Nothing more distressing to be stopped at an airport in charge of migration without further explanation that a "please attach the guard." You ask the uniformed what happens and it responds with such creepy ranging from evasive "and you will be informed" to "is a issue that I can not deal with you "and so we walked to a door leading to another door that is guarded by armed guards faces other impost try to look respectable or fearful below (actually" up ") of such uniform remind me of my childhood chocolate strolling around the neighborhood with its trucks and the unmistakable sound of the trumpet announcing ice in summer, and cookies and chocolates and sweets in the winter. Although the badges and boots do not help much, so many weapons around one begin to generate some hives but no way, not much to do about it. "Wait a moment" and suddenly, you find yourself in front of a dozen subjects as confused as you on that, as I infer, have told the same "wait" not "one time" has nothing because, as I understand the conversation that has the cleavage to Colombia is seeing Australian you do to get your selling pharmaceuticals, both have been there for two hours (and still does not get his number?, if reversed, the Colombian not only have the number of Australia but also would masajito and giving "for stress").
The place we so kindly confined (dry would be the guards their ways, but educated as well) was a rectangular room with three walls of brick and consists of a large window with thick glass, very thick, almost say shielded. Two of the walls, the two long paths had gates, into one, which I entered, the number of guards guarding it, on the other, by entering the migration agents, a series of plates and locks which could only be activated from the other side. Through the glass, forming a small wall, saw it as "others", the rest, the lucky ones, passed immigration control and headed to the same place where abandoned our bags should lie down and ready to be forwarded, with us, the place of origin if the authorities decided that "no, sorry, can not enter the country, does not comply with the required documentation, join me, please", as I heard tell a uniform bound for a Venezuelan who was there with us and it continued to claim, demanding "to see his boss" and mentioned something about "asylum" before they did not listen more because he disappeared behind the mysterious door that led, as I learned later, the immigration offices.
Around me stood the United Nations, there were people of varied nationalities, I discovered that the passage of minutes, either listening to talk, when they did it in my language or the other I mean stumbled, or whether indiscreetly sniffing among the papers all had held between the fingers as the pass that will free them from war or tags that airlines placed in hand luggage.
Two Senegalese to understand them a couple of "GUI, GUI" and some other "merci" they said, were well dressed, very modern clothes, stylish and brand names (at least one wearing a green Lagartito Printed in black T-shirt under the jacket looked white cassock newly consecrated priest), and animated conversation, without looking at the surroundings, like someone is having a coffee at "The Pendulum" Polanco (magnificent library) without much trouble, worry, and wanting to prolong the evening until it passes rain. Talked and talked without stopping, but they were not alone.
A three or four meters were a couple of Peruvians, let my land unmistakable me know they were fellow countrymen. Greeted them with a gesture, from a distance, but I responded, looked askance at me, looked at everyone with suspicion, spoke a mixture of Castilian and Quechua and could barely understand a word, "contact" "Friend", "fix", "N", enough to infer that my fellow citizens had no intention of staying in the land of Pancho Villa, but, as it once did the revolutionary leader, tried to cross the border and "encroach "the north country. Apparently something had gone wrong in the chain of cheating visas and forged documents because they had good times there and were concerned printed on the face.
Soon came a group of Chinese (that I knew by the cover of a book that had one of them with garbled characters to Westerners and their four golden stars on a red background surrounding a bigger star), most were scared face, looked puzzled and spoke softly, not looking at anyone else, do not know who would, seem, for the taken and age, young workers, workers, technicians on any system. The truth is that lasted little place a few minutes later a guard came along with an eastern wearing a fine suit, would the consul, the ambassador, the entrepreneur who brought them to work?, And asked them all papers that one, the more nervous, was slow to find in the chaos of his briefcase full of papers, books and clothing. The accompanying oriental the officer said something and went back five minutes later and spoke again to the group who smiled in unison. Everyone grabbed their bags and left.
For there appeared a most unusual type, small, flat, without actually dwarf, thin, with hair like new in hair, clothes that bordered on the bizarre and with a roll in his hand. That is, a holder, like those used by students of architecture. He looked angry, fierce, angry, without a hint of concern and a great show of being about to make a fuss. Beside him was a Caribbean, I never knew if it was Panama or Costa Rica but said both countries in the middle of the talk in which he sailed with the indignant. The deliciously contrasting moods, the hairdresser cut burning with indignation and the other sitting on his briefcase, relaxed, quietly smoking a cigarette, even the sign "No Smoking" useless glistened on his head. The Caribbean was a tourist, "I always confuse with Cubans," said for any explanation and the other began to curse because "I do not know what the hell I listened to John and I came with the Cuban passport if I am a English citizen ..." , was a painter, lived in Florida, the air was escaping when he spoke and John, the of bad idea, a partner. In the paper holder has been "very important" paintings of his that he was going to expose "as a favor" to not know what Mexican Museum, "because I usually explain in Europe." I was very distracted
amid claims the artist so I did not realize that three hours had passed until my knees, and colleagues tested adventures kilos, began to remind me that, "for reasons of weight," it was best to quit my Spartan stoicism and sit in the first chair that some distracted vacate or in the frozen soil for several slab where they were. You will understand sit on my briefcase was a possibility ruled out of hand, was new and not given to support overhead. That led me to think about my options for stand ground in one motion and without too much scandal ...
"dignity or knees?" Was the dilemma in which I was when I opened the door and said my name ...
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