Is It Time Already?

The majority of our tour group had very early-morning flights out of Bucharest, with most people having airport transfers around 3:00 and 4:00am.  We were again flying through Istanbul on our return leg, and our flight didn't leave until the more civilized hour of 8:40am.  Our driver was to pick us up at 6:00am and, as it was, we were both dressed and ready early.  We went to the lobby around 5:45 and were advised our driver was already waiting, so we piled in and headed out into the still dark city.  When we got into the car, the driver had been listening to American rap music very loudly.  As though startled to realize we were in the car, he quickly turned the volume down.  He fiddled with his Spotify account on his phone and next thing we knew we had an Elvis playlist for the 20+ minute ride to the airport.  We both presumed he figured Elvis was as American as music can come.  We chuckled, though, as the shuffle feature ended up playing Blue Christmas twice, and I don't like the song even during the holidays, let alone in September.

The airport was quite the scene, and very crowded.  It was typically European in that you had to go to a central board, look up your flight, and then they showed the number of your check-in area.  I have always hated that, but for some reason it persists.  Our first flight of the day, to Istanbul, was actually operated by Tarom, the Romanian airline, so I shouldn't have been surprised that the line was long.  Still, as we walked to the far end of the terminal, I saw a long line doubled back on itself.  As I tried to figure out what they were waiting for, I realized they were all trying to check-in, and the line continued up and around the corner, to a check-in counter I still could not see.  Luckily I was still trying to locate the counter and puzzling over the line, so I pushed our way through the line to the far side.  Realizing that very line led to our counter, I worried about time.  We were flying business class, so I figured there had to be a separate line somewhere.  I walked up and around the security partitions and finally (and rightly) guessed that there was a separate line, though you could not see it, as it was hidden by all the other people.  Katherine and I got in that line, which was mercifully short.  Once at the counter, things were extremely smooth.  Security was surprisingly quick, especially considering the level of activity within the airport.  Immigration control was super quick, too.  We spilled into the main departures terminal, however, and it was frenetic with activity.  So many people and so many morning flights.  The departures terminal was obviously part of the original airport, whereas the arrivals hall had been added some time later.  We made our way upstairs to the Tarom lounge, which was surprisingly small.  We could not find a seat anywhere, and eventually asked if we could sit a table with another couple.  I should add, too, that like everyone else in Romania, there were no masks to be seen, anywhere. Katherine and I had been wearing ours since we got into the car at the hotel, but we were literally the only people doing so.  

While better than sitting at the gate, the lounge was pretty much a caricature of a third-world lounge.  There were women dressed in white smocks manning a long case, behind which they were small sandwiches in plastic wrapping.  There were large bowls of chips, nuts, cookies, etc., but you had to ask one of the ladies to scoop you some of whatever you wanted into a plastic cup.  Drinks were poured by yourself, into plastic cups from large communal two-liter bottles.  Certainly not the Ritz, and we elected to stick to coffee.  Our tablemates soon left, so at least we had a table to ourselves for the hour-or-so wait before our flight was called.  

Our Flight to Istanbul (in retro Tarom livery from the 1960's(

Our gate was literally at the base of the escalator outside the lounge, and we ended up at the very back of the boarding line.  Again, the flight was completely full.  When we flew this same route in the opposite direction on our arrival, we traveled with Turkish Airlines, and they served a warm three-course meal during the hour-long flight.  We got a bottle of water on this Tarom flight.  Again, not the Ritz.  

Departing Bucharest

As with our first flight through the new Istanbul airport, we taxied for what seemed like hours.  I had expected us to be able to go directly to the Turkish lounge upon arrival, as we had done during our first transit, but instead we ended up walking a very long way, following signs for Arrivals/Transit.  As we walked, we lost those people going to arrivals, and then lost people transiting to domestic flights inside Turkey.  We finally reached the International Transit area, and I was dismayed to see that we had to go through a full security screening.  The line was extremely long.  We had plenty of time, so I had no worries about that, but the thought of standing for so long was not appealing.  I also had flashbacks to the time we arrived in Istanbul with Anna, during our return from Israel and Jordan, and vividly recalled the very strong body odor among people in that line with us.  We reluctantly joined the queue, but then I thought to ask a man helping direct people to either end of the long line if there was a dedicated screening area for business class.  He very politely told us we were in the wrong line, and that we had to walk further down, to another area.  He helped us essentially swim upstream and exit the closed off area.  A couple minutes further down we saw a dedicated business class line which only had about 10 people in it.  Relieved, we scanned our boarding and got in the queue.  We soon realized there was one family of five ahead of us, who were transiting from a flight from Mali, headed on to Dubai.  Ahead of them was an Arab family of six or so, who were in various stages of undress waiting to load their bags and go through the metal detectors.  At first we watched in amusement as they were repeatedly sent back one-by-one, and made to carry their bags back through, to again go through the x-ray machine.  After a few minutes, though, we were not laughing.  These people were obviously very rich, but obviously clueless, entitled, or both. How they had gotten through screening at whatever airport from which they left, I have no idea.  They were pulling all kinds of things from their bags -- drinks, cosmetics, other liquids, laptops, etc.  Every time something was pulled, they would argue that they needed it.  I lost track of how many bottles of perfume the guard pulled and then poured into a huge container close to us in line.  You can imagine the cacophony of odors.  It was as if they had never traveled, but I'm sure that is not the case, as they were wearing very expensive clothes, their bags were all designer, and they were covered in jewelry.  As we watched in somewhat horror this transpire, a couple from Africa joined the line behind us.  They were trying to make a flight that left in less than 15 minutes.  We told them to go ahead of us, and the other group of Africans did the same.  The couple was then stuck directly behind the Arabs, who FINALLY cleared after at least 20 minutes of back and forth.  The African couple were literally pleading with the security agents to let them through. Once it was their turn, however, THEY TOO had to keep sending their bags back.  They each had water on them.  They each had liquids in their bags.  They each had metal they didn't remove before going through the machine.  They were desperate, but I lost all sympathy when I realized they had done nothing to help themselves.   They cleared, but we both doubt they made their flight.

Next up were the Africans from Mali.  After witnessing all that we too had seen, you would think they would breeze through.  WRONG.  They endured the same process.  Bags sent back repeatedly.  All kinds of items pulled from their bags and confiscated.  They all whined when their toothpaste was taken, claiming they could not get any more, etc. etc.  They even had perfume taken, and they had to have clearly seen what happened with the Arabs.  Katherine and I kept commenting to ourselves that all of these people had obviously flown in from somewhere else, and were simply transiting here, which meant that security at at least three airports was abysmal, and had let all of these items through.  It did not give me a warm-and-fuzzy feeling, but I did feel less annoyed by the fact that Turkey was making us go through screening again.  I'm happy to report that, as good travelers, Katherine and I know the drill well enough, we both got through screening on the first try and none of our bags were sent back.  The guards thanked us, and I thanked the supervisor, commending the patience of he and his team.