My New Neighbours in Quarantine

Checking in to Fly

The biggest stress about travelling from the U.K. to Turkey during the travel ban, had been making sure the timing of my Covid test worked out. But now that I had my Covid results in my pocket, I was feeling pretty relaxed about the flight via Paris and quarantine in Istanbul.

Arriving at Heathrow’s Terminal 2, was like the aftermath of Armageddon. I’d missed the memo about the end of the world, and I was going to have to learn how to kick start a jumbo jet to fly myself out of here. I’ve never seen an airport so empty. I got there at the beginning of check in for the Paris flight, and there was only a couple of people ahead of me. I was called forward and had to squeeze myself past a family of 6 and piles of suitcases. I handed over my passport and waited.

The family next to me were having issues with the details on their Covid test, because there wasn’t a time on their test results. I was feeling a little smug about having my Covid results, dated and timed. Until… “I’m sorry you’re not legally allowed to fly.”

“I am. I have Turkish Residency.”

As I wrestled my residency card out of my bag, the check-in clerk started reading the restrictions from his screen. “…. only people on a repatriation flight arranged by the consulate, are allowed to fly into Turkey”.

I knew I was allowed to fly, because others had done it, and the Turkey and gov.co.uk website both showed that I could. I had no idea why his information was different, and so he called somebody to check. The person on the end of the phone agreed with him. I wasn’t allowed to fly.

I fought a rising feeling of panic. I felt sick. I wanted to shout or cry, call him an idiot. But instead I just calmly asked him to check again. The same website said the same thing. I asked him to check with somebody else, because I knew I was allowed to fly. He called someone else.

I can’t fly direct to Turkey unless it’s a repatriation flight, but I can fly via another country. That’s when he realised he’d been looking at the wrong restrictions. And I got the thumbs up to check-in. I bit my tongue. No value it telling him, I told you so.

Know Your Rights

If I’d been unsure of the restrictions, I could easily have accepted being turned away. So if you’re flying to Turkey (or any country for that matter) make sure you know your rights—better still, print out the current restrictions so you can show the people at check in.

This was the most disconcerting 15 minutes of any roving adventure I’ve had. Ever. Being told you can’t fly, when you really have to get to a destination. Your freedom of choice is limited. You’ve lost your human rights. Your civil liberties are under threat. It was a feeling of powerlessness, and my stomach felt like it was churning butter.

In all the fuss, I walked away with boarding card, an he didn’t ask to see my negative Covid test results. All that hassle to get the timing right, and he didn’t even check them. According to the Air France website, they require a negative Covid test valid within 72 hours to enter their country. Obviously, they’re not that bothered.

I couldn’t get through security quick enough, and thanks to the lack of queues, there was nothing standing in my way.

No trouble social distancing while I waited for my flight in the departure lounge either.

I did snap a few photos and then used them as subjects to paint on Day 4 of Quarantine.

U.K. to Paris Flight

Air France sprayed your hands when you boarded, and gave you a medical grade mask to put on. They gave us a passenger locator form to fill in, which they collected before we landed.

I’d read that in-transit passengers at Frankfurt were herded off into an isolated room so you couldn’t mingle in the airport. But at CDG is was a free-for all. No restrictions about where we could go. Still no checking Covid results, and not one temperature taken. There was a few hours until my flight and only a Pret a Manger open. I treated myself to a last supper of salt and vinegar crisps and a lemon cheesecake. Probably my last treat for 10 days, so every bite was savoured.

Paris to Istanbul Flight

I recognised a lot of the same passengers from my previous flight lining up to board this one. Quarantine was going to be busy. Before we could board, we had our temperatures taken, and Covid results checked. Finally—the test wasn’t a complete waste of money. We weren’t sprayed on this flight, and no masks were given out. Obviously they only care about infection of inbound passengers, when you’re leaving, you’re somebody else’s problem.

All that nervous energy had tired me out, but I couldn’t sleep. Our flight got in early, 3:45am. An announcement said that all passengers originating from the U.K. should look out for ground staff to arrange quarantine. But when I got off the plane I kept looking out for them on the way to the immigration hall, but didn’t see anyone. I wasn’t sure what to do, and it was too far to walk back to the plane to ask. So I just headed through Immigration. On previous visits I’ve stood in this line for over three hours to enter Turkey, so to be able to breeze to the front within minutes was a gift.

Diplomatic Immunity?

I gave the immigration officer my passport and residency card and I told him I’d come from the U.K. He asked for my boarding card, then got on the phone. I couldn’t understand what he said… but it was probably something like “we have a British leper trying to escape… come and grab her”. He told me to wait by the wall, and 20 minutes later, two polis came to escort me to a table 50m away. I could have escorted myself there within 20 seconds, and it would have taken less manpower.

The table was a hub of activity. There were about 20-25 people huddled around the table, many of them talking loudly (#shouting) in Turkish, fighting their case against quarantine. In the middle of the table was a pile of passports and boarding cards, and passenger locator forms. Polis were using their phones to take photos of the passports, and two ground-staff were multi-tasking discussions, batting off the barrage of questions and complaints. There was only one other British person there, who was also joining in the fray. Claiming diplomatic immunity because of her job as a diplomatic service officer—her consulate car was waiting outside and she wasn’t happy about being delayed.

It was chaotic, so I figured I’d just wait my turn (how British!), until the decibel level receded. I was absorbed in the people-watching, and suddenly a polis man pointed at me, passport in hand, and said “you. it’s ok. it’s ok. come with me.” I dutifully trotted after him. Quite smug that I was escaping, and looked like I was on my way out of here. Quarantine, be damned. I could smell freedom.

He led me to an immigration hall a little further away, and towards another polis man to walk me through immigration. As he handed me off, I noticed that the passport he gave him was blue. Mine is burgundy.

“That’s not my passport. Not mine.”

They opened it and looked at me. Looked at the passport photo. Looked at me. They looked at each other. I peered over and saw that it was the diplomat’s passport. Could I make a run for it? Maybe us British girls all look the same? Had I just got a new identity? Jason Bourne eat your heart out! Instead I was led back to the table, and the diplomat was freed.

Quarantine at Home?

The number of people at the table began too thin out, as small groups were led out towards immigration. The ground staff didn’t speak much English, and I tried to find out what was going on. Out of nowhere a fellow passenger started telling me that I didn’t have to quarantine here, I had the option of quarantining at home, I just had to fill a form out, and he said he’d help me because it was all in Turkish.

By now it was 5am, and I rummaged through the passports to find mine, so I could fill in my passport information, then dug in the pile to find my boarding card. There was some extra bits the passenger helped me with, and we handed the form over so I could quarantine at home. The ground staff took one look at it, and said “not possible”. Put the form in a pile and turned away. That’s when I looked down for my passport and it wasn’t there anymore. I panicked. “Where the F**K is my passport. It was HERE. WHERE is it …. what the F**K!”

Suddenly I had everyone’s attention and we went through every passport looking for mine. It should have stood out, because there weren’t many other burgundy passports left on the table. I was beside myself. Usually I’m the calm one (I am Libra after all), but I had visions of somebody else clearing customs, joyful they’d suddenly been grated British Citizenship.

I was close to tears. This couldn’t be happening. Then the passenger who’d been helping said “have you checked your pockets?”

“Why would I. It was here. On the table. I saw it.”

“Lady, check your pockets.” said the polis man closest to me.

I knew it wasn’t there, but I wanted to appease them, and I reached into my pocket, ready to spit “see!” into both of their faces… but then I felt my passport…. humble pie time … “sorry, sorry, sorry. I’m so sorry…” In my defense. I was tired and fed up by this point.

I’d had three chances of freedom, and failed at each of them. And resigned myself to quarantine in Istanbul. They told me it would be about 2 hours until the transport arrived, and asked me to sit down with the rest of the group, but there weren’t any spare chairs so I lay on the floor and closed my eyes.

At 7am they came to collect me, and by that time there were only 4 other Turkish nationals and me in the group. A family of three, and the guy with good English who’d helped me with the form. We were escorted through customs and out to a waiting van. It took an hour to reach our accommodation, and by the time we arrived at 8am, it was pouring down with rain.

The driver took our passports into the building, and came out with a man from the accommodation who asked for our phone numbers. We were driven round to Block D, and ran through the rain to the front door, and were greeted by another polis man and the guy who checked us in.

It was an ominous start to my ten days quarantine. I was ushered into the lift and told to go to the 12th floor and go to my room 1221. Everyone else waved me off.

I found my room easily, but when I got there it was locked, and I wasn’t sure what I was meant to do.

A few minutes later, the family of three arrived on the 12th floor too. We were going to be neighbours. We waited for our rooms to be unlocked, were given a pillow case of goodies.

Let the adventure begin.

Disclaimer: I’m not really looking forward to quarantine, but I’m so grateful that the borders are open and I’m able to travel to Turkey. So if all it takes is 10 days of my life in solitary confinement, then I’m happy to comply. Lots of other countries are making travellers pay for hotel accommodation, and Turkey is providing quarantine free of charge. It’s a necessary step to stop the spread, and if you have to quarantine, bite the bullet and do your time.

Read More about my Quarantine adventures