The second-briefest discussion that I ever had with a immigration official was at the  airport in Poznan, Poland. He glanced at my passport, stamped it, slid it back to me and said: “Thank you.” My briefest-ever conversation with an immigration agent was in Dresden, Germany, where the officer looked at my passport, slid it back, and then pointed at the exit. Today Krista and I had a much longer discussion with an immigration officer at London’s busiest airport, Heathrow.

Given the amount of gear that we were bringing into the country to begin our Falling Down the Thames paddling adventure, Krista and I had made a small wager about whether we would get more than the usual amount of scrutiny when we arrived at the airport. I bet that we would, and I won. The lady who greeted us into the country looked suspiciously at the two large toy kingfishers that we were carrying. In response to her question about the purpose of our visit, we explained that we would be paddling the length of the River Thames over a period of three weeks. “And why are you carrying those?” she asked while pointing at the kingfishers. We explained that the kingfishers were the emblem of our adventure, and that the toys would be accompanying with us along the river.

“And is that where you are smuggling the drugs?”

I have learned that immigrations and customs officials rarely have a sense of humour about their work. I wanted to tell her that we kept the smuggled heroin in the kingfishers, but that the cocaine was in our checked baggage, but I was almost certain that that response would have earned us a strip search. Instead I said something about us not really looking the type to be smuggling drugs.

“Paddling the Thames? Do they let you do that?” They do if you have all of the proper permits. No, we don’t have the permits yet; you get them en route. She then asked if we were part of some organized tour. Nope. It is just the two of us. “Did your work send you? Do they just let you do that?” “Have you done this before?” No, this will be the first time. “Because I see in your passport that you were here at this time last year.” This was followed by a protracted explanation about how we scouted portions of the River Thames last year to ensure that we would be prepared for the adventure.

It seems as though this agent figured that there wasn’t something quite right about us, but couldn’t figure out what it was. She asked more questions about where we lived, and delved into the UK Ancestry permit in my passport that allowed me to stay in the country for an extended period. It was almost as though she was waiting for us to contradict ourselves. We didn’t. Instead she tried one last tactic. She scanned the prints of my right thumb. No red lights started flashing. Krista asked if she wanted her thumb print too, but the agent declined and waved us through.

Somehow I like the notion that, at my age, I can still make people think I might be up to something.

- Glen