On Leaving Panamá
Before I forget, a word on getting here.
I traveled through Panamá and Holland, since I won’t fly through the United States and “enjoy” their security theater. I expected to be asked about the reasons of my trip on arrival to Germany, as they do everywhere, but did not expect Panamá to give me grief.
KLM guy from Panamá: “Hello sir, where are you traveling to?”
Me: “Germany”
KLM: “Right sir, your passport, please.”
Me: (Switching to spanish) “Con gusto.”
Two things happened the moment he saw I was costarrican – the body language changed a bit, and the sir went out of his vocabulary. He continued (in Spanish):
KLM: “What’s the reason of your journey?”
Me: “Tourism”
KLM: “Where are you staying?”
Me: “An apartment I rented.”
KLM: (Eyeing me suspiciously) “Who owns this apartment?”
Me: “Well, I can tell you the name of the person I’m renting it from, I don’t know if she’s the owner or she’s renting it herself.”
KLM: (Suspicious growing) “And how did you find this place, then?”
Me: “Online agency”
At this point the guy gave me a very odd look, like I had told him the apartment’s coordinates had been beamed directly into my brain by a space alien who piloted his ship over my house, and he got a bit more confrontational.
KLM: “So, do you have any proof you’re renting this apartment?”
Me: “What? No. I have the address, and a map.” (Pause, annoyed). “It’s freezing there, it’s not like I’m going to sleep on the street.”
So he asks how much cash I’m carrying. I tell him how many dollars (not too many), and that I plan to withdraw Euros when I get there, since the exchange rate in Costa Rica would be really bad. He asks to see the money. He then demands to see a credit card. I show him one, tell him I don’t intend to use it to withdraw cash, and can show him my debit cards if he wishes.
At this point the people behind me are getting annoyed at the wait too, so he just takes my passport, scans it, notices that – against all odds – I’m not some Known Evil Terrorist Mastermind, Drug Trafficker or Wanted War Criminal traveling under his own name, and lets me go.
You can imagine I expected something similar when arriving to the European Union. The extent of the checks in Amsterdam were:
Dutch customs officer: “Hello sir, how are you?”
Me: “Fine, thanks”
Dutch customs officer: “What’s the reason of your visit?”
Me: “Tourism, coming to see the Berlin film festival”
Dutch customs officer: “What type of festival again, sir?”
Me: “The Berlin film festival.”
Dutch customs officer: “Oh. How long will you be staying?”
I tell him when I’m flying back. He looks at my passport.
Dutch customs officer: “And where will you be staying, sir?”
Me: “I rented an apartment online.”
Dutch customs officer: “I see. First time in Europe?”
Me: “No, just in Germany.”
He stamps my passport and wishes me a good trip.
So, fine, these were just the Dutch. They’re probably pretty laid back, and Germany will be where they’ll go all Panamá on me. But guess what? That had been my entry in to the European Union. The single check in Berlin was a dog who sniffed everyone’s luggage, probably to make sure we hadn’t brought any pot from Amsterdam.
Seems the Panamanians are more interested in keeping me out of Europe than the Europeans.
Updated to remove Copa references, it was actually a KLM employee.