A Dervish’s Wishes (CLOSED) ATTN: Fatatatutti

[Turkish Federation]

OOC: Turkish text in red

“Fa..tta..fatatu…”
“Sir, it’s “Fa-ta-ta-tutti”.
“Fa-ta-ta-lutti. Did I do it right?”
“No, Mr. Prime Minister.”
“Ugh, damn it!”

A DERVISH'S WISHES
Somewhere above the Malay archipelago,
08:07:09...10...11...

Kemal Derviş leaned back on his leather chair of the government aircraft carrying him, his ministers and a group of journalists and businessmen to the Pacific nation of Fatatatutti. A modified Airbus A-321, the trustworthy “Ana” was far from the ViZionarian planes in the liberal prime minister’s dreams, but he knew the old statists at the ITP would spark a fuss should he try to acquire one, for now at least. He took a Grittonian-made cigar in a sudden move, wanting to light it up, but one of the personnel quickly rushed at “Mr. Number 2”:
“Mr. Prime Minister, you cannot do that!”
The head of government quickly put the commodity away, grumbling and trying to make his best Winston Churchill impression. It didn’t work on the committed employees of the Turkish “Air Force Bolts”.
“This is what I hate the most about this country. I’m not on an executive jet, I’m on a public commute!”
“You and your bloody cigars.” said his wife Catherine angrily.
The Prime Minister only sighed, he didn't want to argue with his wife today.

He took his favourite newspaper, the conservative Meddah, and turned back to Yaşar Yakış, the Minister of Foreign Affairs.
“Yaşar, could you remind me of what we're expecting there? I've been somewhat ill-informed."
“That's because you never listen to people, Kemal.” she quipped again.
"It's been extremely difficult for us to set an actual protocol, sir. Their stance on protocol is extremely... atypical, and...
"What, atypical? As in, a skimpy woman with bikini bottoms and uncovered belly-atypical?"
The veteran minister paused, then continued. He could see the sly smile on Kemal's face torn apart by the Second Lady's menacing glare.
"We have wrestled a lot on the weapons issue. All the guards' weapons will be staying on board of ANA."
"Damnit, do they know what happened to our diplomats..."
"We failed to reason, and didn't push too far considering the necessity of this visit. Our 12-hour stay..." He glanced at a file in his suitcase, then resumed.
"... 11:00 - Brunch at the McKenzie estate."
"Heard of those, influential family."
"13:00 to 16:00 - Guided tour of Fat City... 16:00 to 19:00: Bi-governmental summit with our ministers' and businessmen's homologues. 19:00 to 20:00 - A private meeting between you and Prime Minister Marmish. 20:00 and afterwards: Joint press conference and return..." He sighed.
"What?"
"I just hope they won't change the program... for the fifth time." the veteran minister said. "I have two public servants at the Protocol Bureau who are already taking pills."
"Ouch. It's just twelve hours though, think of the contracts!"
That was the former economist inside him speaking. Catherine took a deep breath and glanced at the window.

***

Smoke was coming from all over the plane. Whoever was the attacker, they had done a pretty good job. Most of the personnel was lying on the ground while alarms were ringing all over the plane. Kemal was stuck in his personal compartment, all alone, without a place to escape to.

A small explosion came from the lock, which completely opened the reinforced door. Two masked soldiers hurled themselves at the helpless Prime Minister, grabbing him from both of his arms. The third slowly walked towards him, pointing a high-calibre handgun at his neck menacingly.

"Who...who are you?" gasped Kemal on the verge of peeing in his pants.
"The assaillant removed his mask, revealing the face of Hikmet Çetin, the President.
"No... no...NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-"

***

"Sir, sir!"
"Kemal, wake up!"
Catherine slapped him im the face. The Foreign Affairs minister preferred a more diplomatic solution.
"Sir, we have arrived. The plane is about to land."

[Fatatatutti]

Sinead MacAleskie breezed into the main terminal and glanced around for anybody who appeared to be Turkish. There was a pushcart selling everything from postcards to leis, which seemed odd since there were also several pro-tourist groups givng out postcards and leis for free. There was a line-up at the polling booth. A squad of soldiers was lying piled in a corner sleeping.

Sinead decided that she didn't know what Turks looked like anyway, so she went up to the information desk. She was wearing a cowboy hat, sunglasses, a tie-dyed T-shirt and short shorts. She wasn't sure which of them the commissionaire noticed when he looked up but his eyes did open wide. "Yes, Miss. Can I help you?"

"My name is Sinead MacAleskie. I'm supposed to meet some people from the Turkish Federation."

"Shi... how do you spell that?" he asked, reaching for a pencil without taking his eyes off her.

"S-i-n-e-a-d. It's pronounced shi-NAY-ad." She didn't add rhymes with gre-NAY-ad like she often did.

"Last name?" he asked, finally looking down as he wrote.

"MacAleskie. M-a-c-A-l-e-s-k-i-e." She didn't bother to specifiy which letters were captialized. "Like the shipyard."

"The what?"

"The shipyard." She resisted adding It's half the bloody harbour.

"Ah."

She read upside-down what he was writing and wondered how it would come out over the loudspeaker. "Can you page me when the flight gets in?"

"From where?"

"Turkish Federation."

"Turkish?"

"Federation. It's in between Europe and Asia and Africa," she hoped she had that right.

"Okay, I'll page you, Ms. Macallister."

"MacAleskie."

"What?"

"MacAleskie, with a 'key', not a 'ter'."

He looked at his pad, puzzled. "Okay."

"Thank you." Sinead turned away to avoid further confusion.

A Tim Hortons pushcart went by and she bought a large double-double with the full knowledge that Tim Hortons didn't operate pushcarts. The coffee was pretty good anyway so she enjoyed it as she wandered around the terminal looking for Turks and listening for Macallister to be paged.

[Turkish Federation]

Fat City International Airport, Fatatatutti
10:17:18...19...20...

As the Airbus was on a descent to land at Fatatatutti's major airport, the passengers looked from their windows at the Pacific tropical paradise. Only the Minister of Agriculture, a proud peasant's child, was unimpressed.
"Meh, Muğla has nicer weather."
Two people looked far more closely than the others, namely Kemal Derviş and Yaşar Yakış. The Foreign Affairs was nervous and already sweaty. When asked what's wrong, he replied:
"No protocol. Knew it."
"What kind of a joke is this? Do they really expect us go through the customs, wait for our luggage and declare our goods?"

Following the prime minister's quip, sounds of indignation rose throughout the plane. A journalist for Ulaknews tried to rationalize:
"The Fatatatuttians are said to be very friendly and compassionnate. Surely they must have another reason..."
No one really listened to him, and kept complaining. "Eight thousand kilometers for this..."

The noise was silenced by a loud bump. The plane had touched the ground and was strolling through the tarmac.
"Just one more question," said Kemal, "Where are the vehicles to be provided by the Embassy?"
"Uh... sir..."
"What?"
There is no Turkish embassy in Fatatatutti.
The prime minister was shocked by this statement. He couldn't even ask how they were to go from one place to the other.

[Fatatatutti]

Sinead dropped her empty cup into a recycling bin. Then she went over to the baggage carousel to have a word with a fellow wearing a baseball cap with Customs on the front. He was also wearing a Hawaiian shirt.

"Do you work here?" she asked, just to be on the safe side.

"Yes," he smiled.

"I'm expecting some people from the Turkish Federation. When their plane comes in, could you gather up their luggage for me? I have a bus parked outside. It's purple and it says Bus on the side. The driver's name is Akroyd Higgins."

"Sure, I can do that. Do you want all of the luggage or just certain people?"

"Well, don't fight anybody for it. If anybody objects, refer them to me." She didn't know how many people would be getting off the plane or how many of them were hers but she was prepared to drop all of them off wherever they wanted to go. She was even prepared to commandeer another bus if necessary. "It's a diplomatic mission, so it won't be necessary to run them through the metal detector."

"No problem. I'll check with the airside guys and we'll have your bus loaded before the passengers are in the building."

"Good. Thanks." Now the question was, should she wait for the visitors here or at the information desk or at the bus?

[Turkish Federation]

Fat City International Airport, Fatatatutti
10:19:20...21...22...



For Kemal Derviş, this visit was just the beginning of disappointments after disappointments. The slice on tarmac on which the ANA could park after thorough negotiations with an unaware Air Traffic Control was utterly empty. No red carpet, no 19-gun salute, no journalists or crowds.

"Nobody expects the Turkish Federation", he thought, with a displeasure shared by his wife and the 6 ministers he strolled along. The 22 businessmen and journalists were more indifferent, only hunting for their 15 minutes of fame with the top of the executive. The 16 bodyguards only wanted to go home, as the eventuality of them protecting the ministers against some unificationist offshoot solely with their bodies haunted them dearly.

But the worst was yet to come. After waiting for ten minutes inside the plane, Kemal hurled a "What's wrong" to the personnel. The reply came from the pilot himself:

"Sir, the retractable staircase has broken down. I've already requested a staircase vehicle from the terminal."

Kemal could barely contain his rage. The Turkish Federation was ridiculed at that very moment. Worse, the so-stoic Hikmet Çetin would laugh his arse off upon hearing of this rocambolesque state trip.

"You know, let's just wait inside the plane for any sign of activity. It would be absolutely ridiculous from us to enter the airport like passengers." he said.

"We really should have had an embassy" said Yaşar.
"You really should have opened one," replied Attila Koç, the Minister of Tourism, referring to his previous time serving as a minister of the opposing ITP.
The two men began bickering over their past in the single-party system and their caveats, a rumble which even "Mr. Number Two" couldn't even calm down. A journalist could only anonymously tweet:

"State visit to #Fatatatutti. Very #undiplomatic behavior from @YasarYakisDisisleri"

[Fatatatutti]

"What?" Sinead was at the information desk again, talking to somebody in airport management on the commissionaire's phone. "Well, it isn't our fault if their airplane is broken. How soon can you get the stairs out to them?"

She was glad she had brought Ackroyd along to drive the bus. If she had had to leave it alone for this long it was almost certain that somebody would have 'borrowed' it. "Just have the luggage taken staight out to my bus. It's right in front of the terminal. You can't miss it. Don't worry about customs. It's a diplomatic mission."

Sometimes she regreted taking on these assignments for the government. Artists were well-respected in Fatatatutti but not very well paid. The occasional day of welding at the shipard helped but she couldn't afford to turn down the government when they asked. And they seemed to like her for some reason.

"Is there any chance of getting my bus out onto the tarmac so they don't have to walk through the terminal?" Why couldn't foreigners meet the Prime Minister at Tim Hortons like everybody else? "Where are they?" She turned and looked toward the windows but wasn't sure what she was looking at. "Okay. No. It doesn't matter to me but...." She stopped herself from adding that foreigners always seem to want to be waited on hand and foot.

She held the reciever to her chest and turned to the commissionaire. "How can I get out to the tarmac?"

He hesitated. "Uh, you have to go out through the departure lounge. The arrival doors are locked."

Of course, the only doors in Fatatatutti that were ever locked. It was for safety's sake, to prevent people from wandering out where they might be run over by taxiing aircraft, but she was no tourist.

"Okay," she said into the receiver, "Thank you." She handed it back to the commissionaire and he hung it up with a puzzled look on his face. "Lost your people?"

"Well, they're out there somewhere." She leaned her head toward the windows. "I'm going to take a walk and see if I can find them."

She wondered how long the Turks were planning on staying. At this rate, it would take a week to get out of the parking lot.

[Turkish Federation]

Fat City International Airport, Fatatatutti
09:10:78...79...80...

A brutal ramming noise woke Kemal Derviş from his deep slumber in his private office. He quickly felt painful hunger and thirst, as well a sense of complete disorientation. His nostrils overwhelmed by the stink coming out his sweaty suit and below the desk, a quick glance at his smartphone was enough for him to notice that the ANA was still waiting for more than a week inside the foreign airport.

Before he could even ask questions, a group of people in construction work uniforms broke I'm with a battering ram, quickly scattering around the room with a variety of tools. One of them exclaimed:
"He's alive."
"Who are you?" the Prime minister shouted in return. One of the men looking like a supervisor quickly explained the situation:
"We're rehabilitating this stuck government aircraft into a Museum of Human Stupidity, you're never gonna believe who's our generous benefactor!"
Before Kemal could even ask, another man with a safety helmet entered the small private cabin. He lifted his helmet, to reveal the face of none other than Hikmet Çetin with a sly and mischievous look.

Fat City International Airport, Fatatatutti
10:47:11...12...13...

"Mr. Prime Minister, Mr. Prime Minister!"
Yaşar Yakış had to shake Kemal to wake him up from his daydream. The 
latter's first reflex was to check the date: it was the same day, he was relieved.
"Sir, I have bad news and good news."
"The bad news!" joyfully exclaimed Kemal, with the relief he wasn't stuck in the ANA for a week.
"Well... there's still no Fatatatuttian official on the horizon, private news agencies are already making fun of our diplomatic debacle and I have just learned that your daughter is skipping school with his boyfriend."
Kemal's enthusiasm quickly died down, yet he could still ask:
"How do YOU know that?"
"His boyfriend's my nephew, sir."
The prime minister hit the desk with his face, collapsing over his sheer ridicule. He replied, with a crying voice:
"Just give me the good news, and get out."
"Uh... the stair car is here... are we getting out?"
"Get out!"

The foreign affairs minister quickly left the private cabin and bumped into Hasan, the chief of protocol.
"Mr. Minister, I have spoken with the other dignitaries and have now a plan to alleviate some of the ridicule we are facing."
"Shoot."
"Sir, we have a twenty-metre red carpet in our inventory. My suggestion is that we drop this carpet along the stairs and organize our own arrival ceremony, journalists on one side and bodyguards acting as the ceremonial guard. Some cleverly-taken shots could allow us to save face and-
"Huh. This is the stupidest thing I have ever heard." Yaşar looked at all the occupants, all eager to find a solution to this problem.

10:55:56...57...58...

One by one the dignitaries went down the stairs and headed towards the tarmac through the red carpet. Whilst the bodyguards were standing with their best posture akin to the Ceremonial Guard,  journalists were taking, or pretending to be taking pictures with their ill-equipped smartphones. As the carpet was too short, the VIPs were all waiting as one huge group right in front of the still-too short carpet's end. They were all wondering how they could reach the exit without any kind of vehicle or guidance. The stair car driver's oblivious attitude didn't help, as all he wanted was for this even more ridiculous commotion to end. One of the bodyguards quickly looked at his left, only to see a silhouette on the horizon.

Someone was coming, perhaps ordinary, but even this counted as something extraordinary for the unfortunate protocol.

[Fatatatutti]

"Lord Jesus..." Sinead skipped a step, "They brought their own frickin' red carpet." She tried to count the people descending from the plane. "I hope they brought their own bus too." With Fatatatutian traffic, buses for more than sixteen pasengers were rare.

She noticed with satisfaction that the baggage train was already pulling away from the plane. When Ackroyd Higgins saw how much they had brought, he'd have some idea how many had come. She expected that he'd already have procured enough transport.

She continued toward the plane at considerably above 'Fatatatutti speed', which is usually called 'dead slow' elsewhere.

She wondered how long they were staying because she had an opportunity to weld later in the week and she didn't want to miss it. The email from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had mentioned the nation, the time they were due to arrive and little else.

A delegation from the Tourist Bureau seemed to be following her and passing out an endless supply of leis to everybody they met. The loudspeakers at the terminal began to blare The Sloop John B, the unofficial anthem that was often played for tourist arrivals.

By Fatatatutian standards it was quite a welcome, Sinead reflected. In the old days they would have swarmed arriving ships in outrigger canoes but that wasn't practical any more with most tourists arriving by air. They would be swarmed inside the terminal by vendors offering everything from T-shirts reading Alphonse Slept Here to bacon-wrapped-perogies-on-a-stick to hard drugs. Luckily, as an official if temporary government representative, she knew a shortcut that would get them from the tarmac to the buses with a minimum of hassle.

The tarmac was hot and she wished, for once, that she owned a pair of shoes.

The visitors were milling around taking pictures of each other like typical tourists. As Sinead approached, he wondered who was in charge. She approached the one who seemed the most self-important and thrust out her hand. "Welcome to Fatatatutti. My name is Sinead. I'll be your hostess."

[Turkish Federation]

"Oh, people."

Hasan, the chief of protocol, couldn't find much to say upon seeing the woman and the Tourist bureau delegation. The bodyguards were almost going to form a meat wall around Kemal, one of the customs of the self-proclaimed legitimately paranoid Turkish state protocol, if he didn't redirect them to the vendors to check for any suspicious action.

The woman had thrust out her hand not to "Mr. Number 2", but to the much-more-serious looking Yaşar, which created a small diplomatic hustle the Foreign Affairs minister solved by shaking her hand.

"Yaşar Yakış, Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Turkish Federation. Surely there must have been some mistake, Mr. Kemal Derviş, the Prime Minister, is... right here." he finished, looking behind him to find his superior obviously blushed-faced but also hardly able to contain his jealousy-ridden rage. The sight of the attractive Fatatatuttian presumably-government representative cooled him down somewhat, but he couldn't help but say whilst shaking her hand frenetically:

"Mrs. Shina-nay, I am glad to be here in Fatutatti!"

Only the noise of a few loud facepalms could be heard in the tarmac. For the experienced diplomat, it was the sound of a thousand trees torn down.

[Fatatatutti]

During the introductions, the people from the Tourist Bureau were busily handing out leis and kissing people on both cheeks - and getting some puzzled reactions. A number of pineapples appeared as if from nowhere.

"God Almighty, " Sinead said, "There are a lot of you, aren't there? Is there anybody left at home?" She wasn't sure what she had expected Turks to look like but she was fairly certain that she woldn't have recognized them inside the terminal.

The Tourist Bureau representatives had completed their welcome but they blithely went back to the beginning and started again. There seemed to be no shortage of leis or pineapples, as if they were reproducing themselves on the spot. Some of the visitors seemed less uncomfortable the second time around while others seemed to be deliberately migrating toward the back.

Sinead was reluctant to interrupt the ritual but it looked like it might go on all afternoon, so she decided it was time to move the herd. "If you'll follow me, we have transport waiting and we'll get you to your accomodations as quickly as possible." She was fairly confident that Ackroyd would have conjured up enough transport and that 'as quickly as possible' wouldn't turn into 'very slowly'.

"This way," she said, taking a few steps toward the terminal. When nobody moved, she beckoned with her hand and repeated, "This way, please."

Finally, a few of the visitors began to stir.

[Turkish Federation]

Fat City International Airport, Fatatatutti
11:03:18...19...20...

It was surprising, or perhaps not that surprising to see Kemal Derviş walking faster than the others behind Sinead. Either way, the 45-member troupe was quickly headed towards the same direction, likely the international airport's terminal. The bodyguards were split between trying to catch up to "Mr. Number 2"'s rhythm and doing the required protection work for the ministers and other members of the delegation. The sole people who could actually walk the closest to the prime minister were his visibly angered wife and Hasan, the chief of protocol, who was not just trying to ask the Fatatatuttian representative what her actual job was, as it did not really seem she had a very high position in the local government, but also trying to ensure that Kemal would not be the one asking this question and worsening the diplomatic debacle.

Hopefully, he could, also handing the representative a list of the guests and the program as decided before the state visit. A little bit more behind, Yaşar was still hoping that their twelve hour-visit would go as planned.

[Fatatatutti]

"I'm an artist," Sinead replied. "But that doesn't pay very much so sometimes I weld. And sometimes the government asks me to greet visitors because of my winning personality. That doesn't pay anything."

Although the idea of "importance" grated on the egalitarian sensibilities of most Fatatatutians, the airport did in fact have a VIP area. It was intended for use by people who were expected and/or invited, as opposed to the run-of-the-mill tourists who arrived and departed unannounced. Anybody could use it for business contacts or even for family members. The government also used it for its infrequent state visits.

The door to the VIP area was some distance from the main arrival/departure area and it was unmarked but it was also unlocked.

"Let's keep movin'," Sinead said as she tried to usher her visitors inside. "Don't all bunch up in one place. You'll tip the island over."

Her voice had taken on more of an Irish lilt. Although her family had been in Fatatatutti for the better part of two centuries, each succeeding generation seemed to retain a bit of the accent, especially in the presence of foreigners.

---

A short corridor led them to the VIP lounge which was nowhere near large enough for all of the Turks but Sinead's plans were for moving not lounging. There were couches and coffee tables and pictures of palm trees on the walls. There were kitchen facilities available but you had to provide your own catering and she hadn't. It was just as well, she reflected, because of the unexpected numbers.

"Buses are waitin'," Sinead said, trying to keep the people moving without actually physically pushing them. "Don't want 'em to leave without us."

---

Another longer corridor with sharp turns to the right and to the left brought them to a door which looked like a fire exit from the inside. It couldn't be opened from the outside because there was no handle. You had to have somebody on the inside to let your VIPs in but of course they could get out whenever they wished.

Sinead pushed the door open and was relieved to see the cavalcade of waiting buses. Ackroyd Higgins had come through, as usual, rounding up what looked like might be enough buses. Most of the luggage was already stuffed into one of them.

Ackroyd beamed a smile at her from under the open hood of the lead bus. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, dreadlocks and a baseball cap that said "Police" on the front. Sinead had requested the hat in the hope that it might help get them through traffic. Ackroyd was in fact an auxilliary police officer, a job which usually entailed directing tourists to the nearest whaling museums. In real life he was a taxi driver. Like most Fatatatutian taxi drivers seemed to be, he was from the Caribbean island nation of Gidney and Cloyd.

He slammed the hood down. He had just finished connecting some extra cables to the battery.

"Okay," Sinead said, "Let's mount up. Everybody take your seats. Plenty o' room in the back."

[Turkish Federation]

Outside the Fat City International Airport, Fatatatutti
11:21:46...47...48...

"A bus?"

Some members of the protocol were still indignant that they were to be toured around the city with what was basically a city coach, but most of them were used to the fact that's how the Fatatuttians greeted foreigners, especially those from a country without its own embassy, so the protests remained quite minor.

Kemal was head-in-the-clouds pleasant since the arrival of the government representative, almost making people forget he was one of the biggest complainers back during the standoff on the plane. His absent-mindedness even cause a minor diplomatic and major domestic crisis when he tried to sit besides Sinead, a move harshly repressed by his wife Catherine's deathly glare. It was up to his Foreign Affairs Minister, Yaşar, to calm the two push them so they could find seats. The whole jumble inside the bus lasted a good five minutes, as impatient journalists and businessmen forgot that bodyguards were meant to sit between each row of dignitaries, but everyone could take a seat before Ackroyd could lose his patience.

Meanwhile, Derviş had gotten a call from Mustafa Karahan, the Minister of Health. He was asking for his approval to send a Turkish Red Torch team to the Talion Union.
"What do you mean, my approval? How many times do I have to explain to you that the Red Torch is autonomous? Forget the Union and Progress days, Mustafa, unless it involves our troops, they can go blow up their volunteers whenever, wherever they want!
The call was thus rather short, especially thanks to the Prime minister's once-again-fiery temper.

Due to the ministers' staunch belief in protocol, it was decided between the guests that the artist/welder/representative's counterpart would be none other than Hasan, the chief of protocol. As such, he was the one who got "Mr. Number 2"'s place. As the engine began to roar, Hasan quickly looked around for a microphone system, as it would be rather useful during a guided tour, then handed to her the program, and could only ask:

"So uh... where do we begin, Miss... uh...?

[Fatatatutti]

"Well," Sinead began, "We're goin' up there." She pointed out the window at the top of a mountain that overlooked the city. "It's my family's home. The Cabinet is meetin' up there this mornin', so they'll all be available to talk to you."

Ackroyd had climbed out the driver's window to put a flashing yellow light on the roof, connected to the bus' battery. A red light would have gotten them through traffic faster but impersonating an emergency vehicle wasn't strictly kosher. There were Fatatatutian and Turkish flags flying from the front fenders to give some semblence of official business.

"We figured it would be quicker than movin' you around the city a lot," Sinead explained. "The Prime Minister is there and the Health Minister and the Foreign Minister and the Defense Minister and the President. The other ministries have representatives there too if you want to talk to them."

The cavalcade of buses pulled out into traffic and moved slowly but surely toward the city. Occasionally, Ackroyd stuck his head out the window and called, "Move aside dere. Gov'ment business," or, "Make way. Diplomatic immunuty, mon." There was much honking of horns - it seemed like some drivers had them on timers - and the streets were crowded with pushcarts, bicycles and pedestrians as well as vehicles. There were no lanes marked but Ackroyd and the other drivers maneuvered expertly on both sides and in both directions with a minimum of collisions.

"I'm afraid you won't be seein' much of the city close up," Sinead said. "It would take a week. But you get a good overview of the whole island from up there." She pointed at the mountain again. "My family's shipyard is over there," she pointed to the east of the airport. The old harbour is farther down and then the container port. We don't have any deep water ports so we have jetties a kilometer long or more for the big ships to load and unload."

They had pulled onto the coast road, which supposedly girdled the island. There were few pedestrians and traffic moved a litle faster but not nearly as fast as on the inter-city stretches where the road trains dominatd at more than a hundred kilometers per hour. Here and there a car was stopped as if broken down but it was clear that more of them were using barbecues than jacks.

"It isn't the world's longest parkin' lot," Sinead grinned. "It's the world's biggest tailgate party."

Ackroyd had suggested a shortcut through the cane fields but SInead felt that might be a bit too much for the visitors. Instead, they turned off the coast road onto a side street that was somewhat quieter. "We're avoidin' the marketplaces," SInead said. "Down that way is Wong Street and the commercial section - pretty busy this time of day. Comin' up on the left here is Parliament." She pointed to a coconut grove. "It's pretty quiet today because all the bigwigs are up at my house." She didn't point out the Tim Hortons across the street or the other one down the block. "The President lives just up here a ways. You can see the beach from his backyard. You'll see it from mine too," she smiled.

The trees had gone from palms to cypress and other local species. They turned down a shady residential street where the houses were barely visible among the foliage. "Y'see, the traffic isn't bad everywhere, only if you're goin' where everybody else is goin'."

The cavalcade of buses was now travelling at what would be considered a breakneck speed in Fatatatutti, considerably faster than walking speed, and Ackroyd closed the door.

[Turkish Federation]

While it was another sadly-expected change of plans, Yaşar was actually relieved, hearing over Hasan's intercom that the inter-cabinet meeting would take place earlier, even if the presence of the Ministry of Health was rather odd. The different program did somewhat upset other members who wanted to visit the city, especially Catherine Derviş, who was eager to do some shop-lifting. She angrily exclaimed to his husband:

"Kemal, what was the point of bringing me here if all I'm going to do is watching you meet up with bigwigs?" She intentionally said that in her loud Bostonian English accent. Indeed, other ministers' wives had not come along, so her question was quite accurate. To avoid further escalation, the prime minister resorted to his usual strategy: ignore and stay cool. Once in forty years, this would actually work in the Derviş household. And it did.

Others were glancing at the sights of Fat City, at least the ones available in their immediate vicinity. What impressed Hasan whilst inundated with Sinead's Scottish accent was the liveliness and laid-backness of what could be called the Fatatatuttian community. Everything seemed so calm, not in a sterile, empty way, but a lively, pleasant one, with people their business as they saw fit. It's not like people weren't happy or needy back home. The streets of Istiklal Avenue were also bright and full of life, but there was no trace in Fat City of the drab sword of utilitarianism always hanging above an average Turkish city. The city was overall pleasant to watch, and presumably pleasant to live in.

Fat City also didn't look like say Athens in Attica-Morea, where Hasan also went to at least five times as the chief of protocol. People were also laid-back there, but that was because of a general sense of hopelessness and widespread unemployment, further fueling stereotypes about the laziness of non-Turkish Greeks. As he was reminiscing, the chief of protocol thanked himself for not talking, as stereotype-fueled remarks would definitely not be appreciated by any Fatatatuttian he would meet.

Another one who really enjoyed his time was the Ulaknews journalist, who kept taking pictures of various things from the window and multi-sharing them over his various social network accounts. The Parliament ("lolparliament"), the lane-less roads, the various trees, nothing could escape from his smartphone's cheap lens.

[Fatatatutti]

Sinead turned toward the Prime Minister's wife. "I'm sorry ma'am but if you're only stayin' twelve hours.... It takes more than twelve hours to blink in Fatatatutti. You've seen the traffic and we're avoidin' the worst of it.

"We'll be glad to send you back down the mountain durin' the talks if y'like. Or you can get off here and walk." Sinead's tone was polite but firm, as if she was talking to a petulant child.

There were fewer houses now and the road was steeper. The bus slowed a bit and seemed to struggle with the climb but Sinead suppressed the urge to joke that they might have to get out and push. The visit was taking on a less-than-light-hearted tone.

Here and there, when they rounded a curve, there was a panoramic view of the city below. Most of the buildings were no more than three or four stories high, reflecting the characteristic Fatatatutian dislike of heights. The old harbour was visible, if you knew where to look, with the masts of the preserved whaling ship higher than most of the buildings. In the distance, the deep blue of the Pacific and the glaring white of the beaches were slightly hazy in the noonday heat.

"Not much farther now," Sinead said as the pavement gave way to hard-packed gravel. It seemed less like a road and more like a driveway, which is in fact what it was.

[Turkish Federation]

The hostess's last remark was the last straw for the extremely indignant Second Lady, who stared in rage at her and started shouting:
"How dare you treat me like that? Who do you think you are?"
She then turned towards her husband with the same deathly glare:
"What about you, Kemal? Are you going to let me be insulted like that?"
"Uh..."

Only the sound of the tires going through pavement could be heard inside the bus, where another standoff had begun. Most people were staring at Sinead for aesthetic purposes, but others were focused on the irate Catherine Derviş, whose attitude was on the way to spark a diplomatic crisis. Even the Foreign Minister didn't really want to intervene, considering his multi-decennial diplomatic experience to be insufficient for this situation. Hasan didn't really know what to do either, but that was alright, since he was absolutely not qualified to even speak, and he wasn't just sitting besides an ordinary welder he could have brushed off and manhandle with several of the bodyguards. Besides, the circumstances the visit was taking place in had already guaranteed his dismissal from the Directorate-General of Protocol and likely transfer to an obscure department dealing with Attica-Morean mutual fishing agreements, so all he did was to watch the panoramic sight of the city, something others should also do, he thought.

Kemal's embarrassment could be read on his face from a good twenty miles away, as the situation he was in was quite tricky. Was he going to retaliate, initiating further hostility, or was he going to shrug off the artist's remarks and swallow to pill? Instead, he found another solution.
"Down.. down the mountain? Rock.. and roll! Rock and Roll! Ha ha..."
And he began to force himself to laugh, creating an incredibly ridiculous scene. Yaşar quickly understood what he was trying to do, so he joined his forced laughter whilst giving indications to everyone else. Soon all the ministers were disproportionately laughing at what wasn't even a joke or something to be laughed at, but it was contagious enough for everyone else to join the laughing party, since most people were now just laughing at the embarrassing situation they were involved in from the beginning, in an almost cathartic way.

Nonetheless, it helped the tension die down. Even Catherine was laughing at this point, and a good two minutes later, everything was as before, as if the scuffle earlier had never happened, with the noise of people talking and that of the gravel driveway on equal footing.

[Fatatatutti]

Sinead smiled benignly. For a moment or two she had thought she might have to call in the Flying Squad.

Inspector Caroline "Liney" Taves of the Flying Squad would be at the house. Samantha Smith would be there too, ostensibly as a representative of the Labour Ministry but also in her real capacity as an operative of FI6. Their function was to provide security. Of course, Fatatatutians considered their island to be the safest place on earth, so they were less concerned about the well-being of the visitors than about any trouble that might be caused by their bodyguards.

"The good news," Sinead announced, "is that a Fatatatutian is never late for lunch. We're there."

The buses stopped where the road ended, in front of a small wooden shed. Nearby, a wooden stairway disappeared into the foliage up the side of the mountain, then reappeared farther up, disappeared and reappeared again. Something that might have been rooftops was just visible at the top.

"It's only four flights," Sinead said, "Or seven, dependin' on how you do the math. The luggage will go up in the cargo net," she added as a net did indeed descend magically from somewhere above. "You can ride up in the net too if you want to but I don't recommend it. It spins like the devil." For some reason the phrase 'whirling dervishes' crossed her mind. "The view is pretty good from the landings."

She led the way and paused at the first landing for the visitors to catch up. The view of the city was like a postcard with the beaches and the ocean beyond. In the distance there were occasional flashes of sunlight reflected from traffic on the coast road.

[Turkish Federation]

McAleskie Estate, Fat City, Fatatatutti
12:05:12...13...14...

The visitors followed their hostess in a slower pace as they glanced at the indeed-marvelous landscape. It was a good idea, as some of them could still complain about the stairway being made of wood. Even the initially skeptical Minister of Agriculture was now at least surprised.

At first, the bodyguards were surrounding the ministers rather tightly, always keeping their eyes open for any security issue. The fact that most of the entrance was covered in foliage was a pain for the guards, and did not reassure their institutional paranoia. This eventually upset the still-nervous Catherine Derviş quite a bit, and she asked for them to keep their distance in a rather harsh tone:

"Oh give me some space, you buffons! What do you think is going to happen here, an ambush by ninjas?"

They agreed to do so until the group reached the not-that-large stairway. As it climbed up, some complaints began to be heard amongst the guests, most of them complaining about the flights of stairs required to proceed. Kemal Derviş had quite a hard time climbing up with his varix-laden legs, remembering his great-grandfather's tales of his pilgrimage to Mecca. Also tired of the foliage frequently obscuring his view, he had the audacity to ask Sinead:

"Miss Macaulayski, does everyone in your family take this stairway every day?"

[Fatatatutti]

Sinead laughed. "Well, you get used to it if you do it every day. Actually, only my brother an' his family live here along with me an' Uncle Kenny. My sister lives in the city an' my parents are on an extended tour o' the island in a gypsy caravan.

"If you care to take a tour o' the house later on, I'll show you the steep way up."

At the top, she led them along a verandah to a set of French doors which opened into a large living room. There was a u-shaped couch in the center, around a square coffee table, with end tables and easy chairs here and there. Along one wall was a long buffet table. Most of the dozen or so people in the room were congregated around the food.

"I'll let you introduce yourselves," SInead said as the visitors accumulated in the doorway, "but I'll point out the main characters to you so you'll have an idea who you want to talk to.

"The Chinese gentleman in the blue shirt an' khaki pants is the President, Mr. Chang. The young woman he's talkin' to in the red T-shirt is his daughter, Harmony Chang, the Defense Minister.

"Over in the corner, the redhead in black is Samantha Smith, with the Labour Ministry. The tall man in black with her is her uncle, Warner Lee. He's here to speak for the Justice Ministry. The other gentleman in the blue shirt an' khaki pants with the big moustache is Wilby Brimford, the Postmaster-General. If you want to talk about communications or transportation, he's your man.

"The lady in white is Dr. Nobile, the Health Minister. The younger woman talkin' to her in the rainbow T-shirt is the Prime Minister, Schuyler Marmish. The other young woman with them in the yellow T-shirt is Carmen 'Shimmy' Dijkstra, the Foreign Minister.

"The scary-lookin' fella behind the bar is Uncle Kenny. They say he isn't really my uncle an' I'm not sure his real name is Kenny either but he can mix up anything you want to drink. I should warn you that the local rum tastes a wee bit like gasoline and we like our coffee hotter'n the gates o' hell. Oh, and there's no ice.

"If anybody wants me, I'll be at the buffet table. I haven't eaten a thing since brunch."

[Turkish Federation]

The living room was indeed quite large, though it seemed to be barely contain the still-not-inside crowd of Turkish guests. At this point of the visit, the relaxed wear of the Fatatatuttian officials did not surprise or indignify everyone. On the contrary, it created a sort of cozy, relaxing atmosphere, the same that very few of them understood during the whole arrival. Not everyone would agree, of course, especially not Hasan, for whom the whole visit was a protocol nightmare.

Kemal Derviş and the ministers were the first ones to enter, followed by the journalists taking pictures of everyone and everything. Adding another one to his list of faux-pas, Kemal was also headed suspiciously towards the brunch, following Sinead. This quickly angered Catherine who grabbed him from the right shoulder without even saying a word. Yaşar also helped much more gently, rerouting "Mr. Number 2" to Fatatatutti's "Mr. Number 1" and hoping they avoided a major-scale protocol incident. Upset, he just murmured:
"I was hungry too! If a welder can rush to the buffet, why can't I?"

Shrugging off this incident, he approached President Chang and raised his hand.
"Kemal Derviş, Prime Minister of the Turkish Federation. Mr. President of Fatatti, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. And here is my wife, Catherine."

The whole presentation routine was done by all the guests with everyone in the room, during what was at least a five-minute ordeal.
"Yaşar Yakış, Foreign Affairs Minister of the Turkish Federation. It is a pleasure to meet you Mrs... Ms. Djkstra."
"Kemal Kerinçsiz, Economy Minister..."
"Ali Tuğsuz, Tourism Minister..."
"Ismet Berkan, Minister of Transports..."
"Yavuz Kalenderoğlu, Minister of Defence..."
"Selami Hamdioğlu, Minister of Commerce..."
"Hasan... uh, Hasan Kerim, chief of protocol..."

The businessmen had no equivalent whatsoever in the room full of plainclothes ministers, but they entered anyway as the prospects of staying stuck in the doorway with 16 bodyguards was more preferable to shaking the hands of Fatatatutti's top brass, especially given that it was made of quite attractive people.
"I feel like in Grittonia again!" said one of them, the representative of Ala Hotels.

Everyone was soon inside, establishing the mood for an inter-cabinet meeting/reception/friendly chat around the coffee table. At least, that's what they hoped.

[Fatatatutti]

Mickey Chang smiled as he shook Prime Minister Dervis' hand. "Welcome to Fatatatutti, Mr. Prime Minister, Madame." He bowed slightly as he kissed the lady's hand. I hope you had a pleasant trip. I know we're a long way from almost everywhere. Sometimes that's beneficial, sometimes not."

Over at the buffet, Sinead was talking to one of the lesser functionaries. "Down that hallway there are bathrooms an' bedrooms. If any of your party want to freshen up or lie down for a while, they can make themselves at home."

She turned to the buffet again. "We have pulled pork with barbecue sauce an' of course we have bacon. We have some roast beef, which is a bit of a rarity in Fatatatutti, a well-done rarity as the joke goes." She didn't wait for a laugh. "An' we have chicken an' fish.

"We don't have any of those made-up vegetarian dishes with soy or chick peas. I should probably warn you that it's legal to eat vegetarians here, so if any of you are vegetarians you should probably keep movin'.

"We have lots of fresh fruits an' vegeables. We grow our own bananas. An' we have two kinds of poi.

"We also have some adopted traditional dishes. We have perogies with sour cream an' onions and we have lasgana with four kind o' cheese. You may be wonderin' where all the dairy products come from since we don't have hardly any cows. Well, your guess is as good as mine. It might not be worth pryin' into.

"Over at the dessert table, we have a couple o' Fatatatutian specialties that are doin' well on the international market, pineapple upside-down cake an' quadruple-chocolate cookies.

"If there's anything we're missin', let me know. They've probably got it in the kitchen."

President Chang glanced around the room. "As you might know, we Fatatatutians often conduct our business over food, so feel free to jump right in with whatever you want to talk about. You won't often get a opportunity to see this many ministers in one place unless you're invited to Parliament."

[Turkish Federation]

Kemal Derviş quickly thanked his hosts, trying as much as he could not to try feeling in a harem. Hopefully Catherine was there to act as the buzzjoy, even if this resulted in sitcomesque situations. She truly didn't understand the popular Turkish saying: "It is a virtue to look at a beauty." Or perhaps she precisely did.

The rather hungry guests' first reaction was to rush towards the diverse and rich buffet, which created a soon uncontrollable crowd uncontrollable by the bodyguards. Not even the years of secular morality lessons each of these Turkish federal citizens had to go through would be enough to calm down this group of hungry climbers.
"Order, order!" screamed Hasan, whilst trying to keep them under control. It took a few minutes for the guests to realize their mistake and attempt to restore their dignity.

A few minutes later, Kemal was sitting on a chair with a plate of pineapple upside down cake in his hands, preparing to make a little speech.
"Fellow representatives of the State of Fa... Fatutta... Fafata..."
"Fatatatutti." quickly corrected Yaşar definitely not for the first time.
"What?"
"Fa, Ta, Ta, Tutti."
"Uhm, yes, so uh, anyway, I would like to personally thank you for your hospitality, and I am sure most of my people would agree with me."
Indeeds and nods could be heard and seen across the living room, acknowledging his statement. Catherine was a bit more reluctant.

"Indeed, we have witnessed uh, how to word it, great uh, pleasantness... I mean... the atmosphere is certainly positive and... cozy even. Anyway, your country is a place that is actually heard in the Federation, but the lack of contact is quite jarring you see..."
"This is why we have come here, to officially establish bilateral diplomatic relations which would be most beneficial for our peoples." assisted his Foreign Minister.

"Now it would be most elegant if you could have the... Hasan, where the hell are the factbooks and negotiation chapters?"
"Uh, they must have been taken by the net, Mr. Prime Minister."
"What net?"
"You know, the net which took the few pieces of luggage we had. At the entrance. You know..."
"Well I don't give a damn, Hasan, go get them quick!"

Catherine chimed in.
"I'm fairly sure that Sinead knows where the luggage has been dropped off. Go get it with her, would you?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Catherine, what do you... whatever." Kemal's protests ended up to be rather limited.

[Fatatatutti]

Sinead had a quick word with Uncle Kenny at the bar and then beckoned to one of the 'minor functionaries'. "This way to the luggage," she smiled. She took her plate of food with her and continued eating as they proceeded down the hallway.

There was an open doorway at the end, which happened to be the end nearest the stairs if the visitor hadn't lost his orientation. The luggage was neatly lined up in rows, sorted according to the names on the tags. Sinead reflected that Uncle Kenny was one of the few Fatatatutians she knew who didn't claim his mother was a native Fatatatutian. That might explain his uncharacteristic sense of organization.

She also reflected briefly on how Turkish names might be arranged and wondered if Uncle Kenny's sorting would be intelligible to a Turk.

---

Carmen 'Shimmy' Dijkstra approached the man she believed to be the Turkish Foreign Minister. "Mr. Minister? I'm Carmen Dijkstra, the Minister of Foreign Affairs.

"I'm glad that your nation wants to improve its relationship with Fatatatutti. However, I should make you aware that we have very few formal ambassadors in Fatatatutti. One reason for that is that we don't allow anybody to bring weapons into the country - I'm sure you already know that. A lot of nations won't establish an embassy here unless they can have their own armed guards, so...."

She too continued eating after she spoke.