A passport story.

So the expedited passport fun got me recollecting another delightful passport time.  (And any of these times always make me think of this – which is also found in my Cambodia post.)

It is something that I feel, really sets me apart from the rest so that it is why it is important that I include it here.

I have entered two countries with no passport at all.

Here is what happened:

It was December, 1994.  I had been living in Portrush, Northern Ireland since September.  I found that December was a particularly uninspiring month there as the days went like this:
9:00 AM: Sky goes from murky gray to slightly less gray
4:00 PM: Sky goes back to murky gray
5:00 PM: Sky goes pitch black
8:00 AM: Sky goes from pitch black to murky gray

And it rained like every single day.

So I figured that a little light holiday was in order.  There was a pretty cheap package deal from Belfast to Grand Canary Island, so I took it.

I spent the week mucking about by the pool at some one star resort in Grand Canary soaking in the sunshine.

At the end of the week, the morning of the day that I am to return to Belfast, I discover that my passport was stolen.  I had turned it in at the hotel desk as requested, and low and behold, it was “stolen” right from the front desk.

Well..this put me a bit of a pickle, didn’t it?

I mean, I wasn’t even flying to my home country.

So I boarded the plane using my uni ID and a photocopy of my passport.

And then I drank quite a bit of sangria because the bloke in the seat next to me offered me some, and I didn’t want to be rude.

Then I landed in Belfast.

I guess I was lucky to land in a country that was actually more afraid of what was already lurking inside its borders because truly I just got a pat down and a “never worry, sweetie” from the immigration folks and off I went.  (Looking back, my hotel must have called ahead or did something as I don’t think I am really that charming, even with a belly full of sangria.)

So December finishes, and January scoots by, and all of a sudden, its June.

And I have neglected to sort out my absent passport.

But I figure I am returning to the United States so surely they won’t mind if I don’t have exactly the right documents.  I mean, the border patrol people of the US are known for their kindness and understanding, right?

I get to the airport and (wisely) make out that I lost my passport just that morning (not six months ago).  So they do let me on the plane, but they tell me that I will need to sort things out during my layover in London.

In London, they are bit more excited about my lack of passport, and there is some hemming and hawing and official looking people going back and forth until they decide that yes, they will let me on the plane.

I flew into Chicago where I was promptly detained.

But after an hour or so, a fine was levied, and I was free to go about my business.

I do not, however, recommend trying this out for yourself.

The nineties were a special decade, after all.