I have very fond memories of everywhere I travel to. But all too often they involve more tears than most people can produce in one lifetime. I'm almost sure of that, but I'll double-check. My time in San Luis Obispo was no exception.
From day one of my real travels, starting at the airport waiting to go through the security line and be shipped off to do a three-month internship in Scotland. I was eighteen, and fresh out of high school seven months prior. I was terrified that I was about to go through a line and not see my parents or family for three. whole. months.
In case any one is unaware, that's a long time for an eighteen year-old. Most people go off to college and have the privilege of going back to visit family, and see familiar faces every now and then. When I crossed through the metal detectors, I was basically stuck for a good, long time on the other side of the Atlantic.
On top of my fearful, and sad tears, I was running late for my flight. Great. I was running late for my flight, and I had to rush everything. I had to rush my goodbyes, I had to rush my hugs and my kisses. It was a terrible feeling, and when I finished my rushing goodbyes I ran through the airport sweating profusely with liquids and snot and tears coming out of every crevice of my face... only to show up to an empty gate. The man standing at the counter was angry with because I missed my flight, and he scolded me because, "I called your name on the loud speaker three times!!! We waited for you!!" Well that didn't help. But thanks for your kindness, sir.
I was relieved to find my parents still at the entrance of O'Hare just standing there. I was also a little weirded out that they didn't seem to be surprised that I was walking back from a flight I was supposed to be on. But my eyes were nearly puffed shut from crying so hard, so perhaps my squinty view on that moment isn't quite valid.
I had to wait twenty-four hours until I could catch the next flight out to Scotland. This, I thought, would be good for me. I'd have more time to process the reality of leaving. But, ah, no. All it did was prolong my tears and my apparent separation issues. I awkwardly blubbered through the first two hours of my flight until I put myself out with Tylenol PM for the night.
Eight hours of grieving across the ocean, and I landed in a beautifully green country. My tears were done, and I was finally excited about this! I felt cool and independent. I felt like I could talk to anyone, and be everyone's friend. I felt like I freaking had myself together, man. This was cool. I was in Scotland, and I did it by myself.
I had a big, dumb smile on my face when I walked up to the half-annoyed man at customs. I'd make is day better, I was nice.
"How long are you here for?" He asked me sternly.
"Three months." Smile.
"What are you doing here?"
Oh, he's trying to make conversation! My nice attitude must be helping, "Oh! Well, I'm doing an internship working at a Church, and I'll be working at a hostel while I'm here, too, just doing cleaning and stuff. I got connected to the chu..."
"Hold on hold on hold on hold on... you're not permitted to be working here. You don't have a work visa or anything. I can't let you in this country. Go over there and sit down."
My eyes were huge, and I'm sure I looked like a little puppy with her tail between her legs... peeing all over the place.
I didn't do anything wrong. I don't understand what's happening! This can't be happening!
He came over to speak with me.
"Do you understand what's happening?"
Shaking, and crying, "Noo", I replied between huge gasps for air.
Basically what it boils down to is that I don't understand customs or entering into a new country. And I think that everyone is as nice and naive as me, trying to make conversation with me when they're really trying to make sure no lunies or illegals get into their country. I made myself out to be an illegal by using bad words like "work" and "internship". Bad idea. Lesson learned.
In reality I wasn't working with a church, per-say. I was attending a church and reading books. I wasn't getting paid. I wasn't there to stay forever. I was just going there to learn.
Well, lesson 1: Not everyone who talks to me is trying to be friendly. Lesson 2: Stop talking so much.
This man interrogated me for fifteen minutes until he went out to speak with the people picking me up, which included the pastor of the church. They told him the real situation, and with the man at customs finally realizing that I was not as "with it" as I thought I was, he let me go free into the world of Scotland.
Tony and Kate helped me pick up my 120 lbs of luggage that I didn't need, and we finally drove our way into Edinburgh. On the wrong side of the road of course.
Please let these shenanigans be finished. I'm exhausted, and a little humiliated...
