This was years ago, in a time when I used to accompany one of the Ministers of the time on his diplomatic visits, meaning I had to fly more frequently than your average flight attendant.

Once again, I packed my bags to travel from -10 to +30 degrees, and made my way to the airport for my scheduled flight at the crack of dawn. This time, our destination was Pakistan. The delegation had already left on a charter flight, whereas a few other officials, the Executive Assistant and I would be on a regular commercial flight. I went through check-in, waited for our flight, and headed over to the gate. The gate agent checked my documents and said, “Well, you don’t seem to have a visa, I can’t allow you to board.” I called the organizer, who confessed that they thought I was a Ministry employee, and naturally, had a Green Passport, so they had not even considered getting me a visa. And as the visa documentation and procedures were always handled by the Ministry itself, except for the Schengen Area and the US, I was somehow convinced that I would be able to board the flight without any issues. I quickly called the Executive Assistant who was on board, but he had already turned off his phone. I was in a panic trying to figure out whom to call when the gate closed. I quickly went over to the gate agent. “Please, just let me board, they will figure out what to do when we land. The Executive Assistant is already on the plane, and I am the only interpreter!” I begged and pleaded, but to no avail.

Then, it occurred to me to call an Ambassador who was one of the advisors of the Minister. He called his counterpart in Pakistan, who contacted the flight’s purser. They put me on a golf cart and rushed me to the airplane. Once on board, I found the Executive Assistant in his seat, and laughingly explained what just happened. He was not amused. For the entire duration of the flight, I pictured myself arriving in Pakistan as a refugee trying to explain the situation to officials. Immediately after we touched down, I received a message from the Embassy: “Don’t bother with the Turkish Airlines personnel waiting for you, we’ll bring you in through the VIP gate. Here, I’d like to make a note: Turkish delegations are legendary in the diplomatic community. Each visit is traditionally accompanied by a congregation of VIPs and VVIPs. It’s not an official visit unless we get the host country to say “Turks are coming!”, and we never, ever visit a country with just a Minister, a bodyguard, and an aide. Yet, if you can believe it, two interpreters are somehow always excessive for these crowded delegations, and the schedule is always light. My young colleagues, don’t fall for that.

Ultimately, I entered the country among the assemblage of VIPs and VVIPs. Getting out would be easier as I would fly charter on the way back. For the next five days, I kept busy interpreting Paklish to Turkish, under the constant barrage of jokes and pranks by the Minister and his bodyguards, threatening to leave me stranded in the country, or telling me that there had been an incident and that officials were asking for my passport. And then, I returned home, as if nothing had happened...

Soon after that, they once again forgot to get me a visa for another visit, to Mozambique this time. I ended up visiting this charming country, which has the image of a Kalashnikov rifle on its flag, without a visa. But that’s a story for another time.☺  

Ervil Bombar

Conference Interpreter - Interas Interpreting