Lost My Hat On the Way Back To Balat

I’m back in Balat, my favorite neighborhood in Istanbul, biding time and getting some work done in advance of the Rolf Potts Travel Writing Workshop I’m attending July 30-Aug. 4 in Paris.

The Flixbus trip from Sofia, Bulgaria, to here was eventful.

You may have seen my hat in photos over the past year since I acquired it from a Parisian street vendor last July when I was there. But that hat’s gone now. It never made it to Istanbul.

I remember getting information about U.S. citizens not needing a visa to visit Turkey. There was a British government post stating cIearly that residents of certain other countries weren’t required to have visas to enter Turkey. Maybe I should have checked which ones. Duh!

But I’d just spent several months in Albania and Bulgaria and I didn’t need visas there.

I was also wondering about European Schengen rules, however, and called United Airlines.

I booked with UA for my flight from Istanbul to Paris later this month, and wondered how they would treat the days I spent in Schengen countries since December versus the total time traveling, or however it is the Schengen people try to make it as difficult as possible for travelers to figure out.

But a spritely UA rep confirmed, and consulted with a colleague who double-confirmed, that an American would not need a visa in Istanbul. The very words I wanted to hear.

Upon entering Turkey from Bulgaria by bus, I was last in line being processed through, the only American, prepared to be swiftly waved through until the voice from behind the window barked, “Visa?”

“No visa!” I replied confidently. And the fun began.

The stern Turks checking everybody crossing the border apparently had not talked to United Airlines.

“You get visa, 25 euro,” I was curtly informed. I didn’t argue and was quite willing to pay the price if only he had directed me to the ATM and visa office, about 150 meters away, without resorting to grunts, gestures, and sign language.

But by the grace of the good travel gods, I got to where I was told to go. After watching some expert paper-shuffling, a couple of guys officially conferred and emerged, saying I needed the police.

The police building was midway back to the bus but not open yet at 8:30 a.m., when I arrived.

Walking disconsolately from the police station, I saw my bus driver waving frantically at the sight of me since, I guessed, he had a bus full of passengers eager and waiting to get back on the road headed to Istanbul.

We found the correct office, and I was promptly issued a 25-euro visa, which was a bargain — no fine, no jail time, and cheaper than any of the many visa options I found later online.

I only had to practice my dumb American penance ritual, hat in hand held over my heart — I still had the hat at that point — a slight bow to the left and to the right as I ran the gantlet of annoyance, muttering a quiet “sorry” for anyone who might understand the English, down the entire length of the bus to my seat in the last row.

At last, we were back on the road. My little escapade added about 40 minutes to the trip. And having had practically no sleep with any comfort all night in the back row, I was tired as a dog in the noon-day sun.

So all was well again until we were about 40 miles from Istanbul. The bus’s engine started whining and quit altogether. The driver coasted to the shoulder, where we waited for another Flix bus to pull onto the shoulder behind us. It was full, but we all crammed in any way and stood in the aisles.

That was where I lost my hat, which I’d placed in the bin above the seats of the dead bus. I walked out onto the rescue bus like a zombie, leaving it in the bin. Didn’t notice until I was squinting into the bright Istanbul sun at Esenler bus station.

It’s a fair object lesson in why I don’t usually wear hats other than ball caps. Inevitably, a nice hat like that Panama gets crushed or left behind somewhere, like the upper bin of a bus you need to abandon.

Flixbus got us to Istanbul about two hours behind schedule.

And I continued my journey with a new World Hatless.