October 9, 2008: Border Patrol, United Kingdom

“So, what, you’re like a photojournalist or something?”

It was 3am and we were crossing British immigration at Dover, or was it Calais? We had gotten on and off the bus so many times I had lost track. It was all a blur of cold air, heavy luggage, and grunting responses to various government officials.

“Mmm-hmm,” I replied, too tired to open my mouth and form words.

The surprise registered clearly on his face. “And, how long do you plan to be in London?”

“Just a few hours, I’m in-transit,” I said, mentally visualizing the “IT” they would add to my entry stamp.

“Okay, and what time does your plane leave?”

“4:30pm.”

“Today?” he asks and I nod. “Oh, so you really are in-transit. And, what are you going to be doing in Afghanistan? It doesn’t matter,” he adds quickly, “I’m just curious.”

“I’m going to be following around a bomb squad that finds and disposes of left over munitions and explosives.”

More surprise registers on his face, followed by the click and clink of the entry visa stamp. He clears his throat slightly, “Interesting story, good luck and be safe,” and hands me back my passport with a genuine smile.