[THE OUTSIDER] The unhappy birthday present

Instead, your intrepid correspondent, assisted as always by her beloved researcher, will recount for this page an unfortunate experience, during which some information was discovered, which may or may not be of use to you, dear reader.

To begin, I must tell you about my girlfriend Sally, my Best Friend in the Whole Wide World (Nevada Region). Sal and I worked together for years in California. After she and her husband moved to Nevada, she continued her career, but she has always made time to keep in touch with her BFITWWW (International Division), which would be me.

Since we moved here, five birthdays ago, Sally has been the only one from home to send us birthday presents (our birthdays are in the same month). Thankfully, Sal believes in presents one can open, and for all these years has taken time to buy, wrap and mail us a birthday package. All the paperwork is perfect, the tape on the box never breaks, and the address is always clearly written; Sal is nothing if not thorough.

She also has common sense and rarely sends us diamonds, heroin or gold bullion; aside from the customs duty that would be owing, she knows that a package sent so far could get lost, so she makes sure to send items of sensible value, albeit in perfect taste. The first time she mailed us a package, there was a little problem with the customs part of the post office losing track of it (it took several months to find it and another month before it was ready to pick up in İzmit), but since then, my husband, Lütfü, and our local P.O. have worked out a system whereby we get our packages within several days and in Gebze instead of İzmit. Until now.

The arrival

Sal’s this-year present was mailed on Jan. 9; we knew this from the packing slip she emailed to us. This somewhat lessened the surprise, but was crucial to Lute’s system with the P.O. Sally also registered the package, at extra expense, which allowed us to track it. It arrived in İstanbul on Jan. 21; so far, so good. Lute gave it a couple of days, then confidently called our connection at the Gebze P.O. and got bad news: There was a “new law” concerning customs.

The duty-free exemption amount for mailed parcels was 100 euros before 2009; it was changed that year to 150 euros, which is probably why most of us didn’t notice. However, according to the official government record T.C. Resmi Gazete [Official Gazette], the law regarding gifts from abroad has been changed again; as of Aug. 20, 2011, the new “Ministry Group Decision” (Bakanlar Kurulu Kararı) has set the limit down to 75 euros! Not only that, but the 20 percent* -- yes, 20 percent -- duty applies to the whole amount, not the excess over 75 euros. Sal’s gift was valued by her at $100, pretty close to the 75 euros, depending on the exchange.

Phone calls to İzmit revealed that the customs guy wanted a receipt for one of the items in the package, a purse. Lute explained it is rude to ask for a receipt for a birthday gift and that it may not even exist. He was told that if we didn’t produce the receipt, we couldn’t collect the package. Furthermore, we would have to go to İzmit, regardless! We emailed Sally, she sent the receipt, and it was for a little more than she had estimated; she hadn’t had the receipt handy whilst filling out the packing slip. She was still very close on over-all evaluation, however, and we were fairly confident that we would not have to pay any duty after all.

Of course there is no Adapazarı train any more, but there is a bus from Gebze running to İzmit/ Kocaeli. We walked to our dolmuş, went to Gebze, and caught the İzmit bus. A nice surprise awaited us -- the Kocaeli buses, at least the big new ones, no longer take cash, and we didn’t have enough money on our Kentkart to pay our fare. No notice, no signs; it would have been funny if it hadn’t been so aggravating. Besides my husband there were others, going like beggars from passenger to passenger to find one with enough credit on his card to pay their fares in exchange for cash.

After an hour’s ride we reached İzmit and walked to the post office. Oops -- the department we wanted had been moved to the other end of İzmit on the eastern edge of the city near the huge warehouse stores and the shopping mall. It was very cold, the walk was estimated at 20 minutes and the day was being eaten up, so we took a taxi to the Faraway Post Office. The cabbie waited the few minutes it took for Lute to retrieve, per the customs guy’s request, the original copy of the packing slip, which our poor Sally had completed so carefully a month before.

The cab then took us to the customs’ office (fare of TL 18, thank you very much), which is very near the first Post Office. We walked up the stairs because the official there said we couldn’t use the elevator; it wasn’t out of order, we just couldn’t use it because we weren’t disabled. We entered the nasty little office to which we had been directed, passing the photo of Atatürk (significantly) in his pajamas, where four guys were sitting around at desks, only one of whom was busy going through a stack of official-looking papers. One of the others helped us, but not the man Lute had been dealing with, who wasn’t at work that day.

The new man looked at the “original” copy we had (the “fake” copy we had pulled off the net, which Sally sent us, had not been sufficient), and wisely declared that the reason we were in such hot water was that the amount declared ($100) exceeded 75 euros -- by a little over one euro! For some reason he had no interest in the receipt for the purse. We had to pay the duty of 20 percent of the entire amount, which we were prepared for, if not joyful about. He took several minutes converting euros to dollars to Turkish lira. He wrote his calculations on the back of the packing slip, scribbled his name, stamped it and waved us off, having graciously interrupted his work day of contemplating his empty desk.

The Faraway Post Office

We stood there, confused by his dismissal, and asked where our package was. Oh, he said, you must go back to the Faraway Post Office, from which we had just come! I rarely have snapping rages anymore, but at that point I nearly lost it; fortunately, Lute hustled me out before I could get into trouble.

By the time we taxied out to the Faraway and paid the driver to wait (the building is far from downtown and taxi stands), I’m afraid my face had frozen in an ugly, sullen glare that felt, at least, quite frightening -- no more Mrs. Nice Guy Expat Middle-Aged American Culture Lover! The package was addressed to me, so I accompanied Lute. I literally stalked, trying to be as tall and as bulky and as intimidating as my Levi’s and rose-pink jacket would allow, just waiting for someone to look at me cross-eyed. When we entered the customs part of the building, I not only met the eye of the official, I held it, a total no-no for this part of Turkey. I WILLED him to find our parcel NOW, while Lute handed over the stamped packing slip. This was the same guy from the P.O. end that Lute had dealt with on the phone, and he seemed a little surprised that the duty was only TL 35, but, perhaps because of my rude glare, he accepted our money, TL 37 including HIS fee, and ordered one of his minions to fetch our package off a shelf, after which we just left, no “kolay gelsin,” no “sağol”; very rude, but at least I held my tongue.

The cabbie took us to the bus stop (another TL 20) and we waited for our ride back home. First, though, we looked for the gold and the heroin or at least the diamonds, but once again, Sally had sent us lovely and unobjectionable gifts -- a very cool purse and some office items for me and a strong nylon briefcase and an electronic key chain for Lute. While they were worth it because of the love Sal had shown, as well as of how much we enjoy her gifts, the aggravation, the extra time and the expense were completely inexcusable for so small a contribution to the republic’s coffers.

The moral of this tale? Tell your friends to send you a cheap T-shirt for your birthday, or you’ll end up spending five hours of your life and TL 97 (TL 6 dolmuş, TL 16 bus, TL 38 taxis, TL 37 duty) for a package worth TL 175, not to mention the $53 poor Sally paid in postage. I rarely rant about civil servants and bureaucracy, being a firm believer in both, but this little fiasco hit my limit and then some; it all could have been handled so much more efficiently! For the record, though, we both love our birthday presents.

*18 percent if mailed from Europe.

**Elsie Alan lives in Gebze with her husband.