If you imagined that the role of a consulate was to give assistance to citizens travelling and in need of simple, easy to perform services, then you are obviously the citizen of a great nation used to respecting its taxpayers.
You are certainly not a Canadian.
Here's the story from A to Z.

After having looked into shipping from Turkey to Israel and come to the realisation that the boats from Rhodes to Southern Cyprus to Haifa were unreliable at their best during the winter months, and since going from Northern to Southern Cyprus is politically more than incorrect, we decided with some gravity that the only route was through Syria down to Jordan and then over to Israel.
My daughter Cléa arrives on the 19th of December, so we really can't afford to be stuck in Rhodes because of a little wind.
To make a short story somewhat longer, the Syrians in their infinite lack of paranoia, require a letter of recommendation from the consulate of the visa demander. A passport is not enough.
Well, I called the Canadian consulate and was told that the letter would cost me a whooping 15,000,000 Turkish Pounds. Now, this is not as bad as it sounds, although it does represent $50 Canadian, which is even more than I paid for my damned passport back in Paris!


First we went to the French Consulate, a beautiful Ottoman structure in the centre of town with a garden, library, posters about 'les droits de l'homme' and even a French policeman in French policeman's uniform (Monsieur, vous êtes en France ici!).
We sat in comfortable lounge chairs while the chicly dressed secretary typed out Marie-Do's letter in perfect French and then formally informed her of the situation in Kurdestan.
Cost of the letter 0 francs, 0 centimes. A normal service offered in view of an absurd demand by a dictatorial regime.


Now Canada.
The taxi driver couldn't take us far enough. It was snuggled neatly between a cemetery, an industrial zone, a motorway and it shared an office with an even dingier insurance company.
I gave the lady the 15,000,000 and got a computer typed form letter - which is all the Syrians deserve anyway - full of English mistakes.
Marie-Do was, of course, unbearable in her Gaelic pride, comparing Canada to the industrial zone it had chosen for its headquarters and imitating Louis de Funès in The Adventures of Rebbe Jacob (La France! Voilà la France ...)
The poor woman at the consulate isn't even a Canadian, and she has to listen day after day to streams of abuse by Canadians who rightly think that consulates should offer this kind of service, or at least at a small cost.
So there's my scream of the day, and it has to be against my own country.
Even the Syrian consulate was in a nicer part of town, even though the Jehovah's Witness type paintings of Hafez al Assad surrounded by an adoring population were kind of pathetic.
But more of Syria and its courageous leader once we're out of there.


P.S. I did get my revenge against the Canuks. I lent my letter to a buddy who scanned it and is willing to make free copies for any Canadian who thinks he's already paid enough taxes.
Contact Peter, the South African at the Sultan Hotel, just around the corner from the official Youth Hostel (The Orient House, which is a bit of a dive).
The Sultan Hotel is a nice place, heated and with hot water at any time. The coffee there has no taste, but the rooms are clean and guy at reception, Chenol, is a gentleman who has the patience of a mother and can really help you out on the telephone and knows Istanbul from top to bottom.
The address is Akbiyik Cad. Terbiyik Sok. N°3 Sultanahmet and the telephone number is 0.212.516 9260 - 517 1626, fax 0.212.517 1626
Check out produce market day on Wednesdays.
Also, if you're looking for a great place to eat, check out the Doy-Doy at Sifa Hamami Sokak 13.
They will ask you to sit upstairs with all the other tourists, but sitting downstairs is much more fun, since the oven is very beautiful and you get to watch all the hustle and bustle of the staff.