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Posts Tagged ‘travel’

Randomly at the border

March 9th, 2010


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?

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Bear, with snow

March 6th, 2010

I’m flying home today.

Here’s a bear to tide you over until normal Blogging service resumes. Click to make it bigger and scarier.

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To Saint Lucia, part five: An engagement

January 24th, 2010

Karen stands on the balcony of our cottage in St Lucia.
Previously on To Saint Lucia

Part One – We get stuck in Miami.
Part Two – The Fond Doux Holiday Plantation.
Part Three – The beach.
Part Four – Castries.

Welcome to the final chapter in the To Saint Lucia series. We have covered the vast majority of the holiday, leaving just one major event.

On the first morning of our holiday, I proposed. Karen laughed.

Then she said yes.

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To Saint Lucia, part four: Castries

January 18th, 2010


Previously on To Saint Lucia: Our intrepid couple attempted to make it all the way to St Lucia, but were instead stranded in Miami. Later, in part two, they arrive in Saint Lucia and explore the Fond Doux vacation plantation. Part three brought us to the beach.

And now for the exciting penultimate episode of To Saint Lucia

The highlights of a Caribbean holiday are evident, and already visited. We stayed at a resort and we visited the beach. But Karen and I refused to visit a country and never visit a city in that country. So we decided to take a taxi across the country one day and visit the capital city Castries.

NOT Castries

As Castries is on the north part of the island, and Fond Doux in the south, it meant crossing the country completely. When we arrived, Castries was not what we expected.

There were — as we had been told to expect — three cruise ships in port. If you have never seen a cruise ship, it might be impossible to properly relate the size of the things. They are, quite literally, giant hotels that float. Thousands of passengers had flooded out of them, and were eagerly buying things in the nearby duty free shops and marketplace.

Karen and I wandered around these, and through the small town — less than half the size of Kingston, Ontario, where I grew up. There was little of note outside the area that catered to tourists who visited on the cruise ships, and when they began to move out of the harbour just after four in the afternoon, the entire city shut down. The shops and restaurants closed, and we were forced to find a local bar and drink rum until our taxi arrived to bring us back to the resort.

Yes. Forced to drink rum. Life is hard.

Forced! Look:

Forced to drink rum in her new hat.  Is that any way to treat a tourist?

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