Search me, baby

Ahhh... International travel in the new climate of distrust and anti-community.

I recently returned from a trip overseas to England. I was there, not on business, or specifically to holiday, but rather to see my partner in context of his home nation. Before I dive too deeply into this, I have to remind myself to stay on topic. As a foreigner in a land that tricks you into thinking you aren't so foreign by virtue of sharing a language and perhaps just a few customs, I have much to say about everything I saw there. This blog, instead of a commentary about my experience in that beautiful nation, is more about the means to get there and back. Yes, the travel portion itself. You will read about my journey there, very little about my stay, and then my journey back.

Being a mother of two, and the host of an early family Christmas, I packed early. I had bought a bright orange-red case in the fall and was proud that I paid little for it. I packed it carefully, managing both a half litre of Maple Syrup and a large Tetra Pack of seasonally flavoured soy beverage also carefully balled up in several plastic bags. The case weighed 45lbs; just 5 lbs less than the limit. I was impressed with how much I fit into that case. I left a day before the flight, staying over night at my sister's place in Guelph. She drove me on Christmas day, arriving 2.5 hours early for my flight. It seemed excessively early to me, but it was a free ride.

I breezed through security with very few problems. I am exactly the stereotype of someone who is expect to not be considered a threat. The security people were kind, and even jovial with me. I patiently waited for my flight to Chicago. Yes... a connection to Manchester through Chicago, from Toronto.

My first flight was uneventful. It was overcast so I couldn't even see any land, or water. I guess the one glorious thing was having the window row entirely to myself.

Chicago O'Hare was big. I breezed through customs and then was faced by every multi-national food chain that exists. I was hungry, and more importantly, thirsty. I settled for a bottle of water from Starbucks, as it was the only food chain there that also had vegan options. When faced with nothing but evil, it is sometimes necessary to form a strange moral code.

I got on my next flight, and we were making great time. About half way through it, I started to feel very ill. I never get airsick, and my children appeared to have Norwalk Virus before I left (everyone they came close to became very ill, some even dehydrated enough to be hospitalised) and I had brought it with me onto the plane. I spend the rest of the time being very sick, and even passing out at one point during a quick rush to the bathroom. I have never passed out before, and it was both humiliating and scary.

I arrived in Manchester, and breezed through customs. I must have looked like I had been trampled and felt that way too. I met my partner, trembling and feeling raw. He escorted me to our ride, provided by one of his friends, and I made the journey through the Pennine Mountains.
I remember nothing of the mountains, other than how treeless everything was. Apparently, I called them "bald".

We arrived in Sheffield, and I opened my case to find a notice that it had been searched. My careful packing looked like it has been subjected to a tornado. My carefully wrapped liquids were sitting precariously out of their plastic somewhere in the middle of all of my clothes. I was just happy that the Maple Syrup hadn't been disturbed more. (Imagine the dry-cleaning bill of several wool sweaters covered in that sticky stuff.)

I felt violated and unimpressed, but not at all surprised that my case had been gone through. I just accepted this as the way it is now. Accepted? Really?

When I was getting ready to leave, I remembered this little incident and decided to play it up while packing.

Amongst the souvenirs I had purchased were two pairs of frilly knickers. One had braces for stockings, and the other were just *ahem* frilly knickers. I had also purchased a pewter bowl, some scarves from the local football clubs, and a few t-shirts.

In the case, I placed all the metal, and strange objects on the very bottom. Next went in the jeans, sweaters, skirts, socks, cotton underwear (you know, the sensible stuff...). On top of that went my tights, stockings, lingerie, and frilly knickers (tee hee!!!). The very top was occupied by my dirty laundry.

I guess I figured that if I was to be searched anyways, I may as well be "out" with the most important, most thrilling stuff first.

In Manchester, my carry-on was searched four times and I was patted down twice, the last time being right at the door of the plane. That was humiliating. The one thing that I found ironic is that all of the security devices used looked something like a Grade Nine science project device. Almost laughably original Star Trek in kitsch value.

Customs in O'Hare was its usual friendly presence. "What are you bringing in to MY country?" the guard demanded. (Hah!!! stereotypical American Takes On The World Toute Seule attitude - hey, it works in Hollywood.)

Even more uneventful flight, but surreal after traveling for 13 hours already.

Baggage claim nuisance at Toronto Pearson Airport, and surly customs people. Nothing remarkable there.

Sure enough, I arrive home and open my case to find it in complete disarray with accompanying note stating that I had been searched. This time, they had even zipped open the back lining of the case.

I guess I must have looked really suspicious. I think it was the knickers.