Workey Turkey

Oh Margey

You came and you found me a turkey

On my vacation away from workey.

That's a song that Homer sings to Marge when she visits him on a work trip. Homer from the Simpsons, rather than the one who did the Iliad and the Odyssey. 

Conversely, I'm on holiday in Turkey. We flew from Gatwick, even though I had a sort of morbid curiosity to experience the roller coaster that is T5. We flew to Dalaman Airport. The difference in working culture is evident when you arrive at the airport.

Gatwick was insane with kids running around stuffing their faces with sweets, massive queues, everyone having to take their shoes off to go through security, holiday makers stocking up on duty free cigarettes and booze, motorized carts bumbling past....

Dalaman was like a ghost town/airport. We were the only flight to have arrived in the last hour or so. Everyone queued to get their visa (£10 per person, valid for 90 days), then queued to get through passport control. The staff were so laid back, they didn't even look at my picture, they chatted casually to each other and stamped my visa without even glancing at it. I was a bit disappointed by that, as I wanted them to see my surname, which is Turkish, and to erupt into welcomes. 

Then we sauntered out to get our luggage. We waited all of 3 minutes before my massive pink suitcase appeared. Then strolled through the almost empty airport to find our transfer man waiting for us. I was pleased with that part, as he had my name on a board, and I've always wanted my name on a board waiting for me at the airport.

In general I think I prefer the Turkish way, to the manic and miserable British style of airport management.