The 1000 Day Holiday

Arriving in London from the Netherlands. Its supposed to feel kind of like home right.

The Motherland of our little colony at the ass end of the world.

But first you are greeted by immigration. Today is a good day. 60 People in the EU resident queue. 0 in the Foreigners. In fact there’s only 1 lady dealing with those called foreigners.

I approach in a happy mood, thinking this has to be the easiest border crossing. But things have already gone awry. Freshly back in the land of mobile connectivity, I thought it smart to store Jamie’s address at which I would be dossing on my new dutch Sim card. Which to my surprise on disembarking the plane has a default PIN.

Bummer. But I know the suburb, which Ive put on the form, and have a good memory of the map.

She: Whats your address in London

Me: I put it in my new phone, which has a PIN, And now Ive locked it trying to guess the default PIN. But I’m pretty sure I can find it, and if not, find an Internet cafe…

She: So you have no address

Me: I do, but I just bought this SIM, and now its locked, but if I get online I will have it.

She: How long are you planning to stay in the UK? Her flicking through my almost full 48 page passport

Me: About a month, I need a new passport, so have to wait for that.

She: What do you mean “about a month”

Me: Well the time it takes to get a new passport and see a few friends.

She: How much money do you have.

Me: $xx,000

She: What currency? You have been travelling a lot. When do you finish.

Me: Aussie Dollars, 8 Months left…

She: And then what?

Me: Find a new place to live and some way to make money.

She: Raising eyebrow…

Me: But the main requirement for where I’m going to live, is that it must have a nice beach, that’s warm, sunny and has good winds for kite surfing.

She: Well that’s not here then! STAMP.

I was on a Eurolines bus from St Petersberg to Estonia. 30 Passengers, nothing out of the ordinary.

We reached the Russian Immigration Control Point. At which point we grab our bags and head to get our exit stamps. Im the last in line from our bus. No problem.

Everyone else breezes through. Stamp, next, stamp, next…

20 minutes of him picking at the lamination on the photo page of my passport, while on the phone… The passport is full, just 2 clean pages left. Of course it looks a bit tatty. But hell, I want to leave your country, Im not arriving!

Me trying to say please dont pick at that, since I have to present that passport to Estonian immigration at the next stop.

Its like he wanted me to stay in Russia!

Getting back on the bus and getting evil stares from everyone when you couldnt do anything about it. BUH