this entry was first written on the 23rd of Apr, 2012, during the last hour or so before the bus I was in entered Sarajevo.
Zagreb airport's immigration counters freed up quickly, save for one officer's. she was struggling with my passport. i watched her swipe the document and then shake her head, with crumpled eyebrows for effect. what could be the problem, i wondered. it didn't help that her colleague's suggestions bore little fruit. i saw myself being put on the next flight out.
when she finally spoke it was to ask where my last name was. i almost laughed out in relief. your name is very long, she said. i apologised: it's not my fault, really.
~
i'm woken by a light slap on my knee. i see an immigration officer standing in front of me. he takes my passport and swipes it through a mobile device. once, twice, three times. i anticipate the same problem and but am more relaxed. but Slovenia, being part of the Schengen region, requires more than just my first or last name.
where are you going in Slovenia?
Ljubljana.
for how long?
till Sunday.
why are you going there?
i'm a tourist.
where you from?
(look at my passport, Einstein) Singapore.
where you going after this?
(wanna come with me?) Croatia.
how long you stay in Europe?
16 days.
During this time the other two passengers in the cabin watch the proceedings without a word. one even slips me a suspicious look. my passport is returned to me, with the second stamp on my journey around the region.
~
entering Bosnia i Hercegovina did not require us getting off the bus for immigration checks. When the officer walked away with my passport, i became a bit concerned. but as he walked back to his booth, i saw in his hand several others. he had no fancy mobile device.
then began a wait that held up the bus for over 15 minutes. how long does scanning and stamping a handful of passports really take? maybe my name was a problem again. the other passengers started exchanging worried looks and some started speculating the cause of the delay. i considered getting off the bus, going over to the booth and clearing the confusion that looked like a tough murder case. the impetus was what i was seeing from my seat in the bus: two officers leaning forward, one saying something to the first, who was holding a red passport and flipping the pages furiously. could i really be single-handedly delaying everyone? at some point i saw myself returning to my seat, eyes averting stares.
one of the officers walks back to the bus. this is it, i thought to myself. i hope he speaks english. the officer walks right past me to a young man at the back. 'come with me', or 'you need to get off'-- i suppose it was one of these instructions that took the man off the bus. two passengers in front of me began speaking in hushed tones. the ticket inspector for our bus then comes over and returns me my passport. i sense relief in his expression -- thankfully it wasn't you (why would it have been anyway?). i thought of asking someone what had actually happened. then again, no one spoke english.
i went back to sleep.
Zagreb airport's immigration counters freed up quickly, save for one officer's. she was struggling with my passport. i watched her swipe the document and then shake her head, with crumpled eyebrows for effect. what could be the problem, i wondered. it didn't help that her colleague's suggestions bore little fruit. i saw myself being put on the next flight out.
when she finally spoke it was to ask where my last name was. i almost laughed out in relief. your name is very long, she said. i apologised: it's not my fault, really.
~
i'm woken by a light slap on my knee. i see an immigration officer standing in front of me. he takes my passport and swipes it through a mobile device. once, twice, three times. i anticipate the same problem and but am more relaxed. but Slovenia, being part of the Schengen region, requires more than just my first or last name.
where are you going in Slovenia?
Ljubljana.
for how long?
till Sunday.
why are you going there?
i'm a tourist.
where you from?
(look at my passport, Einstein) Singapore.
where you going after this?
(wanna come with me?) Croatia.
how long you stay in Europe?
16 days.
During this time the other two passengers in the cabin watch the proceedings without a word. one even slips me a suspicious look. my passport is returned to me, with the second stamp on my journey around the region.
~
entering Bosnia i Hercegovina did not require us getting off the bus for immigration checks. When the officer walked away with my passport, i became a bit concerned. but as he walked back to his booth, i saw in his hand several others. he had no fancy mobile device.
then began a wait that held up the bus for over 15 minutes. how long does scanning and stamping a handful of passports really take? maybe my name was a problem again. the other passengers started exchanging worried looks and some started speculating the cause of the delay. i considered getting off the bus, going over to the booth and clearing the confusion that looked like a tough murder case. the impetus was what i was seeing from my seat in the bus: two officers leaning forward, one saying something to the first, who was holding a red passport and flipping the pages furiously. could i really be single-handedly delaying everyone? at some point i saw myself returning to my seat, eyes averting stares.
one of the officers walks back to the bus. this is it, i thought to myself. i hope he speaks english. the officer walks right past me to a young man at the back. 'come with me', or 'you need to get off'-- i suppose it was one of these instructions that took the man off the bus. two passengers in front of me began speaking in hushed tones. the ticket inspector for our bus then comes over and returns me my passport. i sense relief in his expression -- thankfully it wasn't you (why would it have been anyway?). i thought of asking someone what had actually happened. then again, no one spoke english.
i went back to sleep.
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