Amongst the perils of travelling, there is always the moment of entry. You hand your passport to somebody in a uniform. They look at your passport. They look at you. You briefly wonder if you look like yourself after thirteen hours on an airplane.
Probably not.
In countries where they do not speak English, this is then followed by the ritual stamping (and return) of the passport.
In countries where they do speak English, they ask questions. Perhaps this is because I’m an English speaker, so the questions will be understood. Or maybe only English-speaking countries bother with further examination. Regardless, British, Canadian and American border agents always ask me questions.
For the most part, they’re the same.
Americans ask why I’m there, and how long I’m staying.
Canadians are confused as to whether I’m visiting or returning. (Both, of course. I am returning for a visit).
Then there are the British. They ask questions that make little or no sense. After a red eye flight, with no sleep for nearly twenty-four hours, I tend to stumble over these questions. It is surprising that it has never delayed my re-entry.
On my first entry, they asked me a question about my visa application. I figured it was normal. They continued asking this question repeatedly over the next year. I was sure it was normal. In fact, one agent told me that there was a note on my file, which required them to ask this question. He took it off, and since then the questions have been more creative.
Q: “Do you still work in the same place?”
A: “…”
This one of the more common ones asked at the UK border. My visa is not tied to any particular job, so the answer does not actually matter. But the problem is that it doesn’t make sense. I work at the same job as I did when I left the country last. I work at the same job as I did when I last applied for a visa extension. I do not work at the same job as I did for the previous visa extension. Nor do I work at the same job as I did when I first applied for a UK visa.
Timelines matter. And jetlagged individuals do not deal well with non-specific questions.
Q: Why are you a resident?
A: Because I live here.
One of the answers you need to give when entering the UK on a non-EU passport is how long you are planning to stay. I do not have an answer, so I write “Resident” on the card. The border agent did not seem happy at that response. Perhaps she thought I was being cheeky, but it’s either that or “because I have a permit”. And she was looking at the permit.
Q: What qualification do you have?
A: …
The border agent literally asked that. Singular. Qualification. I thought he meant visa, so I told him. No, qualification. I told him about my bachelor’s degree. Could I have given him my project management qualification instead? Change management? Work experience? I am qualified to enter the country by virtue of the visa. I have many qualifications when it comes to the workplace.
Q: Where are you coming from today?
This question is not just asked in the UK. It is asked everywhere. And it is the hardest question to answer. Ten hours on a plane … am I coming from Toronto? Montreal? Kuala Lumpur? Atlanta? It’s hard to remember.
And if you had a connection, you might choose your original point of departure, rather than the most recent. Then the border guard is confused — no planes from that location have arrived recently.
By far the worst question for the frequent traveler. You’re wandering through an airport, following the signs towards the exit. You’ve just left a tin can where you spent the last twelve hours or so. You haven’t slept. You smell. You just want to clean yourself and sleep.
Where are you coming from?
observations and opinions
American, border, border guards, British, Canadian, questions, travel, UK
