immigration

Reno, Nevada. United Airlines. 1989. This airport is in the middle of the city and the flight path is surrounded by hotels. There is a severe windstorm but the pilot decides to land anyway. I have a window seat and am watching in disbelief as the runway veers from left to right as the pilot tries to maintain his approach. Swear to god, before we touch down I see tumbleweeds, hubcaps, garbage can lids, pieces of plastic blowing across the runway. We land but go off into the grass on one side of the runway but he gets it back on the pavement and finally it’s OK. Nobody said a word until after everyone got off the plane.

Two years before that I landed at this airport during a blizzard. The runway was pure white. Actually you could not see the runway until about 50 feet off the ground due to the snowfall. The plane swerved like a car in snow as the pilot tried to brake. We stopped a few feet short of the end of the runway. I swore I would never fly there again in winter; that’s why I went the next time in the summer. But as it turns out that is windstorm season.

Phuket, Thailand. Thai Airways. 2003. We are on a flight to Bangkok and taxiing to the runway. Thick black smoke comes out of the vents everywhere in the plane. It is suffocating, acrid smoke. Toxic smoke. There is no announcement, no action by the flight attendants. People are starting to pass out. I was really afraid we might die. I had the exit row and asked the attendant for permission to open the door. She said, “No we must wait for instructions from the pilot.” Finally, the pilot told them to open the doors and we lived. Then we sat there in the broiling sun waiting for them to wake up the engineer to come and tow us back to the gate.

Germany to South America. Varig Airlines. 2004. I think this is the worst trip experience of my life. The flight attendants literally seemed disinterested in the passengers. They only reluctantly gave a pre-flight speech and then immediately disappeared. Something seemed very strange but they eventually reappeared for meal service. I had ordered a vegetarian meal on the advice of the travel agent. What a mistake. I am not joking, my meal was a wedge of lettuce and cold green beans with some dressing. And a small roll. That was it. That was my entire meal, my only food for Europe to South America. To take my mind off my hunger I tried to watch the movie but my coach seat had headphones with plugs for the first class seats. It would not work. The worst thing was that I had been dying to see the movie Sideways, which by coincidence was playing on the flight. I used my Boy Scout tracking skills to find the flight attendant’s lair behind a curtain where they were busy discussing union matters with each other. I tried to show them the meal and headphones but they literally ignored me. After three polite “Excuse mes” I lost it. I shouted at them, “Can you see me? Can you hear me?” Now I had their attention. I showed them the meal and said, “I am eating what you are eating even if you have to share, and get me a headphone that works in coach.” The senior attendant comes to back up his staff and starts speaking to me in Portuguese. I tell him, “You hear me speaking English? That’s a clue.” He apologizes and asks what is the matter. I tell him to give me something with protein in it and a head set for coach then I will go away. I got some chicken and headphones, then go watch Sideways two times. The attendants never reappeared until immediately before landing.

I have a six hour layover in Sao Paulo, but the connecting flight to La Paz, Bolivia is delayed. As it turns out during the flight the Brazilian government, which was feuding with the US government, began requiring transit visas for US citizens. So I am sitting in the airport lounge waiting and waiting for the connecting flight when the police come up to me and ask for me by my name. They check my passport and then tell me I am under arrest for not having a transit visa. It is like a dream. They take me to the police station and tell me I need a visa to stay for a layover as retaliation for US making Brazilians have their fingerprints taken in order to get a visa. I ask them for food and they actually say to me, “What is wrong, you order vegetarian on Varig?” In surprise, I tell them yes and the story of the head phones and terrorizing the attendants. They have a good laugh and agree to deport me to my connecting flight without a stamp in my passport.

The return trip is not any better. I was searched repeatedly when trying to leave Bolivia. The plane is almost ready to leave when the police come on and take me off the plane and down to the tarmac below. They make me identify my suitcases then they put the entire contents on the pavement for the dogs to sniff. Finally, convinced there is nothing illicit, they make me repack everything in front of all the passengers who are looking down from the windows. I reboard the plane but it won’t start. The pilots cannot start it and we have to wait two hours for a small jet with four mechanics to come from somewhere and fix our plane. Finally the plane takes off. Everyone on the flight belonged to a Protestant Church and was going on a mission in Brazil. They sang Christian songs and the young lady next to me witnessed for Christ and tried to convert me from Buddhism to Christianity the entire flight. I brought plenty of food for the return flight and never was so happy to see the unsmiling faces of Germans. My connecting flight to Bangkok was overbooked so I got upgraded to business on Lufthansa plus 100 dollars. Nice flight and good food, too. I thought my bad luck had ended. Wrong.

On return to the US I started to worry about the rubber gloves again. The immigration guy says to me, “What were you doing in Bolivian and Thailand?” I tell him the truth – I live in Thailand and was visiting friends in Bolivia on holiday. He actually says to me, “What’s the matter, don’t you love America?” It went downhill from there. Many hours of interrogation. Finally they let me go. I have not been back since.

FacebookShare

{ 9 comments }

Arriving in the USA has always been a security nightmare, much worse now when, despite notices telling you that the staff guarantee a courteous and pleasant welcome (???). This certainly wasn’t in evidence when we arrived in Atlanta on a flight from Manchester UK (23 Sept 2008). We had 1.5 hours to connect for a flight in Tampa and actually arrived 15 minutes early – brilliant, until we were stuck in a queue for an immigration officer who was determined to process 1 application for every other 5 officers. After 3/4 hour we were getting concerned and approached a member of the staff who shrugged and told us to get another plane if we missed our connection.

The guy at the desk then stood up and asked if we had a problem and we knew we were in for it. When we finally got to the desk he drank his coffee, counted his packets of sugar, joked with his colleague in front and then started asking the most inane questions, like, why did I have an Irish passport when my husband was English, (is this a crime?), why did we have a US visa, (well the staff at the US Embassy in London had already sorted that one), did we plan on driving anywhere on our holiday, why were we going to Florida. We know from experience that you don’t make jokes, don’t smile, don’t make eye contact, but this was ridiculous.

Ten minutes later when he’d obviously run out of delaying tactics we were running to security where for some reason I set off alarms, despite having no shoes, no jacket or jewelry. Again I was shouted at, stay behind the screen, stand, put your feet on the marks. I was asked to sit and hold up both my feet, and did I have an implant (no, but the officer certainly needed a personality transplant). After a further humiliating 10 minutes being shouted at loudly (they think that if they put “ma’am” at the end of the tirade, it’s O.K.), I was allowed to join my husband on the other side of the screen. One fellow passenger had watched this with horror and commented on how I was treated as I was frantically trying to gather my belongings. I wasn’t even allowed to put on my shoes in the area.

We followed directions given by a member of staff, me running in my bare feet, to the wrong gate, and then had to run back after a much kinder member of staff rang Delta for us. The gate had been changed. We got to the gate as it was closing but were allowed on board. So the next time you complain of sweaty, breathless, disheveled senior passengers boarding at the last minute – think on, especially if you’re in Atlanta whose staff has to be probably the rudest, most arrogant bunch. And yes, I also worked with the public but I was taught to be polite and respectful, and save my moans to swap with my colleagues. In all the kerfuffle I realized that I’d left my wristwatch behind in one of the baskets at security, not an expensive one but sentimental in value, which one of the staff must have noticed, I was there long enough. I hope your wrist turns green and your hand drops off if you are wearing it.

FacebookShare

{ 13 comments }