Andrew Pollock: [life] On departing the home of the Spanish Inquisition
I'm currently in (the really lovely) Philadelphia airport again, waiting for
my connecting flight to San Francisco.
I'm rapidly arriving at the conclusion that it is easier to enter the US
once you've landed on US soil, than it is to depart from the country bound
for the US.
I had the most harrowing experience of my life this morning, trying to check
in for my return flight.
Due to the way various people's itineraries worked out, I ended up having to
share a taxi from Badajoz to Madrid Airport at 12:30am. My flight didn't
depart until something like 12:20pm, but the bus with the bulk of the people
on it wasn't going to get me to the airport with less than 2 hours before
departure, and I didn't want to risk missing my flight, especially given I'm
feeling under the weather.
So I got to the airport at about 4am, having had little sleep in the taxi.
Terminal 1 has a real dearth of seating for people waiting to check in. I
spent 4 hours trying to make myself as comfortable as possible on the hard
floor, and didn't get a lot of sleep then either.
For the record, check-ins (at least for US Airways) seem to open around 4
hours before the scheduled departure time.
So I went to check in, and the way they were working it was there was a
bunch of podiums out the front of what I would consider a conventional
check-in counter. The people at these podiums then proceeded to give you
your first Spanish Inquisition. I'd previously remarked to myself at how
trivial it was to get into Spain...
I was asked the purpose of my trip to Spain. I told the woman it was for a
business meeting. She then asked where I'd spent my time I Spain. I told her
Badajoz. She asked if I had a hotel receipt to show for it. I told her the
accommodation was paid for my someone else. She then asked if I had any
business cards to show for the business meeting. Sheesh, I thought. Luckily
I still had all the copies of people's keys leftover from the keysigning we
did, and some of them were in a business card format, so I pulled out a
fistful of them and gave them to her. Oh, and she wanted to see a copy of my
itinerary, and seemed satisfied that the flights were a reversal of what
got me there in the first place.
She wandered off with my passport, itinerary and the fistful of "business
cards" and came back, seemingly satisfied that everything was in order. She
stuck little blue stickers on my luggage and passport (the size of an
Australian convenience-store price tag) and I was allowed to wait for the
next check-in person. The rest of the checking-in process was fairly normal.
I can appreciate the airline wanting to avoid having to deal with passengers
being refused entry to the US, but I had a valid US visa in my passport, so
that should make all of that a moot point. I don't know why I had to prove
my trip's legitimacy to the airline.
So I thought that was the end of it. Hardly. Terminal 1 of Madrid Airport
seems to have heaps of gates, with a letter/number combination. Mine was in
the B series, and I went through the security screening, and it became
apparent that I had to go through another guard post looking thing to get
from the A series to the B series. The signage looked like it said "Police".
Anyway, the guy there had so-so English, and he initially was a little
unhappy that I had an Australian passport and was flying to the US and not
Australia. I pointed out the US visa, and he seemed less concerned. Then he
asked me to say something in Spanish. I don't know if he was trying to be
conversational, or I had to be able to speak some Spanish to get past or
what the story was, but by this stage I was pretty tired, and this caught me
totally off guard. I think I stammered out a Buenos d as or
something. He then wanted to know how many hours it took to fly from
Australia to Spain. I told him I had no idea, because I'd only flown from
the US to Spain. He then begrudgingly gave me an exit stamp in my passport,
and I was allowed on my way.
I think the whole thing was made the more harrowing by the fact I was deadly
tired, the Police guy didn't speak terribly fantastic English, and I wasn't
expecting a second Spanish Inquisition (let alone the first).
Oh, and closer to boarding time, they chucked everyone out of the lounge
area closest to the gate, and rechecked everyone's passports and boarding
passes. That was fair enough, and not unlike what happens in Sydney going to
the US, but they don't even let you into the lounge area in the first place.
That departure process was more what I would have expected an entry process
to be like, and has put me off returning to Spain a little bit. The entry
process was a joke. The guy barely looked at my passport long enough to give
me the entry stamp.
Fortunately I slept for the bulk of the flight from Madrid to Philly, and
now I'm feeling a bit more human.
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