Born to Border Run: Georgia to Turkey And Back In A Day For Low-Cost Meds

I was sailing right through the border checks until the Turkish guy asked about my visa.

I said I had been recently to Turkey and thought I still had one.

I didn’t.

He called his boss over, and I could sense he was asking what he should do with the American with no visa.

I was really hoping that I could get in without one since when I arrived in Turkey five months ago, no one bothered to ask me about the visa I’d paid $171US for.

Only a few days before this border run, however, I learned what I should have already realized. The visa is tied to the passport number in the immigration computers. I tried to get in without one, anyway, just to see what would happen.

The supervisor spoke English well enough and asked if I wanted to buy a new visa. I said OK, curious to find out how much it cost. He directed me to stand over to the side of the line.

Before I left on this border excursion, I looked up the online cost of a visa to enter Turkey and it ranged from $50 to $231 (US), which is why I didn’t buy one before the trip. Turns out that was a good decision. Now I’m happy to know that visas-on-arrival are available at least at this border crossing for a much cheaper price.

I was in.

I wasn’t making this border run for tourist reasons. I was on a mission to get medication, strictly legal kind.

Another immigration guy was summoned and appeared within five minutes to open a small office off to the side just for selling visas. Cash only, but an ATM was parked right next to the office. The visa here cost just 530 Turkish lira, or $30US, which he pointed out on a chart that he appeared pleased to show me.

Two years ago I was diagnosed with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD), a progressive lung condition, and since then have used an inhaler once a day for disease maintenance. I haven’t had any “exacerbations,” as they call recurring flare-ups in the medical business, so I didn’t want to take my chances on quitting the inhaler for any length of time.

I bought one in Istanbul when I was there so I was counting on the pharmacies in Hopa also having them. I couldn’t find them in either of the two biggest cities in Georgia, the capital, Tbilis, or the seaside resort of Batumi, where I currently reside.

From the border, I took a mashrutka (van) to Hopa, about 18 kilometers, for 10 lira, which at the current inflation rate is almost too small to calculate in U.S. dollars. OK, 74 cents, (U.S.) for the ride, if you really want to rub it in for the Turks.

Not knowing where to get off, I rode the mashrutka to the last stop at the far end of town.

Hopa’s a rather drab place as a seaside resort in the off-season, and it was a cloudy day adding to its melancholy feel.

A chill wind blew stiffly through the streets toward the sea as I started walking back through the city in the direction I came from, searching for pharmacies. Crowds of dark-clad men sat outside cafes quietly playing backgammon, smoking cigarettes and drinking chai.

I scored an inhaler early at the first pharmacy I found. Either they only had one, or they only wanted to sell me one, regardless, I walked out with one of what I had come to buy.

Still unsure of the exchange rate, at 210 lira I was pretty confident my Hopa trip was going to pay off if I could get a few more at this rate.

I kept walking through the business heart of Hopa, which was just a few blocks wide between the rocky Black Sea beach and the mountains rising quickly behind it.

I walked until I thought I’d run out of business district when I saw the familiar big square “E” sign for Eczanesi, Turkish for pharmacy, which all pharmacies in Turkey are required to have. And there were two of them down that street.

They’d sell me two inhalers at the first shop. The only snag was that I needed to wait until they were delivered from the warehouse, which gave me four hours to kill. But the cost was the same, and I could feel my savings piling up. What else did I have to do?

I hit the next shop like a Halloweener and picked up one more. Again, the same price.

With two in the bag and two more on the way, I was looking at a good haul.

I walked around the beachfront for awhile then went looking for lunch while waiting for the warehouse to deliver. I found a delicious Turkish meal– tender beef and beans, large, fresh green salad, a plate of pickled vegetables, bread, chai and turkish coffee to top it off for a total of 50 lira ($3.61 US).

I picked up wifi in the restaurant and found that my inhalers were costing less than $16US each, thank you Turk President Erdogan, and my sympathies to the Turkish people.

Earlier in the year, before the economy blew up in Turkey, I paid $25US for them in Istanbul. In Greece, a friend bought two for me at $50US each, which I’ll pick up on a swing to the lovely Greek island of Crete next month and I’ll have six months worth of medication for the road to come.

Just for fun, here’s a cost comparison with the American health care system. When I was last there in 2020, I received drug store quotes ranging from 250 to 500 U.S. dollars — true! — just for one, because I’m not enrolled in the Medicare program beyond the free Part A, because it’s crazy to pay to enroll when I’m rarely in the U.S. and the plans don’t cover anything that happens to me outside the U.S.

So don’t get me started on U.S. health care for nomads. We’ll do that another day.

But Turkey is an extraordinarily inexpensive country to be in right now, though it’s sad that its people are taking the brunt of the government’s economic mismanagement.

I had read reports of neighboring Georgians making the cross-border trip to stock up on groceries, household goods, clothing and other staples because of the savings, and I saw them myself loaded with shopping bags, lumbering along in the immigration lines, on the return trip to Batumi.

Bulgarians close to the border in western Turkey reportedly are doing the same.

I stopped for another coffee and dessert and to review my notes on the trip before making my way back to the pharmacy that summoned my inhalers from the warehouse. They had arrived, but my plan hit a snag when I tried to pay.

My trusty Chase United Explorer card failed at the cafe. I thought it was something to do with the cafe so I pulled out a Turkish bill that I was glad to get rid of and paid cash, putting the card back in my wallet.

At the pharmacy, I grew a little more concerned when the same card failed again. Then my backup HawaiianMiles card failed, then my last-ditch Schwab debit card also failed.

What the … ? 

But the pharmacy clerk was kind enough to take me next door to the optics shop where my Chase card was accepted without a problem. Who knows how these things happen? The trick is to just stay calm until it works out. 

All told on the day, I purchased four inhalers at less than $16US each, plus a $30US Turkish visa good for 90 days in case I want to return for more.

I think I will.

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(Note: There’s another reason I need to go back, which is an embarrassing and shameful story personally, but in a way also humorous. I’m posting that story in the subscriber’s newsletter, where I publish additional tales, insights, information and photos about my travels that are exclusively for subscribers to the Real On The Road blog. So don’t forget to subscribe if you enjoy reading this. There’s no cost, and you get first notice via email whenever I post something new. Just fill out the easy form in the right-hand column on this page or by using the pull-down menu above. Thanks for being a part of my journey. Travel well. –DHB)