Surviving Customs and Immigration

One is always innocent until proven guilty? Certainly not applicable when entering another country, when faced with a serious bunch of uniformed soul searchers intent on extracting all. It starts at the immigration counter where a frowning official issues disconcerting grunts and flicks through the offending passport as if he is going to find that it is forged, out-of-date or at the very worst that it actually belongs to a recent mass murderer! By the time any self-respecting traveler is faced with an arms-folded and heavily braided customs official, who is singling them out, they would confess to having the crown jewels in their bag!

The Edinburgh Syndrome

I have been very lucky in my travels! I tend not to get stopped very often and if I do it's typically a cursory check rather than a full bag search. But one place that always has waves of guilt washing over me is Edinburgh airport, my home town and the one that I probably use most often. I typically grab my bag off the conveyor belt and before I know it I have a plain-clothed concrete block standing in my path! "Where have you just come from Sir"? "You do know that it is against the law to bring drugs, fresh fruit and vegetables into the country"? "Excuse me Sir, can you come with me". I honestly feel like breaking down at these moments, either that or turning tail and trying to make a break for freedom. I certainly don't have anything illegal or over the limits regarding Duty Free, not going through Edinburgh airport as my name must be on a hit list but without fail I am singled out and my bags thoroughly searched. I have recently changed to using Glasgow airport.

Having just left a ship a seafarer can feel unwashed; he might be very tired and eagerly looking forward to getting home to see his family after three or more months away. Trouble and strife at the airport is the last thing that is wanted or needed and it is in this sense that extra precautions are taken with regard to baggage packed. Good locks are fitted; items that interfere with security checks are dispensed with during the packing stage and in most cases duty free items are kept within country limits (or nearly so as to not be obvious).

The Singapore Escape

Singapore has one of the most amazing airports in the world. It is fast, efficient and in the baggage hall Customs Officers are notably absent. Singapore though is very strict regarding imports; drug trafficking carries a death penalty and no cigarettes can be taken into the country at all. I was aware of this latter law and it never really effected me very much until after hearing some isolated yet similar stories about people who had been caught with a carton or two in their possession. Somehow these absent customs officers materialize when somebody tries to get through with some smokes. How they do it or how they know is beyond me but they seem to have a gift for sniffing the culprits out. Some friends of mine had been caught and where fined quite a hefty sum for their flagrant disregard for the letter of the law. So when I found myself one day and unexpectedly flying from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore I was overcome with panic when I realized that I had a carton of the offending sticks in my hand luggage. I sat through that hour long flight biting my nails and trying to find the correct solution to my predicament out of the many that went coursing through my brain. The obvious one of attempting to get through without being noticed did not appeal, nor the one of declaring them and then paying a large sum in import duty. In fact I was at such a loss as to what to do that I ended up denying all knowledge of their very existence. When I left the plane they stayed tucked into the seat pocket. I didn't go as far as removing the finger prints but I did leave them in the pocket of an empty seat beside me rather than mine!

When landing in a foreign airport, one that is not modern in any sense of the word, free flowing movement from the plane to the hotel is not always forthcoming. Airports in hot countries may suffer from a lack of air-conditioning, the queue's maybe longer than those outside Harrods at the start of the summer sale and immigration officers may suffer from a self-inflated sense of duty.

The Luanda Syndrome

Having just flown from Edinburgh to London to Johannesburg to Luanda I was reasonably and suitably knackered and looking forward to a night in bed. So getting off the plane was a relief; only to find myself standing in at the end of a queue that snaked around a hot and stifling room like a ball of twine. I stood in that queue for nearly an hour, sweating miserably and relieving the pain in my feet by standing on one leg at a time.

Eventually I reached the Immigration Officer and I could see daylight at the end of the tunnel but unfortunately my pompous stamping machine had other ideas. He looked at my passport with some disdain and then barked one word at me whilst pointing to a little counter that resided at the back of the room. He said "Visa". I presumed from his stern expression and the fact that he was throwing the passport back at me that I was not to be allowed into the country without a visa so off I toddled to the back of the room to see what this "visa" was all about. In short I needed a visa to get into the country, a simple enough matter to get one as my name had already been sent ahead to this counter, but looking around there was not a sign anywhere telling arrivals of this necessity. As I was standing in the queue to get my visa I watched the other queue at the immigration counter get smaller and smaller and my heart lifted somewhat: maybe I would get to my hotel soon. Except by the time I got my visa another plane had landed and disgorged another mass of humanity that formed a queue longer than my first one. I could have cried!

At the end of a long six hours in the airport I stood three times in the immigration queue and was turned back twice, the second time because I did not have a yellow fever injection (a simple matter of ten dollars to get the stamp or be injected with a needle the size of a harpoon by a guy with an evil smile and a lab coat with a sloppy gloss red cross painted on - I opted to pay the ten dollars). I managed eventually to get through to the other side only to find that the agent who was supposed to meet me had given up (he actually went and got drunk) and as it was too late to call anybody I stayed the remaining three hours in the airport as I was flying onwards anyway!

One aspect of traveling to the outback's and the uncivilized ports and towns comes in the form of bribes that have to be given to get oneself through in a safe and expedient manner. Many a Customs Officer will become the utmost and needless annoyance by ripping apart bags, questioning every item he comes across and making the victim feel very insecure indeed. Indeed this invasion can become very serious indeed if a bribe is not given; when it is smiles appear and all is well in the world. How to judge the situation or to deem whether the official is on the take or in actual fact just being super-efficient is outwith the scope of this article. Suffice it to say that it does happen in certain countries and only the "gift" of a packet of cigarettes or a few dollars will appease the official enough to let the traveler through with the minimal of effort.

The Rio de Janeiro Appeasement

Having just left a ship in a smaller berth in the port some years ago I had to take my suitcase with me through a customs shed. I had upon packing just thrown everything into my case without thought or order and a bottle of very good rum had landed at the top - something that I meant to wrap up properly once I reached the hotel. I was lead by the agent through the myriad of stamping machines and inspectors I ended up in front of an extremely well-proportioned man who wore nothing except a string vest, a pair of boxer shorts and a pair of flip flops. He looked at me severely and through my translator (the agent) asked me to open up my suitcase. I did so knowing that as per usual I had nothing to hide and impatient to get through and to the hotel for a beer. I was thus very surprised to see him lifting out of my suitcase my very good bottle of rum, to hear him saying thank you and ushering me onwards with a superior wave of his hand! If I had known the score I would have gone for a cheaper offering!

Getting stopped at customs, knowing that you have nothing untoward in your baggage is normal for most travelers. But it is possible that something might be in your baggage that should not be there or an item is in fact illegal yet knowledge of this fact might not be known. This 'something' in your baggage can cause problems and however hard a traveler tries to be clean it can always spring up when least expected.

The Sydney Find

I was on my way home after two years as a volunteer on the island of Amatuku, Tuvalu. As is the custom shell necklaces are hung around the necks of foreigners and guests leaving the country. I climbed aboard the little 20 seat airplane to Fiji with my neck bowed down with the weight of at least 30 of these lovely but heavy neck muscle toners.

My trip home took me from Tuvalu to Fiji and then on to Brisbane where I had one night before flying onwards to Singapore and then London. Well, on the first plane I removed the necklaces as soon as politely possible and in Fiji I stuffed them into my bag as I wanted to savor the delights of Fiji in the one day that I had. After an excellent time I clambered aboard the next plane and to Brisbane I went.

The Customs official at Brisbane airport indicated with his finger that I was to be awarded his immediate attention. I took my suitcase over to him and presented my filled out customs declaration card and as per usual I had nothing to declare. He looked at the card, looked at me and then started asking some questions: ones that I thought where pointless to ask but.. "is this your suitcase"? .. "Did you sign this form" . "What have you got in your suitcase, sir"? I went through answers in parrot fashion, eager to get into Brisbane and tired after a long flight! My tormentor though was in no hurry and kept on repeating his questions over and over again. I wanted to suggest that a simple solution to this problem would be to open my suitcase up and then I could be on my way, but it soon sunk in that there was more to this 'Spanish Inquisition' than a mere one-off spot check!

He kept me there for two hours, long after the airport seemed to have closed for the night. He kept asking me questions and I trotted out a list of what I could remember was in my suitcase. Books, clothes, torch, dictionary, alarm, clock, toothbrush and paste .. "Did you pack this suitcase your self"? . "Have you ever been to Australia before"?

Maybe the last question was just idle chitchat but I was busy having nightmares about drugs being found in my case that some pusher had sneaked in without my knowledge. I was starting to panic, more so when he suggested that I should take a seat as they were awaiting the arrival of a scientist before I could open my suitcase for inspection.

When the scientist finally graced us with his presence I was nearly swimming in the pool of sweat that seemed to have formed around me. He went through a long rigmarole about what a person was allowed to bring into Australia and it did not include live products, fauna, flora and shell fish, etc. I nodded my head in agreement and again acknowledged that it was my signature on the customs declaration form.

And then they allowed me to open up my baggage. I opened my case and there, lying on top of all that I had listed was a massive bunch of gaily colored shell necklaces. When I saw these I started to laugh, mostly in relief that it was not a large packet of white powder. The scientist picked one up with what looked like a chop stick and said "they're varnished"! I got a lecture from the Customs Officer, something to do with having not answered his question properly regarding the contents of my baggage. The scientist just disappeared with a sniff and I was let loose into Brisbane with my suitcase and my "legally" approved shell necklaces.

To prevent any further delay in my travel plans I left twenty-nine gaily colored shell necklaces in a closet drawer in a hostel in down town Brisbane! I took one of the offending items back home for posterity sake!

As a guideline to typically efficient ease of travel through the myriad of Customs and immigrations complexities do a little bit of research before hand. If in doubt declare an item as it is allot less trouble and time spent than facing the smirking looks of a satisfied customs official. As far as is possible make sure that correct visas and stamps have been obtained and that all baggage is well locked down. Finally, always place smelly underwear and dirty socks at the top so that when the suitcase is opened any self respecting customs official will decline to tread further!