Rain. Travel problems.

At some point in the night I woke to the swishing sound of tyres on wet road. So it was raining! Well, it had been forecast. The sun can't always shine. Not in Galicia anyway but we have had a rather fine amount of sunshine since we arrived two and a half weeks ago. No complaints. I almost complained when it started to rain on me on my way to the baker's shop this morning but I decided against it. 

I read yesterday about a six-year-old girl who was held by Paris airport police for three days over suspicions she had a fake passport. She was travelling as an unaccompanied minor and had all the necessary documents. So someone at the airport in Cameroon, where she was travelling from, had checked everything was ok. Her mother was waiting for her at Charles de Gaulle airport. Imagine the mother's consternation when her little girl did not appear at the exit gate. Imagine the little girl's confusion, distress, panic as they kept her in a special police daycare unit for three days. She then had to appear before a judge (rather daunting when you are only six!) who asked her to identify her mother in the court room, and teachers and school friends from photos (the child was born in Paris and goes to school there). If she isn't traumatised for life, that little girl will have a story to dine out on for the rest of her life. 

I have second hand experience of such trauma at Charles de Gaulle airport. Years ago now, I accompanied a group of Travel and Tourism students to Disneyland Paris, at that time still known as Eurodisney. The students, 16 a 18 year olds, were given lectures on the business side of the theme park in the mornings, hotel and catering management, the running of the theme park side of it and so on, and in the afternoon they had free time in the park itself. In the evening they were supposed to write up their assignments - and I mean "write" as this predated the tablets and laptops that all students seem to possess nowadays - while the staff made sure they were not having wild parties in their rooms. 

 Anyway, one day we had a coach trip into the centre of Paris itself. It was a baking hot day and one of the boys ended up hospitalised overnight with heatstroke. After some argument with the insurance company it was agreed that he could be flown home instead of travelling overnight by coach with the rest of us. After further argument, it was very grudgingly agreed that a member of staff could fly with him. The boy was 18 and technically could have flown alone but he was from a strict Moslem family in Bolton. This was the first time he had travelled anywhere without his family, the first time he had been out of the UK, let alone be expected to manoeuvre a foreign airport on his own. This was just as well for he was stopped at Charles de Gaulle airport, suspected of being an illegal immigrant, possible North African, trying to get to Britain. Fortunately this was before 9.11 and the Twin Towers, so he wasn't accused of terrorism as well! The accompanying teacher had to work hard to persuade the authorities that he could vouch for this young man. Nasty, suspicious people these Charles de Gaulle airport officials. Clearly they haven't changed! 

It's not just Charles de Gaulle airport staff however. My only occasion of having my own identity challenged took place at Madrid airport. Once again I was with a bunch of students. We had arrived at the airport to be told that out flight was delayed, possibly cancelled. We had arrangements for the students to be collected by coach from Manchester airport and so we had to reorganise things. For some reason this involved my going back and forth through security. At the last moment, with me on the wrong side of security with a student, they announced imminent boarding of our flight. With five minutes to go, I found myself with a security chap looking at my passport photo and then at me and then asking if I was sure that this was my passport. True, in the passport I had very short hair and now my hair was shoulder length. Also true, my passport was coming to the end of its ten year life. 

Even so, in the six months previous to this occasion I had travelled through Malaga, Palma de Mallorca and Düsseldorf airports without problem. Also I had been through Madrid airport security that very evening at least four or five times, again without problems. So what was going on?All of this I explained in my best angry Spanish to the man in uniform. He recommended I renew my passport as soon as possible and let us through. My student picked her chin up off the floor and followed me. 

We flew home without further incident!