Many countries beset by bureaucracy but North Cyprus should be in the running for a medal.
First to the Girne police station to acquire a stamped transcript of our “ins and outs” - times we entered and exited the country in the last five years. Ask a young man outside for directions, knowing we must be nearly there. Police? No English he responds. Ah, shift in pronunciation called for. Polis? (Pronounced much as in the Irish or Scots familiar informally, accent on first syllable). Instant smile and he points us to the station.
There short application form in Turkish only (provided at a wicket labelled “ins and outs” in English only). Well, fair enough. Most places in Canada would expect to provide forms in English and/or French only. Though there are interesting exceptions. You can take the knowledge test for an Ontario driving licence in over twenty languages. Computerised version that is. Paper tests in English or French.
A friendly fellow customer, with slightly more English than we have Turkish, assists. Form not long but they do ask for our parents’ names, as do many forms in this country - clinics for example. Living or dead not important and sometimes only first name required. Did eventually discover the reason for this. Not a wide variety of names in play in Cyprus so clerks may separate yours from other similar ones by means of repairing to father’s name to establish identity.
Parents’ names and much more required at our next stop, where our mission is to acquire a sim for the Turkish mobile. Actually info only required from me as sim is in my name (though am asked to provide names of both mother and father). But includes email, local street address, legal status in country (and photocopy of proof of same).
Required to provide phone number of relative or friend. Claim to have none, eliciting mild distress. Can see that this is due not to my friendlessness but to employee’s need to fill in remaining blank on her computer screen so volunteer my UK mobile number which she reluctantly accepts. Sign twice (three times?) on glass surface with stylus rather superior to one provided by Canada Post when receiving parcels. Could probably not swear in court that this effort does not truly resemble my signature. Have agreed, apparently, that they may make electronic copies of all info provided.
Ordeal eventually concludes. Probably only my lack of Turkish has prevented my being informed that this invasive procedure is designed to protect my privacy, as I am frequently told in English by various institutions. Now in possession of new sim and accompanying PIN for inserting it. Have not divulged addresses of grandchildren or burial places of parents.
Tell young employee that in 1991, before she was born (no, she interjects, actually the year of her birth) we visited the Soviet Union shortly before its dissolution. A visit involving a visa which, truthfully, required considerably less “paper” work than the process in getting this sim. Though perhaps the Russians, like the rest of us, later learned how much more work could be generated by digitalization.
Cross the road to Besmar green grocers, where we buy garlic and oranges and pass up the opportunity to bring home a cabbage that would have provided Cole slaw into 2026.
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