Despite my wonderful last days staying with my beautiful friend Karla in Brissy; the sicky, uneasy feeling began to take over my stomach as soon as I walked through the airport (which subsided shortly after with the help of a Maccy D’s hash brown and a coffee). I was right as rain by the time I was on the plane, chatting to a charming young Australian boy, fitting perfectly the bill of the surfer stereotype, who filled me in on his awesome job as a surf instructor. He worked in fabulous locations six months of the year and spent the remainder of the year doing equally fabulously things, in this case - Canada on a working holiday. Normally I would be so envious ,but not this time, because I too had found the job that allowed me to travel the world, not that I didn’t coo over the fact that he has just spent the last six months in the Seashells and his excitement for Canada had me wishing I was heading there too.
As the plane took a nosedive towards Vancouver I look at my pass to see I was not boarding until a good nine hours later. Perhaps I would get to head out into the country for the day. My head starts to ponder through the possibilities, the obvious first- pancakes with maple syrup. Swallowing the delicious smell of my neighbours sweet breakfast oozing with the golden goodness after opting for the omelet to savor this breakfast until my day out in Canada, I buckle up and peer out of the hole excited for the day ahead.
- This plane will now prepare for landing, meeting our scheduled arriving time to Toronto at 18.15-
Did I get on the wrong plane? Why did I think that I was flying to Vancouver? Did anyone ever tell me that? Did I even look at my boarding pass before shuffling onto the plane? What will happen to me? God I really have done it this time. I find a lady, from the motherlands,who assures me that If I did get on the wrong flight it would have been their fault and they would have to get me to my next flight. She disappears for a while before bringing me the news – half the people on the plane have the same itinerary and I must hurry up to board the next flight. Why Canada air felt the need to get me all excited about pancakes in Vancouver or hide the fact that there was two landings in Canada I do not know, but it bought that nervous feeling back as my internet time was getting shorter and shorter and I hadn’t got back to any of those couch surfing hosts to find somewhere to stay.
That becomes the least of my worries when two immigration officers stop me in my tracks. What am I doing in the US? I reply bluntly that I have my visa so there is no need to waste their time questioning me, I am simply going to seek work on a foreign flagged vessel. ‘Then what will this vessel be flagged?’ they grunt in reply. ‘I do not know, any of the Caribbean islands, England’. ‘You sound like you are withholding information’. I could not possibly withhold information that I do not have’. They do not like this at all. They ask for my paperwork and I tell them I threw out everything after the immigration interview by the US consulate as I assumed they were the ones that granted me the entry. They take this like a knee to the balls and start on this whole schpeal about their right to deny my entry. I quickly change my tone of voice and after a bit more chest beating they let me through. I get to the next hurdle and the que management lady (seriously is that their job?) points me to number 36 and I begin to float to number 34 and her face turned ruby red as she barked the number at me again. Airport people need to realize that passengers have sometimes travelled through three or more different time zones, had no sleep because of the fat guy in the seat next to them snoring their bloody head off (my lucky seat neighbor on the next flight) and have just had to suffer interrogation from your immigration department who apparently have some kind of chip on their shoulder!
Anyway eventually I arrive, its 10pm on a Saturday night and I have nowhere to stay. My phone doesn’t work and I am informed that there are no payphones. I feel like I should cry but nothing comes out, I try to force it but am not as talented as I was at the age of two. After a few laps of the arrivals hall I spot a payphone – thank you very much helpful staff. I whip out the numbers that I had screen shot earlier of some couch hosts who had advised they might be able to help me. Nervously I tap in the numbers- Hello is this Adam? – No. Dead line. Great start. Second number in – Hello Gurrrillermo (if I only I knew how to pronounce it), I am so sorry to bother you and I am sure its too late and its Saturday night but wonder if your couch is still available? Colour rushes back into my cheeks as this lovely South American guy tells me he will pick me up and we will join his friends for a party. I don’t know how ready I am for a party but I can’t say I have ever met a latin person that doesn’t make me in the mood for one. As his candy blue VW camper turns up, Jack Johnson vibes welcoming me as he opens the door, I finally feel excited to be here in the USA.
They are all lovely guys, whose reactions to me are hot blooded as they might be as guys of their age of a girl my age and instantly question me about how they can get a slice of the couch surfing pie. I agree to a night out with them as I feel I can’t turn down the offer of a Miami strip club for my first night in America.
A few hours, bundles of dollar bills, bubble butts like you wouldn’t believe later I wake up to a delicious breakfast that Gurrillermo (must listen to how his friends pronounce his name). The airbed was very comfortable and I feel safe and happy in the hands of my host.
As the plane took a nosedive towards Vancouver I look at my pass to see I was not boarding until a good nine hours later. Perhaps I would get to head out into the country for the day. My head starts to ponder through the possibilities, the obvious first- pancakes with maple syrup. Swallowing the delicious smell of my neighbours sweet breakfast oozing with the golden goodness after opting for the omelet to savor this breakfast until my day out in Canada, I buckle up and peer out of the hole excited for the day ahead.
- This plane will now prepare for landing, meeting our scheduled arriving time to Toronto at 18.15-
Did I get on the wrong plane? Why did I think that I was flying to Vancouver? Did anyone ever tell me that? Did I even look at my boarding pass before shuffling onto the plane? What will happen to me? God I really have done it this time. I find a lady, from the motherlands,who assures me that If I did get on the wrong flight it would have been their fault and they would have to get me to my next flight. She disappears for a while before bringing me the news – half the people on the plane have the same itinerary and I must hurry up to board the next flight. Why Canada air felt the need to get me all excited about pancakes in Vancouver or hide the fact that there was two landings in Canada I do not know, but it bought that nervous feeling back as my internet time was getting shorter and shorter and I hadn’t got back to any of those couch surfing hosts to find somewhere to stay.
That becomes the least of my worries when two immigration officers stop me in my tracks. What am I doing in the US? I reply bluntly that I have my visa so there is no need to waste their time questioning me, I am simply going to seek work on a foreign flagged vessel. ‘Then what will this vessel be flagged?’ they grunt in reply. ‘I do not know, any of the Caribbean islands, England’. ‘You sound like you are withholding information’. I could not possibly withhold information that I do not have’. They do not like this at all. They ask for my paperwork and I tell them I threw out everything after the immigration interview by the US consulate as I assumed they were the ones that granted me the entry. They take this like a knee to the balls and start on this whole schpeal about their right to deny my entry. I quickly change my tone of voice and after a bit more chest beating they let me through. I get to the next hurdle and the que management lady (seriously is that their job?) points me to number 36 and I begin to float to number 34 and her face turned ruby red as she barked the number at me again. Airport people need to realize that passengers have sometimes travelled through three or more different time zones, had no sleep because of the fat guy in the seat next to them snoring their bloody head off (my lucky seat neighbor on the next flight) and have just had to suffer interrogation from your immigration department who apparently have some kind of chip on their shoulder!
Anyway eventually I arrive, its 10pm on a Saturday night and I have nowhere to stay. My phone doesn’t work and I am informed that there are no payphones. I feel like I should cry but nothing comes out, I try to force it but am not as talented as I was at the age of two. After a few laps of the arrivals hall I spot a payphone – thank you very much helpful staff. I whip out the numbers that I had screen shot earlier of some couch hosts who had advised they might be able to help me. Nervously I tap in the numbers- Hello is this Adam? – No. Dead line. Great start. Second number in – Hello Gurrrillermo (if I only I knew how to pronounce it), I am so sorry to bother you and I am sure its too late and its Saturday night but wonder if your couch is still available? Colour rushes back into my cheeks as this lovely South American guy tells me he will pick me up and we will join his friends for a party. I don’t know how ready I am for a party but I can’t say I have ever met a latin person that doesn’t make me in the mood for one. As his candy blue VW camper turns up, Jack Johnson vibes welcoming me as he opens the door, I finally feel excited to be here in the USA.
They are all lovely guys, whose reactions to me are hot blooded as they might be as guys of their age of a girl my age and instantly question me about how they can get a slice of the couch surfing pie. I agree to a night out with them as I feel I can’t turn down the offer of a Miami strip club for my first night in America.
A few hours, bundles of dollar bills, bubble butts like you wouldn’t believe later I wake up to a delicious breakfast that Gurrillermo (must listen to how his friends pronounce his name). The airbed was very comfortable and I feel safe and happy in the hands of my host.