LONDON

There are three things you need to know about me before we continue with the updates on my travels. 1. I am a bit of an Anglofile. 2. I love traveling and it was one of the main reasons why being undocumented was such a damn struggle for me. 3. I am terrified of flying.

My fear of flying will never get in the way of my love for traveling thanks to the pharmaceutical help of Xanax and cheap wine.

I have been pretty much an emotional wreck the whole week of the trip. It is only because I am a reserved and self contained person that DH only saw me express some annoyance, shortness of temper and occasional bouts of silence. Inside I was a mix of nerves and happiness, terror and joy.  I was so excited to finally travel! we had planned and saved and planned and saved some more and I was going to go where I had dreamt of going for over a decade. The thought of flying on a metal death trap for 8 hours over the Atlantic Ocean made me want to scream and burst into tears. Every time I have to fly I think “this is the way I am going to die” I picture the plane plummeting down to inevitable death and I think how cruel it would be for me to die before I see Europe. Or before I reach whatever destination I am supposed to be reaching.

I tried not to think about it, but the closer the departure date got the more nervous I became. I didn’t want to think about it but I couldn’t separate my dreams of walking the London streets from the actual process of getting there.

Somehow I made it to the plane after two glasses of insanely expensive airport wine and popped my pill. After seating down for twenty minutes on the plane, getting comfortable for the night flight ahead, talking to family and relaying last minute instructions for the care of Max and Zoey, the pill finally kicked in.

Sweet baby Jesus…there is something to be said about not being afraid. It’s almost like that feeling when you know you are about to piss your pants and you won’t make it to the toilet and somehow you do make it and release and you get goose bumps and the hair on your arms stands on end, and you shiver and your eyes water and there is no greater feeling than that of your bladder emptying…aaaah.  

That’s how the pill feels, I feel normal, my body unclenches, my heart rate slows, my mouth produces saliva again, my head stops pounding, my hands aren’t sweaty, my stomach no longer rolls and that niggling need on my chest to release a blood curling scream is gone and I feel like myself again, not gripped by that fear of ‘this is certainly my last day on earth’. I feel relief.

I smiled feeling loopy and DH just gave me that planes-are-safer-than-cars look that I always get when I am flying or talking about flying, but I was too relaxed on my pill and too happy not to be afraid anymore to take umbrage.

What feels like minutes later, I wake up to a stewardess shuffling around cars to serve breakfast and coffee, the flight is almost over.

We made it to Heathrow, what an airport, I mean WOW. That has got to be the most trafficked airport in the world. We walked to immigration and in less than twenty minutes they stamped my passport and we walked away. They stamped my passport…I felt so gauche but I kept looking at that little stamp like it was a gift, it looked so pretty there on the page next to my visa. Sigh.

London was everything and more than I wanted, it was sunny and crisp every day we were there. I bought a really cute green raincoat prepared for the “awful London weather” and the sky was blue and the sun shone just for us those five days.  I loved every corner of that city, I loved its Underground and it’s informative voice over the speaker warning us to “Mind the gap”. I loved St. Paul’s Cathedral, the breathtaking magnificence of Christopher Wren’s architecture. The Parliament and the Big Ben was imposing and oh so iconic. The Tower of London was sad, depressing and yet interesting and informative, and the Beefeater guide was hilarious. Windsor Castle made me realized I was born to be royalty and something must have gone wrong because I am not. The Queen was there since the flag was out on the Keep. Westminster Abbey was equally impressive with the tombs of so many important people is hard to keep track, Buckingham Palace was gorgeous and the nearby Wellington’s Arch was the scene of the crossing of the royal horses, we saw them come out of the royal mews and prance around with their riders in full regalia, those horses we so preening!

It’s a sign of how much I loved London that I didn’t even struggle with my dislike of Monarchies. I have always had a conflicted view of it; the romantic, historical romance obsessed part of me adores everything that has to do with the peerage and the monarchy of England. The part of me that is bothered by empires and social inequality is disgusted.

In London one can’t help but feel the need to sing a God Save the Queen when walking around her castle, the Keep of which has been standing there since the 1000s. DH was in as much aw as I was by all the beautiful structures, the accuracy of the public transportation, the history of the city, the old buildings, etc…he was just not quite as giddy as I was.

The last day in the city went and I was so not ready to leave it. I would’ve been glad to spend the rest of my vacation safely ensconced in London, walking around, drinking beer and maneuvering the Underground with ease. We went to Kings Cross Station to transfer to St. Pancras (which is the international rail that takes you outside of England) and I couldn’t leave London without making a stop on Platform 9 ¾ for a picture. Everyone in line to take the picture was at least in their 20s, 30s and some in their 50s. There were only two kids in line…I had to laugh at that, Harry Potter transcending generations.

I took my leap for the picture, holding my trolley with its stuffed white Hedwig, wearing the Slytherin scarf in Snape’s honor and pushed through the platform all the way to Paris.

WHAT'S IT GONNA BE?

Ok folks, so I am here again and trying hard to figure out how to make the transition from a blog about a chick with no papers and her bitter battle to a blog about a chick with papers and her current life.
 

I guess that happens a lot, kind of like how Cougar Town show with Courtney Cox got stuck with the name “Cougar Town” even thought Courtney Cox’s character has been dating someone her own age for the majority of the show.
 

My DH says I should just write, talk and talk about anything and everything that happens to me and put it on the blog…a blog about everything and nothing. Not surprising he is a Seinfeld fan.  I need a little bit more structure and to be honest with you I don’t think I am that interesting. He thinks I can make anything interesting, which is terribly flattering and also untrue.
 

My life currently consists of getting up an hour before I have to run to work, eat breakfast, feel sleepy and miserable until I finish my coffee, work for ten hours, go back home and hang out with husband, eat dinner (which most nights is popcorn, hummus, cheese and wine) read some books or watch Korean soap operas and then go to sleep to start the process all over again.
 

Kinda hard to write about that fascinating topic that is my routine.

But I do want to try to write more, to have a commitment, all those who have kept with me all these years know that I have a hard time making commitments and keeping promises I keep to myself, (I’m looking at you New Year’s Resolutions!)  I want to write everyday and maybe the flame will ignite again.
 

So I am going to go and tell you what has happened in my life these past few months and go from there, maybe all the writing will turn into something worth reading, even if the purpose of the blog isn’t what it used to be.
 

I traveled, kind reader, I actually left U.S. soil two months ago.  I fulfilled my lifelong dream of going to Europe, and you know what? It was even better than I imagined.  In two weeks I visited 6 European cities with DH, we walked until we got blisters, ate until we felt sick, drank until…well we actually never stopped drinking, we drank A LOT.
   

As you know I am a Colombian Citizen and therefore cannot go ANYWHERE without applying for a visa, so pretty much the first half of the year was spent with me filling applications to go to the UK, making itineraries, making copies of my bank statements, getting international health insurance, getting letters from my employers and copying paystubs, all so I could spend five days in London.
 

I cannot explain how excited I was when I got the UK Tourist Visa stamped on my passport. I looked so pretty in the picture too! Then I had to go to the Italian Consulate in Miami so I could apply for the Schengen visa.
 

For those of you who are Americans, or Canadians or simply are from pretty much everywhere else in the world and don’t require a promise of donation of a kidney or a first child to visit another country, a Schengen visa is a permit given to enter the Schengen Area after a treaty with 26 countries allows the carrier to enter said countries without a visa on their passport.
 

Since I wanted to go to Italy, Germany, Czech Republic and France and they all belong to the treaty that meant I only had to go to one Consulate to apply for the visa, instead of having to go to four.  We were spending the longest time in Italy so I applied for the visa there. It took one morning and reservations to hotels, planes, cars, trains, etc and pretty much the same that was required from the UK Consulate to be approved.

 With both visas in hand I was ready to go.
 

I love DH but I must confess I was a bit resentful that he gets to enter all the countries in the world without suspicion, without that country expecting the worst from him, without assuming that they are there to stay. I mean I did stay here when I came, but that is not the point!

 England and USA have been at war before, and France and the US have had some skirmishes, and Italy was one of the Axis Powers and the Czech Republic used to be communist and Germany was THE main Axis…what beef can any of them have with Colombia? Why deny its citizens entry unless jumping every hoop in the book? Even now when the EU is trying to lift the requirements for Colombian citizens Germany is refusing to sign up on the idea. I don't appreciate your dizzing Germany!
 

Whatever man!

Anyway, after all the paperwork and the saving and the booking and the reviewing the day finally came. I was all ready with my happy pills (Xanax for the flight), my autumn outfits carefully planned, my steps by step itineraries made on Excel, printed and tucked away in the suitcase. Research was done, money exchange rates checked, tickets for museums purchased in advance…we were readier than MacGyver.

THE NEVER ENDING STORY

The Never Ending Story is one of those movies I watched in my childhood that still has the power to give me the hibbie jibbies (Falkor still scares the shit of DH). There was something so damn haunting about The Nothing (with capital N) that stirred my already over active imagination and made me feel like meeting with IT was a fate worse than death. When I read the book it wasn’t any better, although it probably had something to do with how young I was and how dense, existentialist and philosophical the story is.

I felt, while I was struggling with my immigration issues, that I was in the middle of the Never Ending Story, no hope in sight, in a quest, escaping from fate, battling against an unbeatable foe, Sisyphus and I were one.

I swear sometimes I felt like The Nothing was in relentless pursuit of me and the life I had forged here was Fantasia and The Nothing was bent on consuming it, consuming me.

Luckily the movie ends happily and so does my story in that regard. I am currently working a well paid job (even if the hours are ridiculous). I have a cute little car. I drive around sometimes on Sundays, when DH is off playing baseball, with the windows down and the music blasting and I feel such giddiness and over such a simple thing…amazing how unappreciated the luxury of movement is, the freedom that legality offers you. The joy of the sun on my face and the wind in my hair, knowing the cops can stop me and I can flash them with my smiley face on the Driver’s License. I look almost manic in the picture in it.

We are planning a trip to Europe with DH in October (London, Paris, Prague, Venice, Florence and Rome in two weeks!), I am going to do what I have dreamed of doing for more than a decade, I am finally going to travel the world (or at least part of it) and life is good. 

Last Monday my sister Patty had her Citizenship test and she passed with flying colors. The whole family (uncles, aunts, cousins, in laws, brother and sister) felt the happiness along with her. She will become a U.S. Citizen in two weeks.

Why exactly is Citizenship something to dream of? It seems an odd thing to strive for, doesn’t it? The abandonment of your own land for a new one, not only in the physical step that was taken eleven years ago when we left home, but in a more official and irrevocable way. Her passport will be blue (no longer burgundy), she will easily enter any country in the world without having to request visas and prove to them you are worthy of visiting and aren’t actually planning on staying. What will she say when she is asked by a stranger where she is from? What will I answer when my time comes? Will she say Colombian? Or American? What will I say? I already struggle to answer between Venezuelan and Colombian; a new citizenship may cause an identity crisis.

My sister will be requesting our mother soon. She is the last of us still in the process of legalization; soon our whole family will be safe.

The Never Ending Story for my mom is just beginning. She has to do the whole process once more; in this case her daughter is the one requesting her when in my case it was my husband. The steps are the same, however: interviews, filling out forms, exorbitant fees to layers and the DHS, affidavits, lawyer meetings, fingerprinting, TB tests, vaccines, uncomfortable questions and the feelings of inadequacy they arise.

I know without a doubt that when her time comes to go through what I went through she will handle it with much more grace, less bitching, less drinking and with a happy heart. She won’t feel the anger I felt, the sense of betrayal and entitlement. No matter how long it takes, what they ask of her, I know she will be happy because we are all here, close to her. That is her Fantasia and The Nothing won’t ever touch her.