Crossing borders doesn't feel the same any more. I remember being on school trips in Europe, taking a coach ride from France through Belgium and into the Netherlands. Having to stop at a border and customs checks and passports all ready. Once on a train going into Germany, having our passports checked by armed police and them having the right to go through our bags. Those sorts of intrusions don't happen in Europe any more, we reserve that kind of humiliation for outsiders.
I am an outsider to the United States. Landing in California at SFO, I need to go through immigration, because I'm an alien. I am subject to whatever questions they feel are necessary to be sure that I have somewhere to stay tonight, I'm not going to stretch the patience or resources of public servants or try to earn money that should be going to honest hardworking Americans, and that I'm going to leave in a month just like I say I am. They don't need to know that I'm an artist, but I also don't have to hide anything from them. They're happy to see that I have US dollars in my wallet alongside my Visa Debit Card.
The country is huge. Somewhere between immigration and the BART I realised this. It's huge and I'm alone here. Yes I know people, but I don't know where I'm going after the next couple of days and my ticket home is from a city almost 3,000 miles away from where I am now, across this huge, wide, open continent. But I am here now and that landmass is all before me. No longer imaginary, the journey is for real, just not fully realised yet.
I have not been here before, I don't know how the BART tickets work. I'm also very tired after 11 hours of flying. My body thinks it's nearly midnight but everything around me says it's early afternoon. It's my job to ask for help, not to try to work it out by myself. So I ask the guy in the kiosk. I need someone next to me, pointing like they would for a child, put this green thing in this slot here and take the ticket there, you'll need three of those and then put the ticket through the slot in the barrier and walk through.
I'm a long way from home. The BART is not the tube. The BART is Logan's Run. The tube is Passport to Pimlico. I am Passport to Pimlico. What am I doing here? It's cool but it's not chilly like it was in London when I left. It's March 2011 and spring has sprung here in a way that it hasn't at home.
I also have three pieces of luggage. That's important to remember. I will remember to check that I've got all three whenever I'm leaving or arriving anywhere. 1-2-3. Suitcase, shoulder bag, ukulele. Got it. Now ride into the city.
