Aug 9 2013

Arriving in Toronto

I filled in a declaration form on the plane. I hadn’t realised what a vital and exciting document this is. I searched on the instructions to find where I was supposed to leave it but there was nothing there. I left it on my seat figuring that maybe someone collected them all up and just filed them on a dusty shelf somewhere. It seems I was mistaken. This is super important document that carries vital information for everyone in the airport.

The uniformed chap looks unimpressed at my passport and says the single word “declaration”. I tell him that I don’t understand what he means. “Card you were given on the aeroplane.” Ah, yes. “That’s on the aeorplane”. He looks at me but says nothing. I’m obviously the biggest cretin ever to attempt to walk upon Canadian soil. I realise I will need one of these declaration thingies and ask where I can obtain another one. “Back” says he. Hmm. I task one of the women who are herding queues. “Back” she says. I explain that this back word isn’t helping me much. Please please please I need more specific instructions.

Through several miles of queue herding tape there is a little table and I see someone bent over it doing some writing. This, it seems is the naughty boys and girls table where they must obtain their declaration forms. I go to do my duty returning later with correctly filled out form.

Now there are more questions. Why are you here and why for ONLY four days. Just visiting someone and then going on to visit someone else. And where does this someone live? Erm, I don’t know. You don’t know? “In Toronto”, I offer. She’s called Catherine. I’ve used up my two pieces of information. I have nothing left. Customs woman presses the point. She wants to know what expensive and luxurious gifts I have brought for this Catherine. I say that I’ve brought nothing at all. I didn’t think she’d really want to know that I had a copy of Pips for Catherine.

Much suspicion continues about how I know this Catherine. I tell her that we meet at Science Fiction conventions (which isn’t entirely true as Catherine and I haven’t yet met – I wonder what the penalty is for lying to a customs official – maybe I’ll be dangled from the CNN tower until I say sorry or made to wait in a customs line for eternity).

The customs woman understands about Science Fiction conventions and nods and smiles. I have made it into Canada

By Jim Mowatt • On The Trip •