Who’s on First?


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Europe » Iceland
June 27th 2006
Published: July 21st 2006
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Passport Control Keflavik



Happy to finally be the next in line I stepped forward, smiled and handed over my passport and onward ticket to the large blonde Immigration Officer in uniform. He looked to be in his mid 40’s, his light blue shirt matched the color of his eyes.

He took my passport and without looking up mumbled something to me in Swedish. I was a little surprised given he was holding my passport that had United States of America stamped all over it, but maybe because my name is Scandinavian he assumed I spoke Swedish.

Tried and lazy, knowing his English would be better than my rusty Swedish, I changed the conversation to English. “Back to the US.” I said with a smile. With that he looked up at me for a moment and then turned his attention back to my passport. What could be so interesting, I thought?

He flipped through my passport slowly and got a look of befuddlement. Man I hate that look! What is it with me and borders?! I smiled trying to look as young and sweet as possible, something that’s a lot harder to pull off the older you get.

“How did you enter Iceland?” he asked.

“From Paris” I responded with a smile.

“Yes, but how did you get to Paris…..from Iceland?”

“No, from Morocco”

He leaned forward slowly. “I am confused. So, when you left the United States where did you go?”

“Cape Town, South Africa” This was quickly becoming an international version of the Abbit and Costello’s Who’s on First.

“Ok, so then to Paris?”

“No Namibia” I paused, hoping by the stamps in my passport he would fill in the blanks, but he let out a deep sigh, rolled his eyes and waived his hand in a beckoning motion indicating that I should continue. Seriously?! We are going to be here all day! I thought to myself in frustration. I quickly turned around to look at the huge crowd behind me. They looked like they would kill me given the chance…….

“You were telling me a story” My train of thought interrupted by the Immigration Officer “Continue.”

“OK. So from Namibia to Botswana, Botswana to Zambia, Zambia back to Botswana, Botswana back to South Africa, from South Africa to Italy, Italy to Morocco, Morocco to Paris, Paris to Iceland.” Finished, I sighed, caught my breath and smiled although I feared it was starting to look a little forced.

“Why didn’t you go to Morocco first before going to Italy? Morocco is in Africa.”

Seriously! I do not need a geography lesson! “Funny you should mention that, so did my travel agent, but I was meeting friends and it was a scheduling thing.” I replied.

He then looked me dead in the eye, his steel blue eyes never blinking. It seemed to go on forever. I didn’t dare blink or breathe, all I could think of was the fact I was going to end up in an Icelandic jail for going to Morocco after Italy instead of before…….crap, I might actually be in trouble for absolutely nothing! Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. I wonder if Icelandic jails are cold? I hate being cold! Well they are probably the nicest, clean and ……

Just as the thought flashed through my mind the Immigration Officer broke his gaze….

BAM!......BAM!.......

He stamped my passport with such force, the noise it made caused me to jump back.

Seeing my passport stamped, I let out a sigh of relief, leaned over to pickup my backpack and grab my passport. On my merry way home!

As I reached to grab my passport the Immigration Officer held on to one corner, causing me to look up and catch his gaze. “It is all very interesting……………….”


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