Our alarm woke us up to the soothing sounds of the recent Eurovision Song Contest. Breakfast didn’t start until 7 am, but we needed to be out by 715 in order to give ourselves enough time for petrol and to get to the airport in time. When we went down for breakfast, we were the only ones there. We asked if we could simply take a couple pastries to go. “No,” replied the man with no expression on his face. Surely something was lost in translation, so we tried to explain it another way. “Can we just have some pastries and sit down? We don’t need the full breakfast.” . . . “No.” Eventually another man came out who conferred with his colleague. The “No” man eventually handed Nicole a plate with some strange roll with something green in the middle. This was particularly curious because it was not anything that was offered in the array of rolls and pastries behind him. We have no idea where it came from. It was perhaps residing in his pocket. In any event, the other man eventually brought us a couple plastic containers to put some rolls in, and we were off.
No we weren’t. I took the bags to the car while Nicole dealt with the checkout. They wanted to charge her again for a room she already paid for. Luckily we had the receipts, but this was kind of annoying, particularly for a Hilton Honors Gold Member like Nicole. The Hilton Dead Sea Resort & Spa and Conference Center loses a star for these kinds of antics. Finally we were on our way. For the next hour, we navigated our way down Jordan’s roads for the last time. The countless speed bumps that often appear out of nowhere in the middle of a major highway were summited for the last time. We were flagged down by the police, who then kind of ignored us because they were dealing with some guy in a van, so I simply drove off. It was my own way of saying, “No.”
I had done my research on making sure to find a petrol station that took credit card. This did not matter. I arrived at the petrol station to see them roping it off and telling us that the electricity was out. They directed us to one down the road. The second attempt was a success. We then went to drop off the rental car and finally got dropped off at the airport.
We entered the airport through the closest door, door #1. We had our bags scanned and then tried to make our way to the nearby check-in counters. “No,” exclaimed the man nearby. This is business class entrance only. Bear in mind, this was not labeled anywhere. Also, we had already scanned our bags and were now asked to exit, enter through the next door to end up in the same spot. “It’s right there. Can’t we just walk over?” “No.” Of course, entering through door #2 led us again through a bag scan which resulted in us getting tabbed for explosives scans of our cameras. Only Nicole’s camera was swabbed, they forgot about me, so we just walked away to the same point we had been fifteen minutes prior, though with double the bag scans.
We got in line for check-in and were informed that the flight was full, but we could wait for about ten minutes and she might have an update. This was not ideal news, but not surprising given the progression of our day thus far. I tried to look up how much it would be to buy a ticket. “No.” Just over ten minutes later, our ticket agent miraculously found us and asked for our passports again. Then we were asked for our PCR test results. While this isn’t needed to either transit in Istanbul or to arrive in Greece if you have a vaccine, they were very adamant that we had a negative PCR within the previous 72 hours. If we had left even later in the evening, this could have been an issue because we ended up using the PCR results that we got from our test while entering Jordan. Then we were asked to register with the Turkish government. Now I said, “No.” As transit passengers, this wouldn’t make sense, and we were 35 minutes from departure. Then we were asked to fill out a passenger locator form for Greece. I humored her, but the Greek website wouldn’t even let me choose today’s date, so half of the information is incorrect. It was enough to satisfy the agent, however, and we were issued tickets 30 minutes before departure with customs and security to still clear.
Customs was shockingly easy. It took ten seconds. Security did not. After being asked to remove every single camera and lens from my bag, along with my iPad, they were still not satisfied. My equipment was swabbed for explosives and I had to open my regular suitcase while a man pawed around at everything. It turns out he was looking for a flashlight that was in my bag, something I could have helped him locate much faster if he spoke English or I spoke Arabic. We were both annoyed with each other, but not as annoyed as Nicole was with her own personal luggage rummager. He meticulously looked at individual Advil packs and cross-checked them with a list of approved medications . . .to ensure Advil wasn’t heroin or something. What ties all nations of the world together is hiring the most incompetent and insufferable people to run airport security. From putting our bags on the belt until taking them off took about ten minutes.
We walked briskly through the Duty Free and to our gate where we were stopped once more for PCR test results. I showed my vaccine card first, “Doesn’t this work?” “No.” I was eventually cleared after showing what was apparently the most important PCR test of my life, then Nicole was stopped. “Your PCR test is more than 72 hours.” “It’s the same as mine,” I said. Nicole then slowly walked him through each 24 hours and how 72 wouldn’t occur until 9pm this evening. He saw his error and at least apologized profusely. We were on the plane.
Two hours and one sad in-flight sandwich later we arrived in Istanbul where we were forced into an area where people were waving forms over their heads like they were fighting to get on the last helicopter out of Saigon. This again had something to do with a PCR test. We, along with some other passengers, didn’t understand why we were corralled into this spot, so we were forced to essentially jump a gate. “No,” said a nearby security guard until he realized that they also had the walkway for transiting passengers blocked off. We were allowed to proceed. Another security checkpoint awaited us, and while annoying, it was far more efficient than Amman. Against all odds, we were back in the international terminal at Istanbul’s new airport. It’s only been a few months since I was here last, but it is a lot busier now.
With a few hours before our connecting flight, Nicole got us into a fancy lounge with her priority pass, where we had some pide (Turkish pizza) and could relax for a while before proceeding to our gate for Aegean. I showed my inaccurate passenger locator form on my phone and we were boarded without incident with seats next to each other. A little more than an hour later, we landed in Athens.
We were put on a bus, which drove us to international arrivals. We were in a very long queue behind a 777 worth’s amount of passengers coming from the United States. After showing our vaccine cards, we went through passport control and then to another covid testing site! With our nasal passages poked for (hopefully) one last time, we exited the airport and walked right across the street to the Sofitel. It’s a bit more money than we would normally like to spend, but there’s literally nothing else within 45 minutes of the Athens airport, and it just seemed worth it.
We had a celebratory toast with Greek wine in the outdoor restaurant. We had made it in spite of everyone seemingly trying to stop us. Yes, the element of flying standby adds a layer of stress, but that was really just a tiny fraction of our woes. The frustration comes from an inconsistency in applied rules. We knew a lot about the rules in other countries. The people enforcing those rules, however, were not on the same page. It was only because we were so confident in our knowledge that we are even sitting in Athens today. Hands down, international travel right now is more complicated and in disarray than it was back in the fall, but against all odds, we made it.
passports & pepto bismol 