This summer, we decided to visit a friend in Montreal, so we rented a car, and up we drove. We arrived at the border in the morning, around eight. We were excited about visiting the alleged "nicer" half of North America, about getting a new passport stamp, and about seeing our friend from Montpellier again.
-"And, how long are you staying here in Canada ?"
-"Passports," asked the immigration officer coldly from his booth. "What are you doing in Canada ?" This kind of hospitality might be expected in places like Uzbekistan, but was totally unforeseen here in Canada of Bowling for Columbine fame.
-"Uh, we're coming to see a friend. He lives in Montreal."
-"Uh-huh, and what's your address ?"
-"Uh, we don't have one. We're just traveling around for the moment," Pauline responded.
-"We're homeless" I added. Not helping...
-"We're homeless" I added. Not helping...
-"And, how long are you staying here in Canada ?"
-"What's your occupation ?"
-"We don't have one of those either. Although normally we're teachers."
-"We used to live in Colombia, I blurted. Shut up, Andrei.
-"Just three days," we replied, which he didn't quite believe.
After the monsieur informed us that we would not be getting any passport stamps, he handed us a pink slip of paper with our personal and vehicular information on one side and bruskly told us to pull up to the immigration office. On the opposite side of the slip read the hand-scribbled words, "futur inconnu." Future unknown.
Of course, these words were meant for the customs and/or immigration officials inside the building to give us a good ol' fashioned interrogation, which they tried to do, until they called and woke up our friend, who confirmed our story.
But the words had much more significance for us than the unhappy booth man could ever have imagined. Unknown future ! We could do anything. We have no job, no home, nowhere we have to be aside from a couple of flights in the distant slightly-known future. We could go anywhere, find work anywhere, even in Uzbekistan ! Just as soon as we return the rental car in Connecticut...we just might end up in Uzbekistan someday, where we'll certainly be given a stamp and visa.
-"Just three days," we replied, which he didn't quite believe.
After the monsieur informed us that we would not be getting any passport stamps, he handed us a pink slip of paper with our personal and vehicular information on one side and bruskly told us to pull up to the immigration office. On the opposite side of the slip read the hand-scribbled words, "futur inconnu." Future unknown.
Of course, these words were meant for the customs and/or immigration officials inside the building to give us a good ol' fashioned interrogation, which they tried to do, until they called and woke up our friend, who confirmed our story.
But the words had much more significance for us than the unhappy booth man could ever have imagined. Unknown future ! We could do anything. We have no job, no home, nowhere we have to be aside from a couple of flights in the distant slightly-known future. We could go anywhere, find work anywhere, even in Uzbekistan ! Just as soon as we return the rental car in Connecticut...we just might end up in Uzbekistan someday, where we'll certainly be given a stamp and visa.
These specific moments that, magically, define all your life...
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