How to Get to Batumi Airport

I booked the tickets.  Three tickets – one for me, one for A and one for R.  One the Turkish Airlines site.  Batumi is also basically across the Black Sea from Istanbul.  We had tickets to Istanbul.  We wanted a quick and easy way to Istanbul.  While I *did* spell A’s last name wrong, resulting in a little chaos the night before the flight, I was pleased to get the tickets for a decent price.  I noticed that Batumi seemed to have two airport codes, and frugal one that I am, I chose the cheaper one.  After all, Batumi is too small to  have two airports. 

So, we met the morning of our departure – at 10:30.  We went to Café Literatura, a café introduced to me by a Georgian friend.  We had omelets and coffee.  And then we decided to head to the airport.  Actually, we departed a bit late because my watch was slow due to a dying battery.  Quick walk to a busy street, negotiated a price, hoped in a cab, and we were off to the very small Batumi airport.  Fifteen minute later, we walked into the airport and were pleased to see how orderly it was.  There was a Turkish Airlines kiosk.  I went to the window, gave my name, and smiled. 

The woman looked at my and said “Oh – that flight’s check in doesn’t begin for another 2 hours – at 2pm for a 4pm departure.” 

“Um…”  I replied.  “No, it’s a 2pm departure.” 

“Oh, no.  Check in at Hopa is at 2pm.  The flight itself departs at 4pm.” 

“Huh?” 

She us up in her computer and smiled.  “You purchased a ticket from Hopa, not from Batumi.  But it’s okay – you still have time.  You need to go to Hopa to check in.” 

“Really…?  But the flight leaves from here, right?  Can’t we leave from here?  ”  I was a little panicked.  The plan was to fly to Turkey, not take a bus. 

“No.  You need to go to Hopa for your boarding pass.  I cannot check you in here.”  She proceeded to explain how to get to Hopa – which is approximately 20 miles from the border town of Sarpi. 

Once I realize that we have time, that we will not miss our flight, I’m amused by the situation and trying not to laugh at the insanity of it. 

R and A. ask for an update. 

“Well, it seems I booked the cheaper flight – from Hopa.  Which means that we need to take a bus to Hopa, check in there and meet the others on our flight, get our boarding passes, and they’ll drive us back here in a bus to get on the plane.  But we have time; the border isn’t too far and Turkey is an hour behind, so it’s only 11am in turkey.” 

And so we did the following:  Walked out of the airport to the road, flagged down a city bus going to Sarpi (border town), stood in line so that A and R could get visas (90 day, multiple entry visas, $20 for US citizens, $60 for Canadians), walked across the border, negotiated a cab ride from Sarpi to Hopa (20 kilometers), arrived at the Turkish Airways terminal, checked in and checked our bags, waited, boarded a bus for Batumi, and then took a bus back to Batumi.  In all of this, at Hopa, I accidentally checked the bag with my computer in it, and in a panic went back for it, was told to hop over into the checked baggage area to get my bag, and then hopped back to the passenger area, went under a stanchion (thereby avoid security) and went back to my friends.  

(Bus from Batumi to Sarpi - the first time we crossed into Turkey)

Once on the plane, it was lovely!  They brought drinks, they feed us (very tasty food, by “been in the village too long” standards; the salad dressing was a mixture of olive oil and lemon juice!), and the plane was clean and cool.   The highlight, however, might have been the safety video, which specified that, in the event of an emergency, men should loosen their neck tie and women should remove their heels.  And then everyone should lean forward and brace for landing.  Also, apparently baby life jackets are supposed to be inflated in the plane, not outside (as is standard for adults, it seems).  

(Tasty airplane food!)

Istanbul airport is another story:  Huge airport, people from all over the world, women in all stages of covered (and uncovered).  Some women dressed like western tourists on vacation, others in various black coverings, sometimes with sunglasses and gloves to further cover themselves.  Men in “western dress” and men in more “traditional dress” – long robes and various hats.  A German couple explaining to their kids (perhaps adopted from China) why the woman behind them in line was all covered in black.  And, as my friend A pointed out, when people didn’t speak the same first language as their neighbors, strangers using English to trade information.  This sort of “useful English” is the sort of thing I wish I could show to students and teachers and others in my Georgian village.  Sadly, in my experience it is stupid to take photos in airports, so I didn’t get any documentation. 

Once through customs and immigration, we sought out the thing that A. had made the journey for – Starbucks.  Having spent months in a country where people drink tea and Turkish coffee and Nescafe and maybe a cappuccino if you know where to go, even I was excited to go to Starbucks.  My excitement was soon quelled when I saw their prices, but over the course of the next ten days, it would be a lie if I didn’t admit to going in on several afternoons for an iced coffee (which is actually difficult to get – more on that later). 

And then we left the airport and found the Metro and got to our hostel and began exploring Istanbul...