I can't believe how long it's been since I last posted! Usually, when I'm particularly miserable or burning with indignation about something, the first thing I want to do is write about it. It says something then for the depths of my despair over the past week or so that I haven't even thought about my blog.
Last week was really horrible... it felt a bit like waiting on death row for my execution date (not that I am comparing my not going on holiday to an execution - well, not literally, anyway - I'm sure executions don't induce raging jealousy). As each day dawned and then drew to a close, it just brought me closer to the time I would have to bid everyone farewell. I alternated between abject misery where I'd start crying at random on the train home to unparalelled fury that they were actually abandoning me and making the trip - almost like I'd expected a last minute reprieve, in the form of my beloved friends falling at my feet crying, Lopz - we can't do it; we can't go without you - we're all staying!!! I know that I said it was fine for them to go, and I know they went cos they had very little choice if they ever wanted to take advantage of this offer - and anyway, even if I'd performed like seal in an aquarium, they still would have gone..... missing a once in a lifetime opportunity just to appease me was never on the cards. So when I looked at the situation as a realist, I could understand and agree with their actions. When I looked at it as a saint (a position to which I have recently elevated myself, being the selfless martyr that I am), I could rise above it all and tell myself that my graceful (ha ha - ok, often graceless) sacrifice would make them appreciate me so much more in the long run. But when I looked at it as a human being, I so much wanted them to say that they wouldn't go without me, no matter how I tried to convince them.
Thursday was probably the worst day. They were getting ready to pack, and our good friend G had just arrived from CT, as he's come over for a couple of years and co-incided his timing so he could make Turkey, so I knew everyone would be in high spirits. I dragged my feet walking back from the station - I didn't want to get to the house because I knew I was going to feel as left out as an odd sock in a washing machine. As soon as I walked in the door, I greeted G and when I saw the guys drinking beers, immediately requested a vodka. And an idea mushroomed - let's all get pissed, and perhaps we can even have a fun evening! By my second drink I was cruising; I had it all under control. I was even joking with Shoes about how he hasn't packed for himself in 7 years, and I was going to have to help him to make sure he remembered everything. I was on my third vodka when it hit me - a wave of crushing despair that they were really leaving to go on holiday; that they were really leaving me behind; that I was going to miss my boyfriend's birthday and that this was the longest we would be apart since we met. I would have cried at some point anyway, but the floodgates really opened this time. I went to go hide in my room in a pathetic attempt to fool everyone that I was ok, and balled my eyes out for a good half an hour. I felt quite silly about crying so much - it's not like anyone had died - but I couldn't stop. Scarves came in to talk to me eventually - shame I felt a bit bad at that point, because up until then, everyone had been walking on eggshells around me, speaking about the trip in hushed tones and trying not to show any excitement. They were very considerate the whole time, for which I am grateful. I didn't threaten them with pain of death to make them be that way, they just were - and I was calm and cool about it as well. All very civilised. But when Scarves came in to speak to me, I think it was the first time we'd actually spoken about the whole debacle properly since I found out in February.... prior to that I think I was operating on the Ostrich Principle: if I stick my head in the sand maybe it will all just go away. It couldn't be ignored that night though, but finally I managed to stem the flow of tears long enough to help Mark pack. He kept me supplied with a steady flow of vodka all the while, and I soon able to be merry again - then it was just a struggle to get me to stop drinking vodka long enough to drink the tea I'd asked for.
It was surprisingly easier to say goodbye to Scarves and Eyes the next morning. The worst seemed to be over. Shoes and G came into town to meet me for lunch, and I said goodbye without any major displays of emotion, eg holding onto pant leg and demanding he take me with him. And when I got home that night to an empty house, I was also ok - just a little tearful when I read the sweet letter Scarves had left me. Mello was due to arrive the next day to come and stay and keep me company while they were gone, but I'd told her I would probably want to be alone of Friday night. And for most of the night, I was fine. But I suppose being abandoned, like grieving, has specific stages. I had gotten through Denial. I had passed Despair. I was now standing on the cusp of out and out Rage, looking down at a precipice filled with Hatred and Jealousy. And I jumped. Suffice it to say that the next three days were dominated with scenes of the untimely demises of my friends - each more violent than the last; and plans of brutal self-harm that would make them come back and see what they had reduced me to with their inconsiderate actions. In my fantasies, they would then be so ashamed of their callousness that they would spend the rest of their lives trying to make it up to me, in ways too many and glorious to get into here. The rage and, I must say, total disdain I felt for all of them was only broken whenever Shoes phoned to tell me how much he missed me, and how he was so upset that I couldn't be there - which reduced me to tears all over again.
Finally, after a mostly boring long weekend during which each hour seemed to take the time of three, I came back to work yesterday and it was the first day I felt like myself again. Pass Rage - collect £200! As soon as I woke up, I knew the worst was over. I was still a bit daunted by the fact that I wasn't even halfway through the time frame yet - as much as I'm over crying over them or planning their deaths, I still miss them on a reasonable level, and want them to come home, especially Shoes. But I felt like a whole person rather than the shell of a tormented one. My colleague S says that by the time they get back, I'm going to be so independent and self-fulfilled that I'll want them to go back to Turkey!
So now I can look forward with genuine anticipation to the rest of my week. Tomorrow I'm going for a long overdue dinner and drinks with my cousins, and Saturday night is Girls Night Out at G-A-Y, followed by some retail therapy at the new Primark in Oxford Street on Sunday - not that I need any more of that; I shop most when I'm miserable so Ebay has been taking quite a beating recently. At least I'll have plenty of new outfits to show for my 10 days in isolation! It feels good to feel like an adult in control of a situation again, rather than a three year old throwing a permanent temper tantrum. However, and guys if you're reading, please take note - this is the first and last time you have a group holiday without me - next time I'll burn your passports!
Showing posts with label saga. Show all posts
Showing posts with label saga. Show all posts
Wednesday, 9 May 2007
Tuesday, 1 May 2007
The Turkey Tale
Finally, it is time to talk about Turkey, the white elephant that has been obnxiously impeding my life without apology for the last two months. Shoes and my circle of close friends, including housemates, are off to Kalkan on Friday - a village in the southern mediterranean region of Turkey, which abounds in picturesque white beaches, azure blue oceans and apparently more restaurants and bottle stores than in the rest of the country put together, just for some icing on that grandeous cake. They will be staying for 10 days in a luxury villa that sleeps 12 people, with a pool right out of a Hilton Hotel catalogue and views that would wind even a born and bred Capetonion (you know how maniacal we are about the beauty of our city).
I will be staying in London, which from my current viewpoint looks boring, ugly, lifeless and about as full of opportunities as a squatter camp. This is my story of how and why this came to be, and how I am appealing to any of you in London and reading this to save me from my three year old self (jealous, petty, raging and on the brink of a violent temper tantrum) with as much distraction as possible over the next 2 weeks.....
Neutrino, who in addition to moonlighting as an aspiring DJ, is also a personal trainer (and he's single ladies, e-mail me for a number) and sometime in the beginning of the year, he signed up a client who just happened to own said luxury villa in Turkey. After some discussion, it emerged that Lady Villa was looking for someone to update her website on which she advertised its alluring qualities. Neutrino happily volunteered himself and OJ for the job, and in exchange, Lady Villa offered them 10 days free stay as remuneration. Needless to say, they leapt at the chance, and promptly invited all of us to come along for the holiday of a lifetime. We were excited, but it was a while to go yet, and Shoes and I had a trip to Amsterdam coming up with Mini-Me and G, so I decided to deal with my passport on return from that visit. I'd been aware that my passport was expiring in September 2007, but had also been told (incorrectly of course) by SA Home Affairs before coming to the UK that once you apply for your new passport, you can't travel on your old one, and you have to wait for your new one to arrive.... hence my decision to wait until I got back from Amsterdam to sort it out. In hindsight, I almost deserve my fate for being imbecile enough to listen to a word from Home Affairs, but you want to at least think that the people who run these things know what they're talking about... anyway.
We got back from Amsterdam and in early February I started getting my papers together to go and apply for my new passport. It was 4 months til we planned to leave for Turkey. I had to wait for my dad to send my ID book up from CT, but I wasn't worried.....by this stage I had uncovered the eishness of the HA guy, and knew I was able to travel on my old passport while my new one was being processed. I planned to apply for my new passport and still travel to Turkey on my old one, and then by the time I came back from Turkey, my new passport would have arrived and I could use it for any further travel in the summer of 2007. I knew from my previous travels in Europe that Schengen countries require you to have a minimum of 3 months validity left on your passport from the date you enter their borders. First major mistake: we all thought Turkey was part of the EU. It first came to light sometime in February while I was waiting for my ID that Turkey was in fact only in talks to join the EU, and currently had its own set of immigration rules. An alarm went off somewhere deep inside my head at this point, but still, I was not panicking - I had no reason to think Turkey would be different to Schengen countries, right? The first time I felt a real sinking sensation that all may not be well was the day Eyes revealed his discovery: according to info online, Turkey requires all visitors to have a minimum of 6 months left on the passports when arriving in the country. At first I thought he must be mistaken... in my head it didn't add up that this might prevent me from going. So I did the research myself, and confirmed what he had seen - you have to have 6 months. On the day that we entered, I would have 4 months and 25 days. While all my radars were flashing red and blue warning lights and my stomach was for the first time tightening with dread, I still didn't believe at this point that it was all over for me. No matter, I thought, I will just make sure I get my new passport in time. So off I went to the SA Embassy to pick up my fingerprint form, and I chanced a word with the helpdesk guy, just so I could confirm my plans. He informed me, rather coldly I thought (or maybe it was the cold sweat that broke out at his words) that new SA passports take 3 - 4 months from the date of application to arrive back in the UK, and I first had to make an appointment by phone to get that application handed in. With a rising sense of panic, I asked him if temporary passports were quicker. He informed me that the British government was no longer allowing South African citizens to travel on temporary passports unless they were dual SA/UK citizens, as fraud and corruption in our country's Home Affairs office made these documents worthless and, more often than not, falsified. He let me know in no uncertain terms that my only chance was to get my new passport before I left for Turkey. I asked if there was any way this would happen, and he looked at me like I'm just asked him to lick my feet.
So I embarked on a week-long frantic attempt to find a way over, under, around or through the obstacle set so obstinately before me. In the beginning, I really thought I would do it. I phoned the Turkish embassy, I phoned the South African embassy, I googled fast tracking passport applications, I harrassed people about temporary passports and travel documents and I got my parents to try and apply for my passport from CT to make it happen quicker (no dice - it has to be done in person). The only thing I didn't do was go to the Turkish Embassy and get down on my knees and beg, and then only because I know from previous experience, you are only allowed into an embassy with a letter of appointment, which I didn't have as I of course had not applied for my visa. When I phoned the SA Embassy that week to make an appointment to apply for a new passport and got the earliest available date of 3rd April, I knew the game was up. There was no way, even with a miracle, that I would get my passport inside of a month.... even if God had wanted to help me, I doubt even He could have found his way through the nuclear wasteland that is Home Affairs. Being African, I knew that a well placed bribe would have got me sorted out one time, but I didn't know who to bribe, and felt that asking my parents to fly up to Pretoria to find an acceptably corrupt official was perhaps crossing the line a little bit.
So I had to come to terms with my fate. Signed, sealed, delivered - take that, you third world country citizen, ye of worthless passport and corrupt government officials. And after some infrequent moments of murderous rage (mental image of boyfriend and housemates relaxing on a beach while I struggle through the crowds in a tube) and devastating misery (being away from boyfriend for 10 days - the longest we will have been apart in 7 years, AND missing his birthday), I came to terms with it, and it faded into the background of daily life.
Up until 2 weeks ago, when the white elephant raised its trunk to taunt me again - this time in the form of Eyes and Scarves and their last minute master plan. They decided I should accompany them to their visa appointment and have a chat with (read shamelessly beguile) the officials there about granting me a visa. I almost feel for it - after all, what could it hurt? The worst they could do was say no, which was nothing new. But at the last minute, I pulled out, and I have good reason. Even if I had managed to coerce one of these nice Turkish men to give me a visa by way of dimples and cleavage (not a very real prospect in the first place, as jobs are most probably on the line for international immigration law breaking), I would then be walking across a border into a foreign country, incorrect travel documents in hand, and have to charm the airport officials (only the most sullen and uncompassionate human beings in the world) into letting me through. When they turned me away, as would inevitably happen, I would have wasted £50 on a visa and £250 on a plane ticket, and have to suffer the humiliation and utter despair at watching my friends walking through for 10 days of sand and sun while I was deported back to dreary England, probably never to return (they are pretty anti second chances in Europe).
So, I am staying; they are going, and I am alternately resigned to my fate one minute, and horribly, speechlessly miserable the next. I will save the rest of this paragraph for when they're actually gone though, as although I am going to try and get through this as a person I like and respect, I'm sure there will be moments I will be anything but; and there's no better way to let off steam like that than on a blog - it certainly must be a relief to my friends that they won't then have to hear me go on about it for 10 days. After all, when you get tired of reading a blog, you can just close the web page.......
Have to add a post script here though: Shoes wanted to stay. He was all set to stay, and didn't for one second contemplate going without me - but I persuaded him to go, and oddly enough, I really meant it - not in that way where women go: no, it's fine, you can go, but their tone of voice suggests mass murder if you do. It's an amazing opportunity, I've seen more of the world than he has (10 countries to his 2) and I would have wanted him to do the same for me. Yeah, when I call in that favour, it's gonna be the size of King Kong!
I will be staying in London, which from my current viewpoint looks boring, ugly, lifeless and about as full of opportunities as a squatter camp. This is my story of how and why this came to be, and how I am appealing to any of you in London and reading this to save me from my three year old self (jealous, petty, raging and on the brink of a violent temper tantrum) with as much distraction as possible over the next 2 weeks.....
Neutrino, who in addition to moonlighting as an aspiring DJ, is also a personal trainer (and he's single ladies, e-mail me for a number) and sometime in the beginning of the year, he signed up a client who just happened to own said luxury villa in Turkey. After some discussion, it emerged that Lady Villa was looking for someone to update her website on which she advertised its alluring qualities. Neutrino happily volunteered himself and OJ for the job, and in exchange, Lady Villa offered them 10 days free stay as remuneration. Needless to say, they leapt at the chance, and promptly invited all of us to come along for the holiday of a lifetime. We were excited, but it was a while to go yet, and Shoes and I had a trip to Amsterdam coming up with Mini-Me and G, so I decided to deal with my passport on return from that visit. I'd been aware that my passport was expiring in September 2007, but had also been told (incorrectly of course) by SA Home Affairs before coming to the UK that once you apply for your new passport, you can't travel on your old one, and you have to wait for your new one to arrive.... hence my decision to wait until I got back from Amsterdam to sort it out. In hindsight, I almost deserve my fate for being imbecile enough to listen to a word from Home Affairs, but you want to at least think that the people who run these things know what they're talking about... anyway.
We got back from Amsterdam and in early February I started getting my papers together to go and apply for my new passport. It was 4 months til we planned to leave for Turkey. I had to wait for my dad to send my ID book up from CT, but I wasn't worried.....by this stage I had uncovered the eishness of the HA guy, and knew I was able to travel on my old passport while my new one was being processed. I planned to apply for my new passport and still travel to Turkey on my old one, and then by the time I came back from Turkey, my new passport would have arrived and I could use it for any further travel in the summer of 2007. I knew from my previous travels in Europe that Schengen countries require you to have a minimum of 3 months validity left on your passport from the date you enter their borders. First major mistake: we all thought Turkey was part of the EU. It first came to light sometime in February while I was waiting for my ID that Turkey was in fact only in talks to join the EU, and currently had its own set of immigration rules. An alarm went off somewhere deep inside my head at this point, but still, I was not panicking - I had no reason to think Turkey would be different to Schengen countries, right? The first time I felt a real sinking sensation that all may not be well was the day Eyes revealed his discovery: according to info online, Turkey requires all visitors to have a minimum of 6 months left on the passports when arriving in the country. At first I thought he must be mistaken... in my head it didn't add up that this might prevent me from going. So I did the research myself, and confirmed what he had seen - you have to have 6 months. On the day that we entered, I would have 4 months and 25 days. While all my radars were flashing red and blue warning lights and my stomach was for the first time tightening with dread, I still didn't believe at this point that it was all over for me. No matter, I thought, I will just make sure I get my new passport in time. So off I went to the SA Embassy to pick up my fingerprint form, and I chanced a word with the helpdesk guy, just so I could confirm my plans. He informed me, rather coldly I thought (or maybe it was the cold sweat that broke out at his words) that new SA passports take 3 - 4 months from the date of application to arrive back in the UK, and I first had to make an appointment by phone to get that application handed in. With a rising sense of panic, I asked him if temporary passports were quicker. He informed me that the British government was no longer allowing South African citizens to travel on temporary passports unless they were dual SA/UK citizens, as fraud and corruption in our country's Home Affairs office made these documents worthless and, more often than not, falsified. He let me know in no uncertain terms that my only chance was to get my new passport before I left for Turkey. I asked if there was any way this would happen, and he looked at me like I'm just asked him to lick my feet.
So I embarked on a week-long frantic attempt to find a way over, under, around or through the obstacle set so obstinately before me. In the beginning, I really thought I would do it. I phoned the Turkish embassy, I phoned the South African embassy, I googled fast tracking passport applications, I harrassed people about temporary passports and travel documents and I got my parents to try and apply for my passport from CT to make it happen quicker (no dice - it has to be done in person). The only thing I didn't do was go to the Turkish Embassy and get down on my knees and beg, and then only because I know from previous experience, you are only allowed into an embassy with a letter of appointment, which I didn't have as I of course had not applied for my visa. When I phoned the SA Embassy that week to make an appointment to apply for a new passport and got the earliest available date of 3rd April, I knew the game was up. There was no way, even with a miracle, that I would get my passport inside of a month.... even if God had wanted to help me, I doubt even He could have found his way through the nuclear wasteland that is Home Affairs. Being African, I knew that a well placed bribe would have got me sorted out one time, but I didn't know who to bribe, and felt that asking my parents to fly up to Pretoria to find an acceptably corrupt official was perhaps crossing the line a little bit.
So I had to come to terms with my fate. Signed, sealed, delivered - take that, you third world country citizen, ye of worthless passport and corrupt government officials. And after some infrequent moments of murderous rage (mental image of boyfriend and housemates relaxing on a beach while I struggle through the crowds in a tube) and devastating misery (being away from boyfriend for 10 days - the longest we will have been apart in 7 years, AND missing his birthday), I came to terms with it, and it faded into the background of daily life.
Up until 2 weeks ago, when the white elephant raised its trunk to taunt me again - this time in the form of Eyes and Scarves and their last minute master plan. They decided I should accompany them to their visa appointment and have a chat with (read shamelessly beguile) the officials there about granting me a visa. I almost feel for it - after all, what could it hurt? The worst they could do was say no, which was nothing new. But at the last minute, I pulled out, and I have good reason. Even if I had managed to coerce one of these nice Turkish men to give me a visa by way of dimples and cleavage (not a very real prospect in the first place, as jobs are most probably on the line for international immigration law breaking), I would then be walking across a border into a foreign country, incorrect travel documents in hand, and have to charm the airport officials (only the most sullen and uncompassionate human beings in the world) into letting me through. When they turned me away, as would inevitably happen, I would have wasted £50 on a visa and £250 on a plane ticket, and have to suffer the humiliation and utter despair at watching my friends walking through for 10 days of sand and sun while I was deported back to dreary England, probably never to return (they are pretty anti second chances in Europe).
So, I am staying; they are going, and I am alternately resigned to my fate one minute, and horribly, speechlessly miserable the next. I will save the rest of this paragraph for when they're actually gone though, as although I am going to try and get through this as a person I like and respect, I'm sure there will be moments I will be anything but; and there's no better way to let off steam like that than on a blog - it certainly must be a relief to my friends that they won't then have to hear me go on about it for 10 days. After all, when you get tired of reading a blog, you can just close the web page.......
Have to add a post script here though: Shoes wanted to stay. He was all set to stay, and didn't for one second contemplate going without me - but I persuaded him to go, and oddly enough, I really meant it - not in that way where women go: no, it's fine, you can go, but their tone of voice suggests mass murder if you do. It's an amazing opportunity, I've seen more of the world than he has (10 countries to his 2) and I would have wanted him to do the same for me. Yeah, when I call in that favour, it's gonna be the size of King Kong!
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