Making trouble all over the world: Whereby Susan makes the long journey to her temporary hoome in Freiburg

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Let me start by saying that nothing really went terribly wrong on my way to Freiburg. It was just one of those days... that goes on... and on... and getting in trouble with the "authorities" made it seem even longer!

Here's the quick rundown of the day:

• 5:30 a.m. - wake up



• 7 a.m. - leave home for SeaTac airport (traffic was lighter than expected; I was there by 7:30)



• 10 a.m. - take off for Calgary



• Noonish - arrive Calgary



• 6 p.m. - depart Calgary for Frankfurt



• 11 a.m. (Europe time) - arrive Frankfurt



• 2 p.m. - arrive Freiburg. Wait in park for Susanne (my roommate Ralph's partner).



• 5:30 p.m. - Meet up with Susanne.
  

so, all-in-all, it was about 26 hours door-to-door. And I didn't really sleep much on the plane... which might explain why, 3 days later, I'm still feeling a bit lethargic.

In those 26 hours I got into trouble a few times (I'm innocent, I swear!), which, well, didn't help the day go by any faster.

Incident #1: Canadian immigrations

Oh, Canadians. So proud of your vigilance, always setting a watch for thee. Watching out for invading Americans who might commit acts of terror, or worse, take advantage of your health care system.

Let's rewind back to July of 2001, when Susan was attempting to cross the Canadian border from Glacier National Park (in Montana) towards Calgary.

It must have been a Friday, that day when Barb and Diana at the border patrol play that game. You know, the one where they have some fun with an American, make them suffer a little. Americans are so uppity, forgetting that Canada is a real country, after all, and it never hurts to remind them where Canada lies (on top of the United States, if you look at that map, buddy!).

And I was the one who won the game of tourist roulette and was instructed to pull over and "go up to the office" for no apparent reason after showing my ID at the gate.

After waiting for nearly an hour in the office for my turn to be interrogated ("Barb, do you think we might be getting carried away? We've already got a line up here.") I got to play the "ask the American whatever the heck you want" game.

"Where are you going?"

"Calgary"

"How long are you staying there?"

"About a week."

"Where are you staying?"

"At my friend's place " (I told her his name and address.)

"Where did you meet him?"

"In Germany"

"Is he your boyfriend?" (Seriously? Was all I could think...)

"No"

"How much money do you have with you?"

"Well, I'm not carrying much cash, because I'm about to cross the border into Canada (duh...), where they use Canadian dollars. I was going to stop at an ATM..."

"Well, how much money do you have in your bank account? You know you have to have enough money to cover your stay in Canada while you're here. And if you have to go to the hospital, our health care system won't cover you."

(Susan looking nervously around the room at the other people who are waiting to be interrogated) "Um, well, more than a thousand dollars" (I think the actual value was closer to ten thousand dollars at the time, but I was somewhat wary of being mugged by one of these characters.)

"Can you prove that? Do you have an ATM receipt from the last 24 hours or other proof of funds?"

"No... I've been hiking for the last 48 hours..."

"Well, you'll have to go to the nearest ATM and get a receipt."

"Oh. Where is that?" (Thinking it would be across the street)

"18 miles south of here."

Let's just say that it took me longer than expected to get to Calgary that evening.

So... returning back to May of 2009, with Susan arriving in Calgary for a bit of a layover. Let's just say that I've been to Canada several times since the 2001 incident (Vancouver, Whistler, Victoria, etc.), and had assumed that Canada had decided to let bygones be bygones. So when the passport-stamping woman at immigrations told me to go over to the immigrations line behind her (er? I thought I was at immigrations), I was a bit baffled.

After a bit of waiting in the more-secure-and-serious-looking "back room", I was asked if I had ever been refused entry to Canada. Thinking that the 2001 incident didn't count because I was allowed in, albeit an hour or two after my first attempt, I replied in the negative.

The best part is that that woman (Barb, Diane, or whatever her name was), must have written down everything I said during my interrogation.

"What about in 2001 when you tried to enter at Carway?" (Was that the name of the town? How was I supposed to remember that?) "It says here that you were trying to visit someone you had met in Germany." It couldn't possibly be a coincidence that I was flying to Germany via Calgary. Clearly I was trying to mule drugs to Germany with the help of my old henchman. Or worse, take advantage of Canada's generous health care system again.

Fortunately it wasn't a Thursday, when the Calgary airport immigrations officers make as many people run to the nearest ATM to prove that they have sufficient funds to cover their stay. So I was allowed to continue on, to wander the airport for 6 hours and ponder: "Why do they make people who simply have a layover here go through immigrations and customs?."

In trouble for a second time: "Das ist nicht handgepaeck!"

You're right, Mr. S-Bahn (Strassenbahn, or streetcar, in German cities) conductor. My bike, in its cardboard box, isn't really hand-luggage, especially if by hand-luggage you mean something that I would carry onto an airplane and store in an overhead bin.

But that double-wide stroller for two that that woman brought on wasn't really hand-luggage either, now was it?

But then again, you did look a little foolish going off (in German, of course) on the American visitor for several minutes before realizing that she didn't understand most of what you said, didn't you?

I feel like we're pretty much even now, you and I. But don't think that I won't try to get my bike box on the S-Bahn again tomorrow just to even things out a little more.

Getting in trouble #3: Don't feed the birds (or eat the bread we just gave you!)

Let's face it: with good, crusty rolls, crumbs drop. And some of them get on your clothes, especially when you're on hour 24 of your journey to Freiburg. But whatever you do, don't let those crumbs fall on the ground, lest you be lectured on the horrors of what happens when you feed the birds ("then they learn to bother people for more bread").

To be fair, it sounds like this nice young man was telling me off because someone else had instructed him to. And he was very polite about it. But seriously, people! Crumbs happen!

NOTE: In the last 72 hours here in Freiburg, I haven't gotten in trouble once... Even though I accidentally rang someone's doorbell instead of hitting the apartment building's hallway light switch (they're right next to each other and look exactly the same; whose idea was that?!). I ran off before anyone could answer the door!