As you can imagine, the hour and a half flight back to Sweden was full of anxiety for me. I was sitting near the front of the plane where I had been directed to sit by the security agent who had escorted me onto the plane (imagine this scene: I'm being rushed through the inner maze of hallways that's hidden from view from the general public by a tiny but very official woman at break-neck speed while carrying a large and weighty duffel bag, taken to the front of the line of people waiting to board their RyanAir flight and am told to sit in an already occupied seat which requires me to ask the flight attendant to have the man removed so I can sit there and then answer her questions as to why because she doesn't know about the situation or why I'm there and so this poor man has to move and I take over warming the seat as everyone the near vacinity is looking on in morbig curiosity at this woman with wild, pink, puffy eyes and greasy hair who's not slept in over 24 hours and has been crying intermittently for the last 7 hours), nervous, occassionally trading off my gaze out the window to my shaky hands but never to the people around me. I faked sleep for a little while, trying to calm myself down and feeling as if this was all a dream and that I'd wake up soon.
Then we land. I wasn't sure what was going to happen or what the protocol would be - all I knew was that my passport and documents for being refused entry were in the possession of the cabin crew. All around me other passengers are getting up and pulling their items from the overhead bins. I stand up, unsure of what to do. It didn't take long. I was soon called out in front of the line of passengers eagerly awaiting to disembark from the plane to enjoy their holiday or to enjoy going home to their families after being away on holiday and was told to descend the metal staircase leading to the tarmack. Waiting for me were two police officers. One of the flight attendants greeted the men and handed over a manilla envelope which I was sure contained my documents. I was handed over. There was a bit of chit-chat. Humorless. Humiliating.
"So, you were refused entry?"
Yes
"What did you do?"
I was volunteering without a volunteer, which I didn't know was illegal.
I tried to keep it light in a tone inviting some sort of chuckle or at least a compassionate eye. Nothing.
I was led into a small room within the airport. An official looking room. I guess where the police-men sit all day waiting for refugees to arrive.
"So, what do you plan to do?"
I don't know
I sit in disbelief. They ask me what my plans are? I thought I would be told what to do.
"Do you have any money?"
No, just a credit card.
"Do you have any friends or family here?"
No.
"Well, we'll let you in. But you have overstayed your stay in the EU."
What, I don't understand?
"You are only allowed to stay for three months in the EU, even though you were allowed a stay of six months in the UK."
So what does that mean? Will I be OK to leave?
"How long do you plan on staying?"
I don't know, maybe five days, a week. Just long enough for me to make arrangements to go home.
"That will be fine."
Is there a certain amount of time I have before I need to leave?
"You'll be fine."
I sit there. Still stunned and unsure of what to do.
"We'll take you through to get your passport stamped."
Can I at least make a phone call?
So they fumble around for about 10 minutes trying to figure out to make the international call to England. Finally they figure it out and I'm connected...almost. It's ringing anyway. But it just keeps ringing and ringing. No answer. And Dave doesn't have voicemail. I'm terrified. I hang up. I am led through the airport to Passport Control. My passport is stamped. I'm allowed in. They say to me, "Good luck." To which I respond, "is there a pay phone or internet access."
"Oh yes, there are some computers you can pay to use."
Can you show me where that is?
They walk me to the line of three computers that constitutes their "internet cafe." Relief. They tell me how I can get access to the internet, smile, wish me luck again and leave. I stand there stunned. I could hardly believe it. In less than 8 hours I'd flown to England from Sweden, was detained and questioned at length and then flown back to Sweden. It was a full-circle trip. I would have been less exhausted if I'd slept the night in the airport on a concrete floor. What was I going to do?
Thankfully just about everyone in Sweden speaks English. So I went to the girl running the register in the tiny box that only slightly resembled a gift shop and asked if I could buy time for the internet. She ran my card, gave me a receipt and showed me the code allowing me access. The first thing I did was looked for transportation out of the airport. Fear gripped my chest when I realized all of the information I was reading was in Swedish. Of course it was. And the only Swedish I knew was "hi-hi" and "takk". I'm sure there was a setting I could have changed to allow me to read the information in English, but in my panicked state, it was the last thing I would have thought to do. So I did the only thing I knew to do - signed into Facebook.
I need to remember to send a thank you letter to that fella who created Facebook. And to the guy who created the internet and computers and electricity. I mean, without all of this technology, I seriously don't know how I would have contacted Dave. After all, I didn't have a cell phone on my and no cash. There was no cash machine and no currency exchange. I logged onto Facebook and immediately started sending messages to anyone of relevance and sent a desperate message to Dave in the dire hopes he'd have gotten to Greavsey's house and was able to get online. And then that wonderful little ring let me know I had an instant message. From Dave. Thank god! I was able to let him know I was at the airport and in the time I'd spent in detension and flying from Britain to Scandanavia, the gang had arranged for Erica's mom to pick me up in two hours. Sweet Jesus. Still, I needed to speak to him so we could arrange a few more details. There was no pay phone. So I went to the information desk to see if there was a phone I could use. Sure, if it was a local call. To England? Sorry, you'll have to ask the bored girl sitting on the till in the shoebox gift shop if you can pay to use her phone. You'd like to use a phone? What phone? No, I'm sorry there's no phone here, you should try information. Seriously? Arrrgh! I go back to Information. Wait for about half an hour for a woman to show up in the window. Can I use your phone please? I was just refused entry to England and sent back to Sweden and I really need to call my fiancee in England. Reluctance. Seconds tick by like hours. OK. But just for a minute. Thankfully this time he answers. He outlined the whole scenario and what I could expect. Erica's mom would be there to pick me up in two hours. She would allow me to stay there until we could make other arrangements. In the meantime, Dave was on the phone with Annie to see if she knew of an immigration lawyer we could contact to see if there was any way to get me back to the UK. The gang was being very supportive and send their love. OK, talk to you soon - we'll keep in touch on Facebook until Erica's mom gets here and then we'll talk once I get to her house.
Relief. One problem. I didn't have a watch. No way to tell time. I found no clock in the airport, oddly enough. I bought a small alarm clock for a ridiculously extravagent price from the shoebox boutique. And some toothpaste. There was serious fur growing where my teeth used to be.
I found the time, set the clock. Locked myself inside the bathroom and tried to tidy myself up. Brushing my teeth was about the best feeling in the world.
Then I went to the airport cafe and got something to eat. I was starving, having not eaten for quite some time. And I just waited. To kill time I wandered back into the main terminal and there stood my angel, with blond wavy hair holding a sign that read "ERIN". I immediately hugged her and in her broken English Erica's mom told me not to worry - she would be my mom for a little while. She was going to take me to her house where I could get some sleep and use the computer and phone as much as I needed. I don't know if I've ever been so relieve in all of my life. Or so tired.
Then we land. I wasn't sure what was going to happen or what the protocol would be - all I knew was that my passport and documents for being refused entry were in the possession of the cabin crew. All around me other passengers are getting up and pulling their items from the overhead bins. I stand up, unsure of what to do. It didn't take long. I was soon called out in front of the line of passengers eagerly awaiting to disembark from the plane to enjoy their holiday or to enjoy going home to their families after being away on holiday and was told to descend the metal staircase leading to the tarmack. Waiting for me were two police officers. One of the flight attendants greeted the men and handed over a manilla envelope which I was sure contained my documents. I was handed over. There was a bit of chit-chat. Humorless. Humiliating.
"So, you were refused entry?"
Yes
"What did you do?"
I was volunteering without a volunteer, which I didn't know was illegal.
I tried to keep it light in a tone inviting some sort of chuckle or at least a compassionate eye. Nothing.
I was led into a small room within the airport. An official looking room. I guess where the police-men sit all day waiting for refugees to arrive.
"So, what do you plan to do?"
I don't know
I sit in disbelief. They ask me what my plans are? I thought I would be told what to do.
"Do you have any money?"
No, just a credit card.
"Do you have any friends or family here?"
No.
"Well, we'll let you in. But you have overstayed your stay in the EU."
What, I don't understand?
"You are only allowed to stay for three months in the EU, even though you were allowed a stay of six months in the UK."
So what does that mean? Will I be OK to leave?
"How long do you plan on staying?"
I don't know, maybe five days, a week. Just long enough for me to make arrangements to go home.
"That will be fine."
Is there a certain amount of time I have before I need to leave?
"You'll be fine."
I sit there. Still stunned and unsure of what to do.
"We'll take you through to get your passport stamped."
Can I at least make a phone call?
So they fumble around for about 10 minutes trying to figure out to make the international call to England. Finally they figure it out and I'm connected...almost. It's ringing anyway. But it just keeps ringing and ringing. No answer. And Dave doesn't have voicemail. I'm terrified. I hang up. I am led through the airport to Passport Control. My passport is stamped. I'm allowed in. They say to me, "Good luck." To which I respond, "is there a pay phone or internet access."
"Oh yes, there are some computers you can pay to use."
Can you show me where that is?
They walk me to the line of three computers that constitutes their "internet cafe." Relief. They tell me how I can get access to the internet, smile, wish me luck again and leave. I stand there stunned. I could hardly believe it. In less than 8 hours I'd flown to England from Sweden, was detained and questioned at length and then flown back to Sweden. It was a full-circle trip. I would have been less exhausted if I'd slept the night in the airport on a concrete floor. What was I going to do?
Thankfully just about everyone in Sweden speaks English. So I went to the girl running the register in the tiny box that only slightly resembled a gift shop and asked if I could buy time for the internet. She ran my card, gave me a receipt and showed me the code allowing me access. The first thing I did was looked for transportation out of the airport. Fear gripped my chest when I realized all of the information I was reading was in Swedish. Of course it was. And the only Swedish I knew was "hi-hi" and "takk". I'm sure there was a setting I could have changed to allow me to read the information in English, but in my panicked state, it was the last thing I would have thought to do. So I did the only thing I knew to do - signed into Facebook.
I need to remember to send a thank you letter to that fella who created Facebook. And to the guy who created the internet and computers and electricity. I mean, without all of this technology, I seriously don't know how I would have contacted Dave. After all, I didn't have a cell phone on my and no cash. There was no cash machine and no currency exchange. I logged onto Facebook and immediately started sending messages to anyone of relevance and sent a desperate message to Dave in the dire hopes he'd have gotten to Greavsey's house and was able to get online. And then that wonderful little ring let me know I had an instant message. From Dave. Thank god! I was able to let him know I was at the airport and in the time I'd spent in detension and flying from Britain to Scandanavia, the gang had arranged for Erica's mom to pick me up in two hours. Sweet Jesus. Still, I needed to speak to him so we could arrange a few more details. There was no pay phone. So I went to the information desk to see if there was a phone I could use. Sure, if it was a local call. To England? Sorry, you'll have to ask the bored girl sitting on the till in the shoebox gift shop if you can pay to use her phone. You'd like to use a phone? What phone? No, I'm sorry there's no phone here, you should try information. Seriously? Arrrgh! I go back to Information. Wait for about half an hour for a woman to show up in the window. Can I use your phone please? I was just refused entry to England and sent back to Sweden and I really need to call my fiancee in England. Reluctance. Seconds tick by like hours. OK. But just for a minute. Thankfully this time he answers. He outlined the whole scenario and what I could expect. Erica's mom would be there to pick me up in two hours. She would allow me to stay there until we could make other arrangements. In the meantime, Dave was on the phone with Annie to see if she knew of an immigration lawyer we could contact to see if there was any way to get me back to the UK. The gang was being very supportive and send their love. OK, talk to you soon - we'll keep in touch on Facebook until Erica's mom gets here and then we'll talk once I get to her house.
Relief. One problem. I didn't have a watch. No way to tell time. I found no clock in the airport, oddly enough. I bought a small alarm clock for a ridiculously extravagent price from the shoebox boutique. And some toothpaste. There was serious fur growing where my teeth used to be.
I found the time, set the clock. Locked myself inside the bathroom and tried to tidy myself up. Brushing my teeth was about the best feeling in the world.
Then I went to the airport cafe and got something to eat. I was starving, having not eaten for quite some time. And I just waited. To kill time I wandered back into the main terminal and there stood my angel, with blond wavy hair holding a sign that read "ERIN". I immediately hugged her and in her broken English Erica's mom told me not to worry - she would be my mom for a little while. She was going to take me to her house where I could get some sleep and use the computer and phone as much as I needed. I don't know if I've ever been so relieve in all of my life. Or so tired.
RSS Feed
