I Am Fine

Melbourne, 11.21am

Writing about what happened at the end of my trip I think will be good for me, because after a week back at work it kind of feels like I never left. Plus the story you get in this blog is a GOOD one, so enjoy!

In my last blog I mentioned that I left Helsinki, just, and arrived in London, just, and let's be honest, what's a travel adventure without trouble crossing a border?

In Europe, most of the countries are part of an agreement called the Schengen Agreement, which means you can travel through those countries without having to show your passport everytime you cross a border. For Aussies, you're allowed to travel there for 90 days without a visa. There was some kind of communication error between my travel agent and I and I thought I was fine for the length of time I would be in the Schengen countries, 112 days. Finnish Border Security had other ideas.

I'm standing at the Border Security office while the man there is looking very confused as to why I'm blatantly standing in front of him going 'Yes, I know I've been here 112 days. I was told it was fine.' He then said I'd have to follow his colleague. I think it was at this point that my stomach plummeted to my knees and the phrase 'Don't freak out Nicola' ran through my head. That phrase stayed on repeat for the next, oh hour, that I was sitting in the security office.

That's correct! I got to sit on a wooden bench in the Finnish Border Security Office with the other terrorists trying to get into Finland, while the security guys sat in a little glass booth, WITH MY PASSPORT, tapping away on a computer and discussing me at great length. Occasionally one would pop back in and ask me something ('What is your occupation? What is your income? Do you have any under age children?'), while I sat there flicking my nails and not getting into hysterics.

I figured the worst that could happen would be that they would send me straight back to Australia, or fine me 1000 or 2000 euros. I was fairly certain it wasn't a jailable offense, but only time would tell. As for the other terrorists, apart from one bloke who was escorted off the premises by the cops (trying to make a run for it on a stolen passport after killing his sister in law's uncle for cheating him in a reindeer deal, perhaps?), I think I was actually the one in the most trouble. So that was a first for me!

After an hour, two security guys came out and stated 'You have been in the Schengen countries for 112 days, 22 days longer than you're allowed. So we are fining you 300 euros. You will have one month to pay. Please sign here.' I was so delighted that I wasn't going back to Melbourne early and that I wasn't being fined for my life's savings which I'd just spent on four months on the Continent, that I signed with great relief and then proceeded to thank them as they showed me the door out. Sometimes I think a little less good manners and a little coldness is called for, but apparently my parents did too good a job on me.

Adding to the general movie-like nature of it all were the security guys' accents which sounded a bit Russian, so I was almost hoping they'd start telling me about their evil plan to take over the world by blowing up the oil line from Finland to New York. Honestly, I was quite glad that (hopefully) my one and only problem at a border was with the very polite Finns and not somewhere like Thailand.

After that little ordeal I sat very quietly on the plane to London, trying to unwind and regain my excitement about getting to London, finally! Until I got there and encountered English passport control. Apparently everyone had it in for me that day.

When I arrived, I got to passport control before I got my suitcase, meaning I didn't have my return ticket home in my hand luggage, a thought which never occurred to me. I had my passport, I knew that I had only holiday intentions in England. That wasn't enough however, and I was subjected to an on-the-spot interrogation. Stupidly, I'd put my occupation on the arrival card as waitress (not enough room to write cafe manager or better yet, Chief of Operations for the Eastern Branch of the Gusto Group). So as far as my passport man was concerned, I was another Aussie waitress with not much money arriving in London. I had to convince him that I had bucketloads of money for my nine days in England, a job in Australia to return to, and that I wasn't going to marry, procreate and sponge off the system with my friend Carl who I said I was staying with (I wasn't). After a lot of sighing, hmmming and long pauses and disbelieving eyebrows, he eventually stamped my passport and made sure I knew to carry my return tickets next time.

I belted out of there, got my suitcase, stopped and tried to regroup. Good grief! What is it with the Finns and the Poms? Why don't they like me? I'm delightful and inoffensive and my only intention is to spend my hard-earned Aussie dollars in their silly countries. Pfft.

By the time I made it to a seat outside the Kentish Town tube station in central London, I was seriously in need of a stiff drink, but I settled for some wine and a take away curry and a venting session with Sharon instead.

It's a good thing I had such a wonderful time in London to block out that very tiring day! I will save my nine days in London for later this week - that story includes Toad in the Hole!