I am in Kastrup’s airport… Not for long.

I had a nice trip over to Casablanca. Just like I remembered, being trapped in that metal flying cigar was soothing. Almost seven hours of carefree looking out the window and wondering…

The stars shone, their light dimmed out slowly and the sun rose.

We landed in Casablanca, got off our plane to embark a smaller one. I regretted for a moment the fact that I couldn’t stay longer. Morroco is a nice place, I had been there some 20 years ago. I could have lost myself in a souk, could have taken belly dancing classes to make friends laugh… But Denmark kept calling in the back of my mind.

We took off again. I was sitting next to a very old Danish woman. I knew because she held her passport in her crooked hands all trip long. She didn’t speak and I didn’t dare to break the ice. I wondered what an elderly woman like her had gone to Morroco for…

I didn’t get to see Kastrup’s paper airplane looking terminal from the air, since I had an aisle seat, but I imagined it. My excitement rapidly built up, and all my fatigue washed out when we landed.

Once in the airport, I was just customs away from my dream. And then it happened.

– Please step this way miss.

I was brought to an interrogation room by two customs officers. They went through my scarce luggage and looked at me in wonder. They asked me questions about the reasons of my trip, my planned whereabouts and all.

Then they left me alone, thinking about all I had said and hoping everything was fine. After what felt like an hour, the two men came back with the bad news…

– We can’t take the chance to let you in.

I was in aw. What?? 

– The Royal Undercover Security Services of Investigation About Newcomers (also known as RUSSIAN, which can be confusing) has had an eye on you for the last couple of years. Your building interest for Denmark have been considered suspicious, and you have more than once caused major flooding of our servers. We were afraid you’d show up eventually, and there you are!

Wow! Brutal! I tried to argue, even pleaded in Danish the best I could. (particularly difficult, since “please” doesn’t have a direct one word equivalent) I cried, I promised to be good, I asked for the Queen’s special permission, but nothing would do.

So here I am, sitting under the huge clock in Kastrup’s airport, waiting for my flight back. No walking in Svendborg for me… No park bench chats in Aalborg… No Legoland, no amber picking on the beach, no making myself get laughed at while trying to order at the restaurant…

Talk about spontaneity paying back!