It’s become a bit of a running joke between my friend Alba and I that even if she’s ahead of me in the customs line I will, without a doubt, beat her out of it. Time and time again – regardless of the country – the customs official will glance at my US passport, maybe ask me one question and stamp me through. While at the same time I’ll glance back and see her answering question after question about what hotel she’s staying at, what university does she attend in the UK, how long is she staying in this country, etc., etc. as they examine her passport from Mexico.
And while she’s a great sport about it honestly it breaks my heart a bit. Because of one piece of paper I’m regarded in way one and she in another.
Fast forward to our trip to Spain and I’m sitting idly…
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