četrtek, 05. november 2015

Kicked... out

Few weeks ago, when I was still in the Hunter Valley, one day we started a cleanup around the house and filled the back of the ute with various crap, from empty beer bottles (lots of them) to canisters full of old adhesives (few of them). Then we drove to the Cessnock tip and had some fun looking for heavy stones on the way out of the tip to cheat the weight scale and spare a few $. When Jill came home in the evening she asked if had fun during the day and after Ben told her about our "trip to to tip" she switched on sarcastic gear. "Great, what Dag really needs is a trip to the Australian tip, some experience it was,ha? Did you like your first trip to the Australian tip?" I was amused, but I had to counter her. "It was not the first, Jill, it was my third tip! But now think about it - how many tourist can brag that they have been on a tip in Australia? I've been on THREE!" And we went on laughing and drinking all evening, despite all the bad news Jill brought home. She was in Sydney to meet her oncologist, supposedly a leading figure in the cancer research and fight. Not once they called him doctor, it's always professor. She came home with a punk hairstyle, hair dyied red. Ben didn't like it but she cut him short. "It won't be for long, after the chemo I'm gonna loose all my hair." Jill is such a brave girl. Five years ago she was diagnosed with a different cancer and was given a few months of life. She never gave up and she fought and she won. Now the cowardly bastard came again, just to find an even more determined Jill, ready to kick it in the balls and send it to hell.
And I left for New Zealand. Well, that's what I was thinking. I arrived to the Christchurch airport in the middle of the night and made immediately my deadly mistake. After declaring that I intend to stay in NZ for 3 months (and showed my booking for the flight to Fiji) the motherfucker asked me where I will stay in NZ. Instead of having a set of prepaired destinations I told him that for sure I know I'm going to start my stay at the Arthur's Pass National Park, then will join the NZ WWOOF and see where... "Wait, wait. You will join the WWOOF? But you don't have a working visa!" Aw fuck fuck fuck, Japanese immigration in New Zealand, I'm, fucked fucked fucked. So, I'm not fighting it. "You're serious? Sorry, first time I hear it, I guess I will pass on this." Too late. Will learn the lesson from a criminal psychologist later. "You will have to have a word with one of the Immigration officers, nothing to worry about!" Sadly, for me, I knew it was over. I had to wait, of course. I was sent from here to there, of course. Then the First started. "You seem to be pretty relaxed after waiting here for so long?" You can imagine all the answers in my head, on the tip of my tongue. All WRONG answers. But yes, I was relaxed, I've fallen asleep. And the Inquisition started, about HTML. Yup. I usually declare myself like some kind of web developer or any kind of free lancing shit, just to get them off my back. It's AGES since I've built my last web page, but the Great Torquemada of Kiwiland had prepared such a set of questions that any of my students back in elementary could answer them. You want a career as a programmer in NZ? Shout "Hello World" when you come there and you'll be respected as one of the most fearsome hackers. I passed the test after saying title-head-body. The next trial was the search. Migra guy put on the rubber gloves and said "Relax, I'm putting this gloves on to search your luggage, not YOU" Probably some sort of joke for people with IQ lower than 70 (if you have higher you can never get a job in immigration/customs/police). He went through everything and found nothing, so the gloves went to the drug traces detector. Clear. "You will have an interview with sn Immigration inspector. On the phone." I went through the usual deal of more or less irrelevant and stupid questions, was put on hold, then "Are you married?" "Not anymore."
"I hereby declare that I do not find you to be a sincere visitor, legally to be a bona fide visitor to our country so I DENY you the entry to New Zealand. Do you understand, you're NOT A BONA FINE visitor and you're denied the entry. Do you have any comments?" I was quiet for a second or two, I knew it would come, but I still needed that second to swallow it. "Yeah, I understand it. Will any comment of mine make any difference to what you've already set in stone?" Silence for a second, two, three, than I heard the breath taking in. "Aw, fuck it, I'm not interested in any comments, bye, have a nice day, I'm sure you're the best at finding the enemies of your CUNT..ry." A low blow - she was  female - but there's also a limit to which I can stand being made an idiot by inquisition. When it was clear I have no way to get to NZ I felt relieved. The tension of the past hours was gone, the decision made. And I was handed to the airport police. "Hi mate, I'm (insert name here), I'm sorry for all this fuck up, but we'll have to keep you at the Central, we have no facilities at the airport.. Please, keep in mind that you're no criminal to us, ask anytime if you need anything, but you have to leave here any belts, shoelaces, necklaces and similar and empty your pockets." Resigned, I did what I was told, and when I took the tobacco from my pocket the "insert name here" copper gave me an inquisitive look and said to his subordinate: "Call Central we have some fuckup with paperwork and we'll be late." We weren't that late, just two smokes. And we weren't late at all since it was early in the morning. Sunday morning. Meaning that the can was full of Saturday's night drunks, fighters, dopes and other wackos. A woman in her cell was crying and yelling, from another cell came threats and mostly f words and a badly beaten soldier was refusing to say anything else than his "serial number". I fell asleep immediately, just to be waken up shortly afterwards, for breakfast. I skipped it, went back to sleep. They woke me again for lunch, I still felt miserable so I skipped that one, too, and tried to sleep more. I couldn't. They were so worried about me that they sent me the police nurse to find out what's wrong with me. Do you need to be a genius to find out what was wrong? At least the nurse was cool. She greeted me in Croatian, she did some time in the Balkans, during the war. She started with some kind of sympathetic psycological approach to which I responded with a kind smile "Sorry, but I'd like just to sleep some more before I get kicked out." That made her curious so I told her the story, short version, to which she commented just with an "Aw, fuck! Why didn't you make up something for the Immigration? Telling the truth all the time won't get you far!" I didn't want to break her illusions telling her that half of my life is made of lies, so she went on. "Just wait for some time and then you can surely come back, just with a good excuse, make up some friends you're visiting or something!" "Mam, after I was welcomed like this, do you seriously think I still have the slightest wish to come back to this country?" "I suppose not." Right she was. In the afternoon they called me out and the coppers that had to deal with me all apologized, saying stuff like it's a shame,you seem a nice guy, blah blah. It meant less than shit to me.

They flew me back to Australia, to Melbourne, where similarly minded people (IQ below 70) did their duty again. Three hours. With some highlights during the interrogation that kept me just enough amused to not go insane.
"Why do you have dye with you?" "To dye my clothes, it's cheaper buy them white and dye them any color I want." "Ah, I see."
"Why do you have this notebook with Japanese exercises in it?" "I'm trying to learn Japanese and I do exercises in that notebook." "Ah, I see."
"Why do you have a camera with you?"
Are you fucking serious??? "I take pictures with my camera." "Ah, I see."
Should I change my name to Kafka?
They let me in. First thing I emailed Ben to tell him what happened. His reply was priceless: "Well a stint in Central Police Station Christchurch probably beats 3 trips to garbage tips in Australia. One door shuts and another opens. I am sure that you will enjoy seeing more of Australia." You have to love the guy.
I stayed in Melbourne, dead drunk, for four days, then ended in the Upper Yarra valley for some wwoofing. Nice place I found, that's for sure!



<head> <body>. The next trial was the search. Migra guy put on the rubber gloves and said <i>"Relax, I'm putting this gloves on to search your luggage, not YOU"</i> Probably some sort of joke for people with IQ lower than 70 (if you have higher you can never get a job in immigration/customs/police). He went through everything and found nothing, so the gloves went to the drug traces detector. Clear. <i>"You will have an interview with an Immigration inspector. On the phone."</i> I went through the usual deal of more or less irrelevant and stupid questions, was put on hold, then <i>"Are you married?" "Not anymore."</i><br><i>"I hereby declare that I do not find you to be a sincere visitor, legally to be a bona fide visitor to our country so I DENY you the entry to New Zealand. Do you understand, you're NOT A BONA FINE visitor and you're denied the entry. Do you have any comments?"</i> I was quiet for a second or two, I knew it would come, but I still needed that second to swallow it. <i>"Yeah, I understand it. Will any comment of mine make any difference to what you've already set in stone?" </i>Silence for a second, two, three, than I heard the breath taking in. <i>"Aw, fuck it, I'm not interested in any comments, bye, have a nice day, I'm sure you're the best at finding the enemies of your CUNTry."</i> A low blow - she was  female - but there's also a limit to which I can stand being made an idiot by inquisition. When it was clear I have no way to get to NZ I felt relieved. The tension of the past hours was gone, the decision made. And I was handed to the airport police. <i>"Hi mate, I'm (insert name here), I'm sorry for all this fuck up, but we'll have to keep you at the Central, we have no facilities at the airport.. Please, keep in mind that you're no criminal to us, ask anytime if you need anything, but you have to leave here any belts, shoelaces, necklaces and similar and empty your pockets." </i>Resigned, I did what I was told, and when I took the tobacco from my pocket the "insert name here" copper gave me an inquisitive look and said to his subordinate: <i>"Call Central we have some fuckup with paperwork and we'll be late."</i> We weren't that late, just two smokes. And we weren't late at all since it was early in the morning. Sunday morning. Meaning that the can was full of Saturday's night drunks, fighters, dopes and other wackos. A woman in her cell was crying and yelling, from another cell came threats and mostly f words and a badly beaten soldier was refusing to say anything else than his "serial number". I fell asleep immediately, just to be waken up shortly afterwards, for breakfast. I skipped it, went back to sleep. They woke me again for lunch, I still felt miserable so I skipped that one, too, and tried to sleep more. I couldn't. They were so worried about me that they sent me the police nurse to find out what's wrong with me. Do you need to be a genious to find out what was wrong? At least the nurse was cool. She greeted me in Croatian, she did some time in the Balkans, during the war. She started with some kind of sympathetic psycological approach to which I responded with a kind smile <i>"Sorry, but I'd like just to sleep some more before I get kicked out."</i> That made her curious so I told her the story, short version, to which she commented just with an "<i>Aw, fuck! Why didn't you make up something for the Immigration? Telling the truth all the time won't get you far!"</i> I didn't want to break her illusions telling her that half of my life is made of lies, so she went on. <i>"Just wait for some time and then you can surely come back, just with a good excuse, make up some friends you're visiting or something!" "Ma'am, after I was welcomed like this, do you seriously think I still have the slightest wish to come back to this country?" "I suppose not." </i>Right she was. In the atfternoon they called me out and the coppers that had to deal with me all apologised, saying stuff like <i>it's a shame,you seem a nice guy, blah blah</i> . Honestly, It meant less than shit to me. </p> <p style="text-align: center; clear: both;" class="separator"> <a style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lmCQ7ykkWPA/VjnKNgL0O9I/AAAAAAAAFpM/hb8w7AadIMY/s1600/P9120056.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lmCQ7ykkWPA/VjnKNgL0O9I/AAAAAAAAFpM/hb8w7AadIMY/s320/P9120056.JPG" style="" height="240" border="0" width="320"></a></p> <p>  </p> <p> The only picture from NZ that I have.</p> <p>  They flew me back to Australia, to Melbourne, where similarly minded people (IQ below 70) did their duty again. Three hours. With some highlights during the interrogation that kept me just enough amused to not go insane. (Or, since I already am insane they kept me that way, seeing how can you end being sane and work at an airport)<br><i>"Why do you have dye with you?" "To dye my clothes, it's cheaper buy them white and dye them any color I want." "Ah, I see."<br>"Why do you have this notebook with Japanese exercises in it?" "I'm trying to learn Japanese and I do exercises in that notebook." "Ah, I see."<br>"Why do you have a camera with you?" Are you fucking serious??? "I take pictures with my camera." "Ah, I see."</i><br>Maybe I should change my name to Kafka.<br>They let me in. The first thing I did I wrote an email to Ben and told him what happened. His reply was priceless: <i>Well a stint in Central Police Station Christchurch probably beats 3 trips to garbage tips in Australia. One door shuts and another opens. I am sure that you will enjoy seeing more of Australia. </i>You have to love a friend like this!<br>I stayed in Melbourne, dead drunk, for four days, then ended in the Little Yarra valley for some wwoofing. At least I found a cool place.</p> <p style="text-align: center; clear: both;" class="separator"> <a style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bzxXUCYclwY/VjnKxpyml_I/AAAAAAAAFpY/Wo0sPxdwi5c/s1600/P9260060.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bzxXUCYclwY/VjnKxpyml_I/AAAAAAAAFpY/Wo0sPxdwi5c/s320/P9260060.JPG" style="" height="240" border="0" width="320"></a></p> <p>  </p> <p style="text-align: center; clear: both;" class="separator"> <a style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YSbp6WoGSuI/VjnK3tom9mI/AAAAAAAAFpg/vu6xLZOUbY8/s1600/P9260061.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YSbp6WoGSuI/VjnK3tom9mI/AAAAAAAAFpg/vu6xLZOUbY8/s320/P9260061.JPG" style="" height="240" border="0" width="320"></a></p> <p>  </p> <p style="text-align: center; clear: both;" class="separator"> <a style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2i2YDNpkb_M/VjnK66ReslI/AAAAAAAAFpo/gSBVPg7RqY0/s1600/P9260063.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2i2YDNpkb_M/VjnK66ReslI/AAAAAAAAFpo/gSBVPg7RqY0/s320/P9260063.JPG" style="" height="240" border="0" width="320"></a></p> <p>  </p> <p style="text-align: center; clear: both;" class="separator"> <a style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dH26vIMlFCU/VjnMsZYWVoI/AAAAAAAAFp8/9wAgBzuZnFo/s1600/P9260069.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dH26vIMlFCU/VjnMsZYWVoI/AAAAAAAAFp8/9wAgBzuZnFo/s320/P9260069.JPG" style="" height="240" border="0" width="320"></a></p> <p>  </p> <p style="text-align: center; clear: both;" class="separator"> <a style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XiU21uiC6Ls/VjnMJSsKfwI/AAAAAAAAFp0/P9aSNWnf-t0/s1600/P9260072.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XiU21uiC6Ls/VjnMJSsKfwI/AAAAAAAAFp0/P9aSNWnf-t0/s320/P9260072.JPG" style="" height="240" border="0" width="320"></a></p> <p style="text-align: center; clear: both;" class="separator"> <a style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r-vW8BQsVsQ/VjnTT3c15wI/AAAAAAAAFqI/a-7kMwDPjMo/s1600/P9260073.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r-vW8BQsVsQ/VjnTT3c15wI/AAAAAAAAFqI/a-7kMwDPjMo/s320/P9260073.JPG" style="" height="240" border="0" width="320"></a></p> <p> <br></p> </div>

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