will help you". Istanbul is a busy airport and it's poorly signposted. It took me a while, but I found check in gate L15. It was a mess. There were two different entrances to this little cordoned off area where people were lining up to change tickets. I went to the back of the line, by one entrance. Meanwhile, there was another entrance, at which people would just walk in and skip the queue. There was no one around to stop this. By now it is nearly 8pm Istanbul time, 9 hours after I've left the house, exactly when I should be arriving in Izmir, and I am not in good form. This rigamarole is ENOUGH already. Eventually after half hour, I get to the top of the queue. They aren't putting me on the 9pm or the 930. I'm on the 10pm, the last flight to Izmir. It'll do, I guess.
Now I need food. I hunt but there are NO cash machines in this airport. Several places tell me they don't accept cards (yes, in 2015). Eventually Sbarro pizzeria takes my card and I buy two big bottles of water and a slice of pizza. Keep in mind, I have a bad cold and I find myself incessantly dehydrated. But because I'm travelling I am watching what I drink. On airplanes they will often have the seatbelt sign on and bar you from using the toilet. Too many times I've sat there in agony for hours. So by the time I get this water, I am parched. Between 8 and 10, I drink all this liquid. As I'm waiting at the gate around 930, the departure time changes from 10 to 10:10. Hmm, this isn't good. I knew exactly where this was going, but still found it remarkably frustrating. The delay increased by 5 minutes every 5 minutes. So at 9:35, it said 10:15. At 9:40, it said 10:20. And so on. It goes to 10:45 and stops there. We board about 10:50. I'm in a middle seat, jammed between two big people, uncomfortable, tired and pissed off. it's now a full 12 hours since I left Dublin. While we are taxi'ing, the pilot announces we are cleared for take off "at 11:20pm". WHAT!? WHY THE FUCK DID YOU PUT US ON THE PLANE THEN!?". This might not bother me so much, but that water has gone thru me and suddenly I am BURSTING. I have a very small bladder and am notorious for using the bathroom 50 times a day. So this is a serious issue for me. They won't let us use the facilities until we are airborne. Eventually at 11:40 when I've been sitting in my seat for 50 minutes squirming, I go. Sweet Jesus, the misery is nearly over. I'll be in Kusadasi by 1. Right?
We land in Izmir. Turkish airport fun continues. I am standing at the baggage claim after getting off the plane. I notice signs for the 'international terminal', including one for international baggage claim. I see no sign of my bag, I am assuming it's going to come on this carousel which is for the domestic flight I've just gotten off. But I am not convinced, given how my journey has been so far. I ask someone. He tells me I need to go to the international terminal and find it at international baggage claim. I cannot comprehend this, after 13 hours+ of travelling.
"So you're telling me my bag was on the Istanbul - Izmir flight with all those bags on that carousel, and it was taken and separately moved to a completely different terminal?" I ask.
"Yes" comes the stone faced reply.
Back out through security I go, and back IN through international security I go. Usual rigmarole - belt off, wallet out etc. More queuing and waiting. At this point I am fit to explode. The international terminal is a good ten minutes walk. If I had flown directly from Dublin, I'd understand. But why separate the bags in this airport? Who benefits? I stand at the only carousel running in the international terminal for 25 minutes. Nothing. I am about to go and speak with someone when I spot another carousel operating about 100 yards away, behind 5 that are switched off, at the exact opposite end of the room. I go down and see two lonely bags going round and round. Thank GOD IN HEAVEN, one of them was mine. It is now 01:10am.
Out I go to meet the taxi driver that's been arranged for me and the other person traveling over to see this dentist. He tells me we have to wait for the other lady. And then it dawns on me. She is probably standing at the domestic baggage claim like I was because unless you were specifically told, or you asked someone, you'd assume that was where your bags were. Oh, and if she had been lucky or bright enough to work it out and come to the international terminal, she was probably standing at the wrong carousel, like I had been. He is ringing and ringing this lady, but her phone is off. At 01:45, I give him my theory about the domestic terminal. He says he will go and check that terminal, I wait here. Five minutes later, out walks an Irish lady with that lonely bag that had been on the carousel with mine. She's looking for someone. I take a punt. "Marian?" I shout. It's her. Of course, now the only problem is our taxi driver is 10 minutes away looking for her in domestic. At 02:05, he returns. It's an hour to Kusadasi. Three strangers sitting in a car together = one thing. Small talk. So there I was, 15+ hours after leaving Dublin, discussing Irish weather, the budget and broken fucking teeth with a middle aged Irish woman and a Turkish cabbie with little English. OH JOY.
We arrived at the hotel at 02:55. At this point in the story, you should be able to write it yourself. When I gave the lady my name, did she say:
1) "Oh, Mr Murphy, you've been delayed you poor thing. Here's your room key and we will arrange breakfast in bed for you tomorrow.
2) "Ok Mr Murphy, I see your reservation here. Here are your keys, thanks"
3) "I have no reservation here for a Mr Murphy"
??????
You got it. God only knows how this happened, but they had two reservations - one for the lady I was travelling with, and one for Jason someone or other. I begged and pleaded. Eventually they took my word that somehow the name had gotten mixed up.
03:05am. SIXTEEN hours after leaving Dublin for what I believed would be a NINE hour journey, I unlocked the door to my hotel room, walked in and collapsed onto the bed.
To be continued...
