I'm in Dushanbe again...

August 25, 2009

Tuesday

Some people should never get a passport, be in public, or get married to men named Norm. Today, I went to the U.S. Embassy – here in Dushanbe – to get new passport pages added (Karachi, here I come!), but the waiting room was filled to its capacity with the nasty personality of a late 60-something woman, whom I shall call ‘Fran’. Anytime her husband opened his mouth, Fran would yell, “Norm, just stop, I can’t take it anymore.” When I first entered the waiting room, I heard they were discussing directions, looking at maps, and planning their trip around Dushanbe and over the border to Uzbekistan. I turned to them and asked, “do you need any directions?” The woman glared at me over her gigantic freak glasses and yelled NO.

Awhile later (it took over an hour and a half to add passport pages) I turned to Norm and asked, “are you trying to cross the border?” He started to answer in a kind and gentle voice when Fran jumped off her seat and started screaming, “I just can’t take it. Don’t say anything, don’t speak, just stop, I can’t take it.” There was another guy in the waiting room, a mechanic/engineer learning Farsi to later train Afghan pilots(?), who couldn’t even look at me (after we tried to start a conversation but were told to be quiet by Fran) because we were scared that Fran would spontaneously combust. At one point, the officer at the consular section asked them when they had arrived in Dushanbe, when Fran growled and screamed “It just doesn’t matter. Don’t answer, don’t say a word.” Norm quietly said, “but maybe it does matter?” Every sentence the poor man said for an hour was responded to with a cynical and exasperated comment – as if he had just committed the gravest sin by speaking.

The lovely couple were attempting to cross the border with temporary emergency passports. Apparently, though, their temp passports were full. However, in their temp passports they had their Tajik visas. Now, the rules say that you can’t add new pages to a temporary passport. However, you can keep your old temp passport to go along with the new temp passport so that you don’t lose any old visas. Fran, however, was insisting that the consular officer be “as accommodating as Kyrgyzstan” and contact the Tajik “embassy” to have a stamp put somewhere explaining something about something. The poor officer just kept saying “since we are in Tajikistan, the Tajik embassy doesn’t exist.” Fran would then yell that she knows that but she still wants the Tajik Ministry - if such was the equivalent of an embassy inside the actual country – to write something in her passport (for what reason nobody in the room knew).

They began to fill out the application pages, although Fran really believed she had to do this task for her husband. This might actually have been the case because he couldn’t spell Uzbekistan – or any of the other countries - by himself. She spelled each country name letter by letter.

This was the first time I was truly sorry to see Americans abroad, as we are all somehow ambassadors for our country when we meet people. I do not wish that such a woman could represent the U.S., let alone planet earth.


Being back in Dushanbe is unusual now. I have somewhat enjoyed the first full day back although there’s currently a dust storm – “Afghan dust air” as we call it. It really makes your chest hurt to breathe. Unfortunately, I was out and about today…to the embassy and to work. I also went out to lunch with Roshanak, who brought her mother. Her mom has come to visit from Iran, and when I arrived in Morningstar, her mom was by the front door. She was looking at me and I only assumed she was the waitress, so I said a small hello and walked right by. This was quite an embarrassment as she had come to greet me.
Tomorrow, they will have a dinner, and I’ve been invited, so perhaps my poor introductory greetings were not too bad.


The trip from JFK – leaving on Saturday and arriving in Dushanbe on Monday was really fun. On the way to Istanbul, I got stuck in a seat that had no working TV. A nine hour flight without any movies is NOT OK. I made a scene, but it got me nowhere with the airline staff. At first, they were like – wait 5 minutes, but that turned out to be an hour. I decided to take matters into my own hands. There were about 20 people without TVs. Somehow, they were surviving. But I was not OK. I needed to watch my sitcoms. I asked the women next to me in a row of 4 seats – 2 empty in the middle – if she was planning to watch TV or sleep. Since she said she would not sleep for a few hours, I planted myself next to her and started watching. Too bad for her, I decided to watch a bollywood flick that lasted forever and three hours more as the heroine fell in love with her fiance’s brother on the day of her wedding and then sang incessantly about loving the wrong man. As soon as the film ended, she said, “I want to lie down now.” I was forced to return to the disconnected row of seats…should I get compensation from the airline for such inconvenience?

In Istanbul, I was dreading the 9 hour lay over so I went to the transit desk and got in line. In front of me were two girls. At the counter were two people. Next, some Africans went straight to the counter – along with a group of Indians. I complained loudly that there was a line. The Africans debated with us for a minute about whether there was a line and then decided that there wasn’t one and purposefully and intentionally went before the girls and myself in front of our faces. I continued my complaining and said, “this is not OK. People can’t just cut lines like this intentionally and in your face, even after being told there’s a line.” One of the girls who had been cut just like myself, said, “well, when you live in certain countries, you get used to people disrespecting lines.” I turned to her and said, “I lived in Iran and I’m still not used to it.” Both girls were shocked and asked, “you lived in Iran?” They were Iranian (and I’m an idiot).
I finally got through the mass of line cutters and asked the Turkish air rep if I could get a hotel. She just said, “No hotel.” She then said I could get a meal voucher if I come back in two hours. Now, why would a meal voucher only be available two hours after I arrive? Is it so that I don’t ask for two meal vouchers within the lay over period?
I walked away ready to get a business class lounge so I could at least relax during the lay over, when I saw the Iranian girl was still hanging around. She said she had gotten a hotel. I was shocked, but then I just went to a different woman behind the counter and she said that there were hotels. I asked if it was free, but she admitted absolutely nothing and gave me a blank stare. WHY does Turkish air feel the need to keep it a secret whether there is a right for a passenger to get a hotel room – and for free? Is it because half the passengers currently in the airport would have the right to claim such a benefit? The girls, Fatemeh and Roshanak, were lovely and we wound up going to the hotel together and sharing some nice stories. They had both been on the flight from JFK and live half in the U.S. and half in Iran. Their stories concentrated on why an Iranian would potentially prefer living and studying in Iran or the U.S. One is choosing to do an MA in the US and the other in Iran. I just sat and listened and then joked with them that I was choosing third countries, although Iran would be lovely if I could go. Fatemeh, though, kept forgetting and would often refer to my life in Iran, as if I had been on my way to Iran just like them.

When we got back to the airport after the hotel, we took pictures and shared hugs. Airport friendships are so sweet! I then took a seat at the gate and busted out my Urdu cd. Sharaf (Mahmud’s cousin), without me looking, sneaked right up next to me and took a seat. What a surprise that he was on the same plane, but also what a blessing!

I kept studying so I was one of the last to get on the plane, and there were no spaces left for my bag. Right above my seat, there was a small purse taking up enough space for a suitcase. I asked the crew to ask the passengers to put small things under their seat. I got another typical Istanbul blank stare and I was forced to go to the back of the plane to store my bag in an overhead in the last rows. As the crew showed me an empty compartment, I said, but if I sit in the front and this bag is in the back, “how do I get off the plane?” another blank stare – and trust me – getting off first at Dushanbe is imperative. While I was having this conversation, the guy behind me put his bag in the empty space we were discussing. Ha ha. Life is funny. At least the stewardess perked up and said no to that guy’s stunt.

When we landed in Dushanbe, we waited in a passport check line that moved one person every 5 minutes. I waited an hour – and then found that my colleague who was supposed to pick me up was not there. Neither was one of my two checked bags. Mahmud’s cousin though, the Tajik gentlemen / family member that he was, waited for me and then drove me to my host family’s apartment. It wasn’t until we arrived at the apartment that my colleague called from the airport and asked where I was. If I only I could have called Him from the airport, but I had lost my phone at MACY’s a month ago – and with it my phonebook. At the airport, I presumed that since I hadn’t reminded him to pick me up, he hadn’t remembered. In fact, our plane was just earlier than I realized … or something. He drove to the host family and Mahmud came with the suitcases and back to my own apartment. I would have just taken a taxi myself to my own apartment in the first place, but my colleague had my house keys. Anyway, leaving on Saturday 4 pm – arriving Monday 4 am – getting to sleep at 6 am.

Stupidity lesson of the trip:
You cannot take three rolling suitcases with you at one time, unless your can sprout a third arm to roll all three at once.

I actually had to ask someone if I could borrow his arm.

I left the airport at 4:15 am after being told to go to Turkish airlines the next day at 10am to check for my missing bag. My colleague apparently also got to the airport at 4:15, but we never crossed paths.

The next morning at 11am, I went to the airline and spoke to the office manager. He looked at my slip and instantly said, “that bag is at the airport.” How did he know that so quickly – without even checking? I went to the airport in the hot afternoon and went to the luggage “storage” – not the lost luggage department. There I was forced to pay 9 somoni for having them “store my luggage for 24 hours.” This is absurd. It’s definitely not having to pay 9 somoni (2$), but I’m SURE that my bag was not on the belt when the plane landed. Do they take a certain number of bags and intentionally have them held behind for a day so that the luggage storage men can get a salary? It sounds absurd, but you never know…