From Lama J…

“Habibi (babe), you’ve worked hard this year. I want to take you on a special vacation this summer, not only to Canada, but to London. I know you’ve never been there and can’t wait to take pictures of you next to the London Bridge”.

That was my husband.

It was our first wedding anniversary and my husband decided to make it special for us. He bought me a diamond ring, the type I always wanted and suggested we take a vacation in London.

April was the month when I decided to apply for my visit visas to the United Kingdom and Canada. Usually I make sure I won’t need my passport in April, as I will be applying for visas during this stretch and my poor Jordanian passport is often gone for a long time. This past summer I didn’t care how long it took, as in the end I would have an unforgettable experience.

I guess I was right to call it an unforgettable.

I decided to apply to the Canadian embassy first, as I wanted to make sure I had a good reason to give the UK embassy if they asked why I wanted to visit London. As an Arab, I have wonderful experiences with embassies, their procedures and always entertaining questions.  I got my Canadian visa after sending my application by DHL and received my passport again via DHL with the visa in less than week. How cool is that?  I didn’t even have to speak to anyone.

It was Wednesday when I dressed up and headed towards the British Consulate representative office, preparing all my documents proud of my Canadian visa.

 “If I can go to Canada… I can go to London for sure,” I said to myself.

“Good Morning Sir, I need to apply for a visit visa to visit London with my husband for 3 days”, I said with a smile.

“Good Morning, why you want to go to London?” the man behind the counter asked.

“I am going to Canada with my husband and thought of stopping by London, I have never been there and I am excited,” I answered.

“What’s your nationality ma’am”?

“I am Jordanian, and I would like…”

Before I could even finish my sentence, he cut me off and said,” Usually people from countries like yours don’t get the visa… You should know your chances are very low.”

I was shocked with his reply, as he hadn’t even seen my papers yet.

“Can you please at least look at my application? It’s all complete as per your website,”   I said quietly. 

“Ok, but you can’t mention that you want 6 months duration. We will decide not you,” was his curt reply.

I wanted to smack the guy at this point, but took a deep breath, paid the fees and went home. Three weeks later I returned. You might me surprised at this, but I had to go through an interview before they would even consider giving me a visit visa.

Over the three weeks, I was scared I may get rejected. I was looking forward to going so much, but I couldn’t get that jerk’s words out of my mind. Any time I thought about it, I kept hearing, “People like you don’t usually get the visa.”

My husband kept telling me it would be ok and several times said he wanted to go down to the consulate and stick that guys head somewhere I cant repeat here. Nevertheless, I was nervous as I waited in the lobby to be called for my interview.

Finally after nearly half an hour, I heard my name.

“Lama J… next room please”

Feeling both scared and angry, I even had to go through with this, I did my best to remain calm.  When I entered the interview room I was shocked to see four cameras waiting for me.

A woman, who for some reason seemed unable to speak clearly, mumbled a few things in one of those slurry British accents and gave me strange look. She asked me to look at each camera from all angles while I spoke. The interview then began and soon enough, I began to feel like a criminal being interrogated by the police. One of the more ridiculous questions I was asked was “Have you ever been accused of being a bad character?”

I mean really, what kind of question is that?? “No ma’am” I replied stoically.

After several more questions, she took my fingerprints and said “You can go and wait to get a reply from us”.

“When shall I expect your reply, ma’am?” I asked.

 ”Don’t worry, we will decide and will send you an sms. Don’t call us,” she answered.

I left and was upset by the treatment I received. I told my husband about what happened and as always, he wanted to look at the positive side. “Don’t worry, we will enjoy our vacation. All we have to do now is wait,” he said.

As it turned out, he was right.

When our plane landed at London Heathrow, I was very happy. As we approached the passport control, there was a long line ahead of us but the British immigration officers were fast and efficient. When our turn finally came, my husband and I handed over our passports to the control officer. Of course, a smile and a quick stamp came down in my husband’s golden Canadian passport.  Then while chatting with my husband he asked “Are you together, Sir?”

With a smile of his own, my husband replied “Yes, this is my wife.” 

The passport officer’s smile quickly vanished when he looked down and saw my Jordanian passport. “How long are you willing to stay here, Ma’am?”

“Only three 3 days,” I answered.

He also asked me where would be staying and what places I was going to visit while in London. My husband later told me these were standard questions, but at the time I was a little surprised. He was polite and I answered in kind. After another quick look,  the stamp came down and I was in. 

After collecting our bags, we took the Heathrow Express Train into London and hoped a couple metro lines until arriving at our hotel.  We paid a good price for the room and I was expecting something to match the cost. Although it was nice new room, it was very small and the bathroom was tiny. I discovered a downtown centrally located place in London would only be spacious if you paid a king’s ransom. But I didn’t care, I was just happy to be in London!

Over the next couple of days we went to all the nice places, visiting the beautiful London Tower Bridge, Buckingham palace, the famous wax museum, Westminster Abbey and more. I had a great time, but we spent a lot of money in only three days. I especially remember having lunch in a cheap cafeteria-style restaurant, nothing fancy at all, and paying 80 dollars! I thought the city is cool, but you need to bring a lot of cash and credit cards to survive there. Nevertheless, I don’t regret the experience in the slightest and I was happy to have had the chance to see London.

After a month in Canada hopping from Edmonton, to Calgary, to my husband’s beautiful family farm out on the prairies, then to Victoria and Vancouver, I was tried and exited to go back to Dubai. I missed my routine and looked forward to getting things back to normal. The only sad part was I travelled alone. My husband would remain in Canada longer, wanting to spend more time with his family, as he only gets a chance to see them once a year.

While at the well-organized and easy to get around Vancouver airport getting ready to fly back to London-Heathrow, I dreaded the trip back. I needed to fly nine hours from Vancouver to London on Air Canada, one of the best airlines I’ve ever been on, and connect via British Airways, to then fly another 7 hours to Dubai. It’s a long way, but I’d done it year before and was more comfortable with the ordeal this time. Besides, its only once a year.

Air Canada arrived at Heathrow a half-hour late, landing at 11:00 am, as opposed to 10:30. Not bad, but my connecting flight was at 12:40pm. Things suddenly became very tight.  Time got even tighter when we had to wait  for another 20 minutes on the tarmac, as there were so many planes lining up with passengers from every corner of the earth. Soon enough, I started worry. Not long after that, worry turned to annoyance.

By the time I made it out of the plane, it was 11:20am. I landed at Terminal 3 and knew I had to run to terminal 5. ” Oh my God, am I the only passenger here who has to connect? It seems everybody’s final destination is London except me”, I thought to myself as I felt my heart rate pick up speed.

And so my race began, as I starting sprinting with my oversized carry on bag through the airport. Another young man was following me, as he too was headed to Dubai, and it soon became apparent he had no idea where to go. So there I was, after a nine hour flight, running as fast as I can, my bag bouncing all over the place and my fear of missing my next flight growing with every second.  I made my way down to the busses that would take me to Terminal 5, but just my luck… none were there! “Come on!! Where is the bus??” I said aloud.

“Excuse me, Ma’am… where is the Terminal 5 bus?” I asked a woman in an airport uniform.

“Sorry, it’s under maintenance. You need to go to terminal 4 and catch the bus from there to get to 5″ she said flatly.

Second laters, I was running again, my fellow late arriver running along with me.

“Oh my God… it’s 11:40am and I am still running around the airport.” I said to myself.

“I’m gonna miss my flight.”

 A few minuets later, sweat now pouring from my forehead, I arrived at the bus stop and hopped on. It was so packed I had to squeeze myself through a sea of people, with the young man just making it on behind me.  We arrived at Terminal 5 and a huge line was waiting for me “Oh, God I won’t make it… but I have to try!”

This is where the last, and as it turned out, my biggest problem came to pass. Air Canada and British Airways are not linked for some reason - why I have no idea –  and I couldn’t simply go to my gate, but had to get issued my beading pass first.  I ran towards a police officer telling him, “Sir… please I need your help, I need to catch my flight. Is there any fast track here? I can’t wait in this line. I need to catch my flight to Dubai or I will sleep at the airport.”

He was a nice gentlemen and understanding my situation got the desk to issue my boarding pass straight away. He then told me I needed to run as fast as I can so that I could pass the security check. He assured me that if you explain your situation to them, there should be no issues.  I thanked him and I once again, I ran… the young man still behind me.

I came to the fast track zone and explained my situation to the policeman standing there. He told me to go see an officer named Juliana, pointing her out to me, and so I did. I can still remember how sour the woman turned out to be.

“Hi Ma’am, I need to catch my flight to Dubai and the both the gentlemen at the ticket counter and this officer back there told me you would help me to go through the security check via the fast track.”

“Stay on the line please till your turn comes,” she said sharply.

It was my guess she didn’t understand what I’ve said. “I was told by the two gentlemen that you can help me to go through the fast track,” I said once again.

 ”You stay in the line there. There is no fast track. You need to wait,” was he answer.

“But Ma’am, I’ll miss my flight and can’t spend a night in London. I’ll end up sleeping in the airport. I would be grateful if you can let me go.”

“Quiet! I don’t want to hear a word from you! I said NO!”

At this point, I start mumbling angrily in Arabic. With that, she came right next to me and raised her voice. “What are you saying? I don’t want to hear you talking!  Do you understand?!”

Making sure I knew she was serious, she put her hand on her hand Billy Club. At this point, I got scared, so I decided to shut my mouth. The young man was next to me and soon asked, ” You think we’re gonna make it to Dubai?” 

“I don’t know if her majesty will allow us”, I replied.

Pleasant officer Julia then came back again and said, “Excuse me. One more word from you and I have to take to my office.”

I started laughing at this point, because I really didn’t know what else to do. The young man then told me, “Just leave it and ignore her… she must be having a bad day”.

Everybody was staring at me and I felt embarrassed. I wanted to break her neck, but of course couldn’t do that. I left things alone as I surely didn’t want to end up beaten with a Billy Club and in jail. Most especially, because I know that my respectful Jordan embassy couldn’t care less about a Jordanian citizen being screwed in London.

With that said, many people were kind enough to offer me and the young man the place in front of them. When we finally reached the front of the line, a Hassidic Jew refused to take off his hat, while angrily arguing with the police. I begged him to take his hat and then finally…  I was through.

One more time, I was off and running.

The flight was set t depart at 12:40 and it was already 12: 45.  It was then I heard my name being called over the speakers. My heart raced even faster.

They were still calling my name when the assigned gate number finally appeared in the distance. I had my boarding pass, I was there, and I was safe. I reached the counter and felt a huge sense of relief.

The lady at the counter then said, “Sorry Ma’am, the gate was changed. You need to go to gate 39.”

No WAAAYYYY!

And so, I was running again.

I changed my direction took off like an Olympic sprinter.  The young man was running with and finally asked my name.  “Lama, and you?” I said in between taking deep breaths.

“David, I am going to Dubai for the first time. I’m Canadian what about you?”

 ”I am Jordanian.”

“What’s a Jordanian is doing in Canada?”

“My husband is Canadian.”

I was giving him short answers as I was out of breath and not really in the mood to talk given the circumstances.  I felt guilty that I was a little mean to the young man.  Maybe he didn’t know anybody in Dubai and wanted to talk about where to go there, but I was going mad at the time.

And then, at long last… we were on the plane.

People stared from their seats, annoyed their flight was delayed because of me. Whatever! I didn’t really care. I made it! 

When I finally arrived in Dubai, it seemed only befitting my bags were lost and never made the transfer. I called my husband and started crying and told him what a nightmare I just been through. At home on my bed I could still see that monster police lady in front of me. I was wondering what I did I to get on her in her nerves like that. 

Is it my passport? Maybe, because she knows my country will never care if I was to get into any trouble which means she had the green light to kick my ass. Or maybe she was just having a bad day… I’ll never know for sure.

All do know however, one time to London is good enough for me!

Hmmm… maybe next year we can try Paris….