My country-swapping lifestyle isn't all the suave, jet-setting, James Bond stuff that my blog may lead you to believe. It's all about standing in queues and making sure the right forms are filled. We were once turfed out of the US Embassy in London, after waiting for three hours, because our visa photos were the wrong shape.
Canada, as you may have heard, is a bit more laid back than her southerly cousin. The queues are shorter and more polite, probably because the Queen is Head of State. But queue we inevitably had to, for about half-an-hour, and when we got to the front Hannah almost wilted under the intense questioning: "Do you work for Chevron already?" "Yes." And that was, quite literally, it. After the details were tapped into the computer our new visas were printed and stapled into our passports.
It was when we were departing the airport that the fun started. There's a fee for work permits - Chevron, in its munificence, furnished us with a Canadian money order especially - and you can't leave immigration until you've paid and got an official stamp on the form you hand in at the exit queue. Except that our processing lady gave us the stamp without asking for reimbursement, and we left. "We didn't pay!" Hannah suddenly exclaimed as we officially entered Canada. "Wait here!" She scurried back into the arrivals hall.
An hour later I managed to find a pay phone and call her. "I can't talk," whispered the voice on the other end. "I should be out soon."
You're not allowed back into arrivals once they've let you out, even if it's their mistake. So Hannah was shown to a special area, where she joined another queue. A queue made up of the people who weren't allowed into Canada because of "issues". She described it vividly when she eventually made it back: "Don't lie to me!" an immigration officer was telling one woman. "I know you're lying to me. If you lie I only have one choice, if you tell the truth we have options." Two guys were explaining to police that the brand-new merchandise filling their suitcases was decoration for a restaurant. Another lady had previously come into Canada on a three-month visa and stayed for a year.
When Hannah eventually got to the front of this line the officer was very confused, and asked several times why she was there. "Well...thank you for your honesty," was his final response. "It's my most time-consuming bit of honesty ever," Hannah replied, but with that lovely smile of hers.
Oh how we laughed when she reappeared, just as I was about to file a missing person's report. She admitted to feeling intimidated which, if you know Hannah, is no small claim. But the upshot is that we both have work permits. Yes, for the first time in five years I can earn money! Which brings complex and confusing feelings that will take several months of shopping and lunching with new Canadian friends to work through.
North by Southwest, and Pete doesn't understand why people complain about the leg room.
The British successfully invade Canada, again.
