Sunday, March 3, 2013

The Georgian way of doing things


I’m planning my escape home in May.  The plan is for me to come home for Dan’s graduation and then Debbie will accompany me back to Georgia, spend a couple of weeks here, and then fly back alone.  So I did my due diligence online, scouring the web for cheap airfares.  I had to use a local travel agent because I couldn't get my return flight (PHL to TBS) to show up on Debbie's itinerary. In other words, I couldn't get us on the same flights online. It took 6-1/2 hours to get everything straight. It took only an hour or so to find an itinerary that worked -- short layovers and cheap fares. Then the bureaucracy that is Georgian rules kicked in.

Air France won't accept credit card payments online from Georgia (Georgia has an international reputation for running credit card fraud rings. It's been cleaned up a lot in the last 3 years or so, but the reputation is still there.) so I had to pay only cash. No problem. I go to the local TBC bank but they have a limit on how much cash I can get on my Amex. They recommend getting half today and half tomorrow except the travel agent has told me the itinerary might not be there tomorrow, so I decide to try my luck at the Bank of Georgia. Except the Bank of Georgia won't accept Amex so I have to use my debit/Visa card. Again, no problem. Except they need my passport for such a large transaction of cash. So off I go back to my flat to get my passport (not far but irritating especially in the cold). So now I have cash. (I'm making this seem easier than it was; it took over an hour and a half with waiting in lines at TBC and then BoG, running back to my flat, waiting in line again, getting the paperwork, & then waiting in line at the cashier window.)

So now I'm back at the travel agent (again, still walking in the cold). But before they can take my money and issue the tix, they need my passport info. No problem; I still had it with me from the trip to the bank. They make a copy and write down all the info they need. It’s going too well, I guess, so the travel agent throws me a curve.  Not one of the big, roundhouse, spinning curves you can see coming and time properly.  This curve is more of a Steve Carlton slider – looks like a fastball until you start your swing, and then, whoosh!  It’s gone.  Unhittable.  So here comes the slider:  the travel agent also needs Debbie's passport info. Why?, I ask. Because Ukraine Air doesn't accept e-tix so they're printing hard copies which can only be done after verifying passenger info and identity which is, of course, a passport. I think I have Debbie's info on my computer which is, of course, back in my flat. So back I go (farther than the bank walk so at least I'm getting my exercise for the day). Fire up my laptop; plug in my thumb drive, and voila! All of the info I need on Debbie's old, expired passport. Frustration level rising rapidly.

I call Debbie at her office. "Do you happen to carry your passport info on you? No, I didn't think so. Where is your passport? In the blue box? Got it. Thanks. I love you. Bye." So I call Dan (about 8.30am in PA). Dan runs up to the office but can't find the blue box. I tell him to call Debbie and then get on Facebook. He does this (very quickly, I might add) and gives me the info I need over FB. I then run back to the travel agent (OK, walk fast; it's been a long day). I give them Debbie's passport info (which is now in my updated thumb drive folder for the next time this comes up), doublecheck and verify my itinerary, and sign the form stating that I know the tix are non-refundable, non-transferable, and non-changeable. Time to give them my money and get the tix. Except their cashier is on dinner break. I wait 30 more minutes until he shows. I pay and go back to the travel agent's desk (who, by the way, can see the cashier's window and has watched me pay). She asks for the receipt from the cashier. Back I go, mumbling under my breath words that would greatly increase, but not necessarily enhance, the agent's knowledge of English. I get the receipt and hand it to the agent. She then, finally, prints my tix, gives me my itineraries, staples my receipts to the envelope, and hands me back the passport information. I leave the travel agent for home, 6-1/2 hours after I first walked in. And I'm pissed because I should have known better. Georgia runs on bureaucracy (holdover from the old Soviet days, I imagine). I should have realized this and left my flat with my passport, laptop and thumb drive, and cash that I had gathered over the previous 2-3 days.   But I didn't think ahead, so it cost me a lot of time and karmic energy. It's harder now to escape Georgia than it was when the Soviets ran this place.  Oh, well, at least I have the tix.

Just another Georgian day, giving me the opportunity to burn off some bad karma.  Thanks for reading.

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