'Bonjour! (Now beat it)'
Trip Start
Jan 13, 2005
1
6
23
Trip End
Apr 28, 2005
Vancouver,
British Columbia,
Canada
Monday, January 17, 2005
Behold the beauty that is Vancouver, Canada. The airport was beautiful. Timberlands, thick woods, and Inuit art were scattered about. The sounds of crickets and trickling streams were everywhere to give new, international visitors a sense of what life in the northern tundra was like. I was breath taken at all of the beauty. Why, even the customs agent was beautiful! Behind that navy-blue bullet proof jacket was a dark, mysterious beauty; stamping passports and 'bonjour!'ing all who passed.
"Bonjour" this Sakajawea-esque native-Canadian said unexpectedly flat.
"Hello!" She raised an eye-brow without looking up at me. She was not yet taking part in my enthusiasm.
"Yellow-fever card" she demanded, yet again, very flat.
'Oh, well,' I thought. 'I will just be myself and break the ice.' I handed her my Yellow-fever card.
"Where are you coming from?" she inquired, cold as ice.
"Do you mean state? Or country?" I asked honestly. I mean, when I traveled to Spain, hers was an obvious question. 'De donde esta?' was obviously 'Estados Unidos.' But here in Canada (and who can really take "Canada" seriously anyway?), the question was more vague. I mean no one OTHER than Americans go into Canada anyway, right? Who else would go there? I have no clue. But apparently, Beautiful Customs Agent took Canada seriously and she did not find my question so funny. Not that I was trying to be, but just the same, I got the other eyebrow to raise. She lifted her head up to me like a protective den mother and behind those fierce black eyes I felt her growl.
"Uhh, the United States, I guess."
"Are you sure?" she said with one eye-brow. Was she taunting me?!
"Yes, the U.S." I answered almost offended under my embarrassment.
"What is your business here?" she demanded looking back at my documents.
"I am studying. I am a student."
"You are going with Semester-At-Sea. Do you have the document they gave you to give to the Canadian customs agent?" she said tartly. I could not believe that one so beautiful could be so cruel! She was flurry. She was looking for a weakness in my warmth. I could sense that she WANTED to turn me back the way I came. She was done with my surfer tan and blond hair. She was JEALOUS even of it. She didn't want my sunshine invading her wintry fortress. I was a paying customer, Dammit! And,.. and, I had forgotten all about that piece of paper. damn.
"No, do I need it?" I asked with the entire slacker, laid-back beach blond attitude that I could muster to counter act her high-tension raven-black offense.
"If you expect to get any further," was her reply. She had an answer for everything. Well, I could stand no more. If I was going to get turned away at the Canadian border (as ridiculous as that sounds), I was going out with all of the American gusto I had.
"Well, sure I have it," I said overconfidently. The room echoed as I dropped a 5 lb. folder of paperwork on her desk. I felt the other agents all turn their heads toward repartee. Both dark eyebrows rose. "It just so happens that I saved every piece of paper, every envelope, every e-mail that I have ever gotten from Semester-At-Sea."
"Oh, really," she responded, not sure of where I was headed. I paused for an extended moment, making the air crisp and awkward. She looked at me. I looked at her as if waiting on a response.
"I can go through each and every one of them. I got the time if you do." Her move. She could let me pass in disgust or keep up her ice princess attitude.
She paused, then, regaining her frigid poise, "I have the time." GAH! She called my bluff. Now, I had to produce.
All was lost. My focus turned to my search. I went through all of the paper work piece by piece. Nothing. She noticed. She won. My embarrassment was immense. Her igloo was impenetrable.
To top it off, so the line building behind me could here, she raised her voice "please return to the line, sir. Come back when you find your paperwork" and quickly dismissed me.
I searched frantically. I was flustered. Beauty, in Vancouver, is deceiving. After 15 minutes of panicky paper-flapping, I found it. Phew! I got back in line, walked up to her, thrust my paper in front of her, and cocked my head at her, challenging her, as if to say 'What now, beeeaaatch?!' I was ready for a final fight to the death. I eyed the male customs agents, trying to guess which one I should hit first if they moved. I spotted my exit in case I had to run. I measured the distance from me to her side-arm so I could take her hostage if they tried to force me back to the states. 'By ALL THINGS, Holy,' I rehearsed in my mind. 'I am GOING to get on the damn boat! You may try to stop me, but the first one up will surely die! Maybe the second!! So, who wants some?????!'
"Looks good," said the Beautiful Customs agent, pleasant as punch. Like a stewardess she finished her rehearsed line "thanks for visiting Canada. And have a safe trip." She held out my paperwork and everything hung in the air. I was floored. So was my luggage. Ker-bong, phhhhwwwump!
Deflated, I reached for my paperwork and tugged. She did not release, though. I looked up and, like warm flowers budding at the first of spring, she smiled playfully and winked.
