The customs agent in Vancouver asked me: “What are you doing in Canada?”
“Canoe trip,” I answered, truthfully.
“Duh, but what exactly?” he said.
Apparently, most visitors to Canada in the month of September go there for canoe trips.
As far as customs agents go, this was a friendly interaction. Years ago, I flew from Germany to England. Getting off the plane at Stansted airport, which is one of the most depressing airports on the planet, I was stopped. This was when the United Kingdom was still in the European Union, so there was no way they could refuse entry.
“What’s the nature of your trip to England?” the uniformed officer shouted at me.
“Uh… private?” I stuttered.
She didn’t like that answer. I had meant that it wasn’t a business visit, but she thought that I meant that it was none of her business. She took me to an interrogation room.
“What are you doing in England? Where are you staying? Who are you meeting?” She went through the list used by immigration officials everywhere. And finally: “What’s your profession?”
“Scientist.”
“That’s typical,” she replied.
I asked what she meant by that, but she didn’t want to tell me. Eventually, she let me go.
Years later, I’m still angry about being interrogated like this. I wouldn’t fare well in an authoritarian country, where I’d have to answer questions like this at every roadblock and police checkpoint.
