Staring at the bottle of whiskey as the border approached, contemplating whether to hand it over to the driver or just leave it, it occurred to me that I was just being ridiculous. It was only the slight shock and surprise of the odd encounter with the young Turkish man, who had fled on foot post-haste from the bus that had caused me suspicion. My fears eased as we pulled into border control.
Well I almost felt like this.
Filing off the bus I shuffled in line with the rest of the passengers. A rather small and sparsely-staffed checkpoint, I felt at ease. This was unlike the heavily-guarded U.S. and Europe border crossings that I had encountered. There was one old man, stodgily sitting in a small glassed enclosure glancing over passports and waving passengers on.
It was not until I handed him my passport that he bothered to look up and remark that I was American. This elicited some conversation between the border agent, the awaiting bus driver who leaned against the waiting room windows and the women behind me in line. I am uncertain what was said as it was in Turkish, but the old man’s impatience seemed to grow as my passport failed to scan.
Detailed report link: here