How Do You Solve a Problem Like Immigration?

: Image by rickh710 via Flickr

Day one – off to a great start. A close encounter, a dent in my wallet on the first day, greasy hands and a bunch of questions I fumbled through.

The Flight:

Things kicked off with a rather uneventful flight. Quick trip to JFK and a 90 minute layover before heading off to Heathrow.

As I was getting off the plane at JFK, I found out that I was sitting right behind Abby Sunderland, the 16 year old girl who attempted a solo sailing trip around the world. I’m glad I didn’t try to regale nearby passengers with stories of my silly little bike trip.

How is it possible I was right next to the one person who could make me feel like a total slacker?

The Bike:

Checking in the bike wasn’t nearly as torturous as I’d feared it might be. $150 payment for bike/oversized luggage fee and I was good to go. It got more interesting when I arrived in London, because I had to lug around 3 bags and a box weighing 55 lbs. so that was no simple feat, especially up stairs.

Most modes of transportation wouldn’t accommodate the size of the bike box, so it took me a $130 cab ride to get to London Bridge. The cab fare was a lot of money, but I knew it was coming and I did need to get somewhere to piece my ride back together.

The Bridge is also the location of the absolutely amazing On Your Bike shop and underground locked bike parking. The place was wonderful. In addition to a fantastic store, they had a workshop and tools (didn’t need ’em, but it was nice to know they were there). Once the bike was together, I took it into their underground parking facility.

It’s locked up behind a turnstile that only the staff can open, then locked into their hanging racks with my lock. Safe, secure, dry and it will be waiting for me on Sunday. All that for £1.50 per day – awesome. I can’t recommend it enough for any cyclists who want somewhere to stash their bike for a few days.

The British Inquisition:

Here’s where I need to re-think things a little bit. I’d heard on occasion that immigration officials will question you about return tickets, but in all the foreign travel I’ve had, I don’t recall ever getting asked. Until this trip.

Let’s run down the list:

no return ticket
no job
no destination
no idea how long I’ll be in Europe
no permanent address

No warning signs there! But c’mon, really? Is there a steady stream of Americans trying to get into Europe to live as illegal aliens? I was going to re-assure her I had no intention of working while I was there, but somehow I don’t think that would have helped.

Trying to explain that I had no set itinerary, no places to stay, no final destination in mind and was going to be aimlessly riding my bike around France was a bit of verbal tap dancing. My career? Marketing. Who do you work for? Uh, right now, I’m a freelance writer?

Her very British response: “Right.”

I’m convinced she let me slide because I’m only in England for 6 days and then I become France’s problem

I kept waiting for her to say: “You are the weakest link. Goodbye.”

But I explained things honestly (though abridged) and while she appeared to believe me, it didn’t stop her from looking at me like I was a bit daft. I’m convinced she let me slide because I’m only in England for 6 days and then I become France’s problem (which I think actually delighted her).

After all the questions, she welcomed me to the country in that pseudo-friendly ironic manner only the British can pull off:

Looking down from her elevated position, with short-cropped blonde hair, peering over the top of her glasses, she said “Right. Well, as you get to Europe, you’ll need to have good answers for these questions. Some places won’t ask, but some will. Welcome to England.”