Here are some things I learned on Day 1:

Frankfurt is a ginormous airport.

It is staffed by tremendously rude and unhelpful people (at least with Condor).

2 hours sleep and a minging hangover does not a nice journey make (Conny taught me this).

I do not look like someone the Americans want in their country.

The flight from Zurich to Frankfurt went well, was typically Swiss in that it ran like clockwork was perfectly pleasant and arrived on time.

Then we hit Frankfurt. That place is a monster. We arrived with a good two hours to spare before flight time, but as soon as we got off the plane were told we were boarding. As we trudged the miles and miles of corridors it dawned on us that this was a pre-emptive measure, so that people didn’t assume their transit would take mere minutes like one would expect, and in fact that that the required hours were accounted for. I fear this was also the case with the check in procedure. We watched in horror as a family who thought they had the correct tickets were offered no help. But just told that they didn’t have the correct tickets (they needed to show onward flight from the US). Until the point the lady said you have five minutes to book a ticket or you cannot fly. Now at this point, if not before, you may have thought someone from their alliance would have offered to help organise something, after all they are an airline. But no, the lady delighted the moment the 5 minutes was up in telling her too late. She promptly turned her back and that was that.

So the flight was cramped and had either modern family or a crap Sandler movie, but was pleasant enough…USA, touchdown!

Or so I thought.

I was looking forward to using my new snazzy passport. Conny just used the automated control system and the moment her ticket to the control booths is printed, catastrophic system failure.

Now, I have dramatised this a little, the system needed a reboot, but as Conny already had a ticket they ushered her onwards and me back to the machines…fine…I thought, no worries, but I ask the guy, as I am travelling with my girlfriend (we all know that means “she is my keeper and has all that paper stuff”) but he assures me no need. So I play the fancy arcade game that is passport control, I win and collect my ticket to the passport control officer.

Then things get wonky.

She asks how long I’m staying. 88 days.

She asks why I am here. To see the States.

She asks how long. 88 days.

She asks what my profession is. I state unemployed…thinking jobless vagabond is a step too far.

She says where are you staying. I give my sister in law’s family address to save confusion.

OK Sir please stand to one side while I process these other folk.

Hmmmmm I think. She says no worries, but then asks me to follow her. Again, as I pass Conny in her queue I say “my girlfriend is just there, can I just let her know?…”

I am told no need. Ten seconds later as I clock the direction I am headed, and the boarded office with mirrored windows I began to fear for the sanctity of my bumhole.

I enter. Am promptly told to take a seat. I am promptly called to the desk the moment I sit down.

Policeman asks same questions. He is having none of it. He asks my profession, he finds it hard to believe some one can travel for 88 days with no job, I tell him its hard to have a job when you are travelling for 88 days.

He asks for my contact details in Oregon, I give them, but my sister in law’s mobile is not acceptable, apparently, so I have nothing to give.

I tell him that Conny is the keeper of the records and that I have a penis so am not good with that stuff (OK I’m paraphrasing but it was clearly the hidden meaning behind my words).

Nope, she’s my sister in law, so that’s not good enough for him. I should have a landline number apparently.

I tell him my further plans, that I have organised a rental, from Jucy for a camper, I even tell him its on Doolitle Drive in San Leandro…nope not good enough, again he asks for papers. I again mention my keeper. He doesn’t buy it.

Then comes the “Where is this girlfriend? If you are travelling together, why isn’t she here, why are you travelling separately?”

Now at this point, the balloon knot in my pants was both quivering and puckered, but I am not sure if it was through rage or fear for what was to come…“BECAUSE YOU FUCKERS SPLIT US UP AND TOLD ME NOT TO GET HER AS YOU BROUGHT ME TO THIS DEN OF ANAL VIOLATION” I thought, but I said, quite politely “the lady told me I didn’t need her here, it was you who split us up when you had a system failure”

At this point, I really thought he was going to snap on the rubber glove and wear me like a puppet right there. BUT HAIL! The shining light of law enforcement comes in, asks the guy who I am, the guy twists every part of my tale “this guy has come, he claims, to visit his sister in law and go camping with her for 88 days”

“That’s not what I said at all” I interject.

“You said you hired a camper with your sister in law to travel for 88 days”

“I said no such thing…”

Good cop pipes up “You’re here to go on a trip aren’t you?”

“Yes” I nod agreeingly.

“You are going to your siter in law’s first then moving on with your trip aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes”

“Your girlfriend is waiting downstairs isn’t she?”

“YES!”

He turns to his colleague, “this guy is clearly on holiday, why do you have him here, just get him out of here and move him along”

STAMP.

Done

And unpucker.