TheWholeStory // episode_02

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July 29, 2020 (cont.)

We get off the plane in Hamburg, the anxiety surging in my belly, in my chest. This is NOT that fun feeling you get as you get off the plane upon your arrival on a vacation, a job, or any other adventure. It’s made worse by the fact that I realize that the bags that we gate checked are not coming back to us here at the bridge, but rather, at baggage claim. The bag, that is, with my dossier of documents in it?! What the fuck was I thinking? How could I have checked that bag and thought that it was going to be given back to me at the gate? Or left my papers in it in the first place?

We all took bathroom breaks and a woman handed out a printed paper from the consulate, outlining quarantine expectations. Momentarily, this made me feel better, seeing that they had rules, they had a system, and as long as I was obediently operating within that system, we were good. As we made our way to passport control, Frank tried to calm me about not having my bag with my paperwork. ‘We’re here for good reason. Ellis can’t do this anywhere else but here. You’ve taken so much time to organize all the paperwork and get it together. I’m picturing us at the house in Bonn. It’s going to be okay.’

As one winds the line at Passport Control, it’s like a game of Plinko-- I scouted each of the agents, trying to figure out which one would be our best bet through the gates. Definitely NOT the young, mean looking woman who is straight out of Avengers movie. Likely the younger, blondish guy who is actually smiling (well, what can be interpreted as a smile for Germans). We approach, together (me, Frank, Ellis and Peter), and I place my passport on the ledge. He’s already skeptical. I’m already sweating because I don’t have my goddam bag with my goddam papers. He asks what our purpose is, and I explain that Ellis is a professional athlete and we are competing in a national series in Germany. Frank keeps wanting me to push the filmmaker thing but I don’t. The Germans don’t give two shits about our stupid documentary.?

‘You are all one family?’ he says.

‘Yes. Four traveling together.’

This is a slight bend of the truth, as Peter technically is not family, but we are traveling together, and Pete will be screwed for sure if we don’t stick together. ‘Mechanic & trainer to 14 year old race car driver’= NOT essential.?

‘And you come from Ireland today? How long have you been in Ireland?’

I explain that we simply changed planes in Ireland. Just a ‘transit’ as per the ‘Re-Open EU’ official website states is entirely allowed.?

‘Do you have some letter from the consulate or embassy?’

(Here’s exactly where I start talking too much.) I explain that my bag has all my papers and was gate checked. I show him the letter I wrote by pulling it up on my phone. I tell him we plan to stay for a long time (big mistake) and that we’re working on our visas. He tells me he has to check with someone, and leaves the booth. Guys, just as a general travel advisory-- you know you’re in trouble when they leave the booth.

Now we’re those people. Those people standing there clearly having an issue. People in the line behind us are certainly watching our scene unfold, either judging us or pitying us or possibly both. We wait. He returns.

‘This is not possible.’ he says matter of factly.

‘This ‘essential’ is only doctors and things, you know? What you are doing, this is not essential.’?

Here’s where I thought my good karma with the middle eastern woman with the checked bag in Dublin would have had the universe serve me up a racing enthusiast passport control agent. Not a chance. He pulls us out of line, and asks that we sit and wait outside a small office.?

At this point, I haven’t given up hope. Maybe they just want to understand our plans more. Maybe they want to see my paperwork. They take Frank and Ellis to pick up our bags. Pete sits quietly, trying to blend into the plastic seat. I speak to a new officer and explain, again, our situation, answering only the questions he’s asking. I’m nice, but not overly witty. He’s pessimistic, and outwardly condescending. My papers arrive. I hand all of them over. I go sit outside the office and wait.

The only saving grace of COVID in this moment is that we’re wearing masks, which means Frank and I can communicate without anyone seeing our mouths move, meanwhile texting one another with possible scenarios & plans, including what might happen if we just make a run for it. There are intermittent questions from the officers--?

‘What type of car/kart is it? Can you show me a photo?’?

I’m not sure what this really was about. Maybe if he was an F1 driver that would be legitimate enough? Electric karting clearly doesn’t count. He was outwardly dismissive.

We’re asked to write down our addresses in the USA. There are questions about our visa applications, including if Peter is 18 (and presumptively my child?). I don’t know. That was the strangest one, and clearly a misinterpretation of the ‘Yes, we’re all one family traveling together’ answer. Having us sit all this time and listen to phone calls being made and officers traveling in and out of that tiny office gives us momentary hopes. If they weren’t working on trying to get us in, why would they have us sitting here for so long? Passport control is empty now. We can’t film any of this, but I manage to snap a few unassuming photos with my phone. There is a nicer (in German comparison) officer who asks some more questions about our visas. I hear more phone calls. I see a younger officer walk out of the control area, clearly having been given a task to accomplish. About 5 minutes later, he returns. He approaches Frank and I, and we stand to meet him.

‘Okay so,’ he starts.?

‘There is only one flight left out of Hamburg airport this evening, going to London. You will follow me and we will go to the ticket counter so you can book this flight as well as a continuing flight back to the United States.’

My eyes dart over to Ellis, who is wearing headphones, but clearly tuning into the conversation. His face reveals nothing. I’m glad my mask is covering mine. Follow you to book a flight back to the United States? What?! No fucking way.

I ask if I can ask a few questions. I pull up the EU site on my phone. After a brief exchange, he says the words that crack this whole mother wide open for debate.

‘I think,’ he starts. ‘I think if you had stayed in Ireland a few days and not just a transit, it would have been fine to enter Germany.’

WHAT?! This is exactly what we were told NOT to do. And where on earth does it say that in the rules for Covid travel? How many days, I ask. He ‘thinks’ a ‘few,’ like 2 or three maybe. Maybe?! And… cue the good cop/bad cop routine. Frank steps in, taking full advantage of the Germans’ seeming uncertainty around the exact interpretation of the rules. Frank hears ‘I think’ like a superhero revealing their Kryptonite.

We review the travel restrictions. In a ridiculous conversation, we’re basically told that we can travel to one of 7 currently approved-- Canada (they’re not letting Americans in, not even at Niagra Falls), Uruguay, Thailand, South Korea, and a few more. So, in effect, they said we could get on the last flight out of Hamburg to London, connect there (in some instances with 2-3 connections) to THAILAND, get on a plane in Thailand to Germany, and bingo!, we’re in. This is because, entry into a country is based on ‘where the traveler is arriving from, not their nationality.’ As I am struggling to grasp an iota of reason out of the whole conversation, the clock is ticking, and Mr. Polizei is getting nervous that we’re not going to be able to book our way out of Hamburg, and are going to become his problem for the night.

He presses us about going to the ticket counter. Fine we say, let’s go.

I’d like to think that this officer, the younger, ‘nicer’ of the bunch who at least shared a modicum of agreement in thee ridiculousness of the fact that he was looking at the same website on his personal iPhone to interpret whether or not we should be allowed entry, consciously walked a few feet ahead of us so that we could cobble a plan together. Luckily, when you’ve been married for nearly 20 years, much of life’s wheeling and dealing is subconscious and automatic, without need for a single spoken word.