Friday, 20 February 2009

Photo Tag

Thanks to Rosiero for tagging me and giving me a nice midweek blog entry! Here's the deal. I have to go into my photo collection, take the fourth folder and the fourth picture in that folder and explain it. Then tag four more bloggers to do the same.

With trepidation at what might emerge from the wasteland of my Pictures folder, I started clicking.....

OK that's not too bad!

This photo was taken in September 2005. It is my daughter Rebecca, shortly before her 4th birthday, and it was taken in Canada, my favourite place in the whole world. I had wanted to go and visit Prince Edward Island because we were considering emigrating to there, but Mark couldn't take any time off work at that stage (being self employed sucks!) Not to be deterred, I booked flights, hotel room for the night we arrived, and car rental for just me and Rebecca, and planned a roadtrip round Nova Scotia and PEI - how exciting!

When we arrived at Halifax (Canada!) airport after a 7 hour flight in the middle of the night, we didn't know the problem about to befall us. We headed gaily to Passport Control, only to be directed to Immigration. Feeling a little anxious, and with Rebecca bursting for a wee, we went over to the desk and discovered that they were not happy that I was arriving in Canada with my 3 year old child, but not her father. I'm not sure how single parents navigate this problem! Apparently I should have taken a letter from Mark giving his permission for me to take her abroad. (Permission! My hackles rise at the very word!!) Anyway, They wanted to see our passports, our return flight tickets and our hotel reservations. This made it worse because of course I had only booked 1 night. The plan was get in the car, drive to wherever we wanted to, find a motel and stay however long suited us. In the eyes of the Canadian Immigration official with a gun on his hip, this made me irresponsible. I resisted the urge to argue that it merely made me adventurous! They wanted to speak to Mark, to make sure that I wasn't in the process of kidnapping my own daughter, so I had to think where he would be (in the pub watching football!) and give them his phone number. To be fair, the scary man did smile when I told him where Mark would be! I was worried that being in the pub, he might be slightly drunk, think the phone call was a joke, and say something stupid that would see us on the next flight home, with a police escort!

We where sent to wait in a stark little room, and I finally got Rebecca to the loo - too late though and her Disney Princess knicks were despatched to the bin! After what felt like a lifetime we were told we could go, but not without a stern lecture on how irresponsible I was to travel so far from home with my 3 year old child on my own, and without hotel reservations for the whole visit. I took my lecture meekly and off we went!

Despite the "memorable" start, we had a wonderful wonderful holiday, we got to all the places we had planned, and managed to find somewhere to sleep every night without any great difficulty, and I discovered that this was truly my spiritual home. I hope we will return for good one day.

As a PS to this story, Mark says they didn't phone him at all, so they must have decided to let me suffer a little bit just for the hell of it! Huh.

I've enjoyed revisiting this memory, thanks Roisero! Now who shall I tag...hmmmmmm...

OK I've decided to take the lazy way, and say if you are reading this, you are tagged! If you like the idea, go forth and post your photo, and leave a comment to let me know you've done it - I look forward to seeing your memories.


rosiero said...

It's amazing what tales a photo can provoke. Many thanks for sharing this with us.

Loth said...

Yay! I didn't know you were another member of the Maritimes Appreciation Club! And I agree those immigration guys at Halifax are thorough - we nearly always move around a lot when we go to NS but they are quite politely insistent that I tell them every planned stop on our two week tour when we arrive! It's absolutely worth it though.