Charlene Jank
Member
In few years back I was bumming around Europe. In the first week there some friends and I won tickets to a festival in Germany getting naked on stage at a Berlin drag show. At the fest, I met and shared a romantic eve with a woman who lived in Bristol. The next day we parted ways, but kept in touch. It wasn't long before I decided that I might as well visit her in the UK and see where things might lead.
Bought a cheap flight and landed at London Heathrow in the wee hours. This was my first more serious international border crossing where they are sticklers, and my vagrant, bohemian, hobo look probably didn't help my story that I was coming to visit and stay with a woman who I had met at a festival. I was told to sit over there and then eventually taken to the poshest cell that I've ever experienced, where I was immediately offered tea and microwavable delicacies. I shared the lock up with a few others who were all sleeping away on comfy sofas or chatting softly in other languages. By now it was 3-4 am or so.
After a bit, a border guard came and brought me into another room. I got interrogated a bit and then had my bags searched, "not for drugs or anything," he said as if he would just turn a blind eye to a fat rock if he happened to stumble upon it. Sadly, I was stupid and had the tiniest bit of weed stuffed in a sock that I had figured wouldn't cause me any trouble. It didn't, he didn't find it, but I was so fucking nervous that he would... Besides I had a bunch of anarchist zines and graffiti doodles that he definitely did find. Whoops.
Interrogation and search over with, I continue to wait in the posh community cell with heavy eyes and hazy nerves... Next comes a lady guard with more questions and a nervous disapproving smile. I finally ended up having to log into my bank account on her phone to show her that I wasn't a completely destitute fuck up... She let me in, but only for 1 month (usually US citizens get an automatic 6 month visa) around 6 am. Huzzah!... Sadly, all of the others where still in the cell as I left. Hope they ended up all right.
Rubbing the sleep (or lack there of) outta my eyes, I rolled up a spliff out front of the airport and struck up a conversation with a local as we smoked. She laughed as she realized that I was smoking weed despite the story of my night that I had just regaled her with. From there, I hitched an easy ride to Bristol and the rest was history...
I got held up and interrogated my next time entering the UK as well, but not nearly as bad. They just poked fun at my colorful nail varnish and let me in for the full visa after making sure that I hadn't over stayed a month previously. Of course, I had my story a bit straighter that time around... Borders are silly.
Bought a cheap flight and landed at London Heathrow in the wee hours. This was my first more serious international border crossing where they are sticklers, and my vagrant, bohemian, hobo look probably didn't help my story that I was coming to visit and stay with a woman who I had met at a festival. I was told to sit over there and then eventually taken to the poshest cell that I've ever experienced, where I was immediately offered tea and microwavable delicacies. I shared the lock up with a few others who were all sleeping away on comfy sofas or chatting softly in other languages. By now it was 3-4 am or so.
After a bit, a border guard came and brought me into another room. I got interrogated a bit and then had my bags searched, "not for drugs or anything," he said as if he would just turn a blind eye to a fat rock if he happened to stumble upon it. Sadly, I was stupid and had the tiniest bit of weed stuffed in a sock that I had figured wouldn't cause me any trouble. It didn't, he didn't find it, but I was so fucking nervous that he would... Besides I had a bunch of anarchist zines and graffiti doodles that he definitely did find. Whoops.
Interrogation and search over with, I continue to wait in the posh community cell with heavy eyes and hazy nerves... Next comes a lady guard with more questions and a nervous disapproving smile. I finally ended up having to log into my bank account on her phone to show her that I wasn't a completely destitute fuck up... She let me in, but only for 1 month (usually US citizens get an automatic 6 month visa) around 6 am. Huzzah!... Sadly, all of the others where still in the cell as I left. Hope they ended up all right.
Rubbing the sleep (or lack there of) outta my eyes, I rolled up a spliff out front of the airport and struck up a conversation with a local as we smoked. She laughed as she realized that I was smoking weed despite the story of my night that I had just regaled her with. From there, I hitched an easy ride to Bristol and the rest was history...
I got held up and interrogated my next time entering the UK as well, but not nearly as bad. They just poked fun at my colorful nail varnish and let me in for the full visa after making sure that I hadn't over stayed a month previously. Of course, I had my story a bit straighter that time around... Borders are silly.
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