Immigration at Heathrow

23 April 2010

Arrived at Heathrow airport, London mid-morning considerably jet-lagged after a sleepless night over the Atlantic. Jean abandoned me at immigration to queue in with EU passport holders as it was a shorter line than the one with the chattel holding non EU documents.

I filed in and was soon before a bald, bespectacled, middle-aged immigration official. He scanned over my proffered information card and was immediately querulous as to how I managed to take off from work for 24 days and whether or not I was even employed at all. Not wanting to explain that I had quit my job so my wife and I could backpack around the world I told him that I was on an extended leave of absence.

"For how long?" he pressed.
"About six months."
"Six months here?"
"No, we're going to Greece in a few weeks."
"We? Who are you traveling with?"
"My wife."
"Where is she?"
"She's a UK national so she went to the other line."
"She could have come through here."
"The line was shorter."
"Hmmm."

Finally, I showed him my flight itinerary showing that I would be heading off to Greece in 24 days. His tensions relieved that I would not be freeloading around Britain for an indeterminate amount of time he began peppering me with questions about my wedding and what countries we would be traveling to after Greece. I began rattling off the countries, "Turkey, Georgia, India, Sri Lanka, Thailand, maybe Indonesia." He then wished me luck, suggested I get a portable AM/FM radio, congratulated me on my marriage, and stamped my passport.

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