New World

The days were really leading up to this for a long time, the final piece to the jigsaw. Entering America as a permanent resident. People can be snide about America, but there are many people around the developed world, let alone poverty who would love a green card. So as casual as I can pretend to be, the stamp in my battered passport in my left pocket is something quite valuable. I must never forget this. 

My final week was one of saying goodbyes. Being asked to stay in touch and offers to visit at anytime. I know a very small minority of those offered will actually consider it properly. Therefore, there are a great many people I have come to love, I will never see again. But that is a negative thought as I was overwhelmed by the sincere congratulations and hugs I received. I want to describe a few as its my policy to try and not name people (bar my wife) on here. If they read this, this is a shout out to them. My long-term buddy from Wigan, my comedy writing partner, apart from the fact we never actually wrote it. A tall handsome Yorkshire fellow, who cuts his hair at Tony and Guys, wears tweed but wants us to know he isn't posh at all. To that gentleman; go the blades (or something). To a "nasty beyotch" who I spent 3 years sitting across from me and making my blood boil constantly, bringing me to tears...mostly tears of laughter. She will be missed. How can I forget the Americanophile from the Mersey. There is no one who can tell a story like her. To her and her husband, the most made for each other couple I have ever met. There are many more, and just because I haven't hinted at them here, doesn't mean anything less.

I will certainly miss my sister and her wonderful children. My four neicphews, loud, disobedient, embarrassing in Ikea but I don't think I would want them any different. The windup one, the fairy one, the boastful one, the OCD one. Let me describe them in a different way. The loving one, the funny articulate one, the tech-savvy one, and the one with eye for detail. And my sister who does a wonderful job with all of them, while others sit in squalor criticizing, disrupting, never working, lying. To that person... I tried hard to know you, and wished I hadn't as you are the most hopeless person in this world. My only problem is your wonderful kids miss you, one of them believes in you and may always do that while most the world has rightfully given up on you. Someone who surprises me the amount of times a person can fuck up yet never learn. It's the only gift you have. 

To my other sister and brother. I'm sorry we left without saying goodbye properly. But I'm glad we built bridges a little at the end. I'm grateful to my sister for the text, and I'm excited that my brother was asking me the price of airfares to Alaska. 

My last few hours in the UK were spent with my sister and two neicphews. The weather in the week prior my departure was perfect. The UK was being like an ex-wife dolling herself up, just to show you what you will miss. My last meal was a Gregg's before I hugged my sister goodbye, thanked her for a fabulous 9 months, and off they went. As I stood on the escalators, I took one last look back and my sister walking off with two of her amazing kids and wished I'd said more before I left. But that's not the family we are. My only moment of adult affection was Dad seeing me off to America in 94, and wanting to hug, but patting my arm instead. But saying "I'm proud of you". That's the most important bit of validation a child can hear from a parent. So important I've clung to this one and only time almost 20 years later. 

The flight on over was without too much incident. I was one of only 3 white people of a full flight on Pakistan Airlines. I felt slightly awkward eating in the month of Ramadan, but looking around their were enough Pakistanis doing the same. In any case - why go in holiday on the one month you can't eat. And also the time of peak fares to the US. The curry on board was pretty good. They weren't serving beer, that was a bridge too far.

On arrival at New York, JFK I was faced with a confusing choice of lanes. One lane said visitors and the other Citizens and Permanent Residents. I was unsure as to my present status. A helpful customs officer told me "if its your first time, you use the visitors line". So for the last time I took the queue with visitors. 

When I finally got to the desk. I received a polite "hello sir". I kicked off by saying "I have a Permament Resident visa which I'm using for the first time". I'm not sure if that was the right terminology but it was ok. "So you have a package for me?". I handed him the package I was told to leave completely sealed, and he ripped it open. "Who's Sarah xxxx?" "My wife" I replied as fast and confidently as I could. He scribbled on my passport a bit. Then he tucked the file, my immigration file, into my passport  and asked me to step to one side so he could serve one more visitor. When he was done "follow me sir" I walked obediently beside him, in awe of his crisp uniform and shiny gun on his side. We came to a room which I think is called secondary immigration, the place if you are a tourist you don't want to be taken. If the border control at the front desk can be deemed rude and abrupt then they look like pussies compared to the secondary area. Firstly it seemed most my co-passengers on PIA were also in there. The room is blank and three 5 desks are seeing people who they need to check twice. I was forewarned that all first time Perm Res's will go here first. It was intimidating and I was wondering when I would see the cameras for Border Control USA. 

My file and passport got placed to the bottom of the pile, and I guess I just had to wait until they got to me. When they did I heard a shout "Christopher Novell". I jumped up. He gave me a form to sign. Then I had to make use of the ink pad to place my finger print on file. Then they handed me a tissue for my inky index finger, handed me my stamped passport and said "ok you're all set". That was it, the real culmination of all this. I'm now a permanent resident, and as long as I commit no crimes and always file my taxes, it's mine for always. 

Then out the door into America. I picked up my bags, one of which is a cheap Sports Direct bag which I doubt will make the journey all the way to Haines, the bottom is badly ripped. To the extent I no longer wheel it, which is the main function of a wheelie suitcase. 

Out the door to the airtrain, direction Howard Beach and to alight at Federal Circle. From there I dialed a toll free number and requested a free shuttle from the hotel. Up until now I always had great things to say about hotels in the USA. This was an exception. Not the room, the room was perfect, the staff. Firstly the receptionist took her time to deal with me, which not acknowledging my presence. When she did she picked up the phone constantly and forgot what she was doing. This could have benefitted me as she tried to pass me back my credit card before registering it, but I was too honest and reminded her. I asked her where there is to eat and she said "walking distance there is a Burger King, and a KFC, but I can give you some menus to order food". Later on in the evening I wanted to make use of this, but her colleague said "just dial from the room, we aren't waitresses". Ok then! I looked at the menus. Originally I wanted to toast my arrival into the USA with Philly Cheese Steak or something of the like. But this woman put me off and I didn't feel so hungry. 

I spent my evening in NYC  with a water watching the result of the George Zimmerman trial on the TV. It was amazing. Britain doesn't allow cameras into courtrooms, so a similar thing in the UK would be hard to do with all the lawyer drama, and witness statements etc etc. Those drawn sketches we see on the news of a major trial in the UK wouldn't cut it for the drama at all. That said we were waiting for the Zimmerman verdict, and while it is probably the most exciting part of the trial, it is arguably the most stagnant. The jury are away to deliberate and they come back and you think you have a verdict, but no they have a question regarding the definition of manslaughter. Counsel approaches the bench and some excited debate happens, but what have the TV got to show? Well to fill TV time, they had 6 lawyers trying to double guess what the manslaughter verdict would mean, how the jury would vote. The only agreement was basically, "no one knows". Which I guess is the idea about a closed jury session. But the excitement over nothing happening was so incredibly American TV. 

I tried to read the Zimmerman trial and understand what it was about. Well it became a race issue. America finds race issues in every case (Rodney King, OJ), Britain finds class issues in every case (Maddy Mcgann). On the Zimmerman side, we had an over zealous neighbourhoods watch who questioned a black youth for acting suspiciously in a gated community, a fight resulting in the black kid getting shot. The other side says he had a reason to be in the area, he was visiting relatives and on his way to a shop, some vigilante sudo-racist tries to thwart his freedom of movement, and ends up shooting him. This was no American Stephen Lawrence. Trayvon Martin (the victim) wasn't just a promising black student. He had races of marijuana on him, he had a past for handling stolen goods. Zimmerman also had a past for domestic violence, so we have two less than perfect people. Aren't we all less than perfect, who would look bad if our past was reborn in a murder trial? 

The final verdict was Not Guilty for Zimmerman. My verdict is; not guilty either but a few comments. If Zimmerman had not got out his car, none of this would have happened. And had he not been carrying a concealed weapon he would have just walked away with a few bruises, and Trayvon would be alive, and possibly facing court for aggravated assault on Zimmerman. This has been going on for over a year for Zimmerman. He may now face vigilantes from team Trayvon, so maybe he's suffered enough from a scuffle that went too far. I guess the legality of concealed weapons is what should be on trial here.  I think you can tell by my last three paragraphs, I was spell-bound by this trial. 

I tried to stay awake late to set my body clock on US time, but I failed come 9pm (2am according to my British body clock). So asleep I went in the crisp sheets, to wake up at 4:30am, and be fully awake by 5am. So coffee and TV, and I was making the right start for my journey to Alaska.

The shuttle arrived at 6:30am and myself and about 18 others, including some US soldiers, were on the ride to JFK. The driver hinted at tips at every stop, but I only had $20s on me. Can I ask him to break a $20? Is asking for change from a $20 to tip ok? I'm as unclear on American tipping etiquette as Americans are using a knife and fork. My wife will kill me for what I did next. Once he dropped my two heavy bags on the sidewalk (pavement), I took advantage of the other passengers looking for $1s and $5s and I made a dart for it. Fuck it, I will never see them again, and if that unlikely scenario happens, I will say "tip? But you aren't waitresses!". I believe the term for that would be "you have been served".

Bags checked in, through security and even though I had spent one night in NYC, I still hadn't had any American food at all. I envisaged some pancakes, bacon or steak and eggs with gravy at the airport. In the end my first American food was a bacon, egg and cheese bagel with a large French Roast coffee. Probably the American opposite of the Gregg's I had as my last meal in Britain.

I'm typing this somewhere over the USA, some miles up in the air en route to Seattle. I'm sat by the wing, but it's a clear day and I can see down at the country side divided in squares by the neat grids of roads. I can see the big sky, I can see the country which has graciously taken me in.

However, most importantly I have a wife waiting for me all the way over there in Alaska. I can't wait to see her and the dog and my new life. I have missed her, and at times wondered when I would see her again. I just know she has done a fantastic job of creating a life over there.

I'm glad we chose Alaska, or at least she did. It's the last frontier. For years reading American historical novels and reading of settlers, I realized that coming to Alaska is the nearest I will ever get to that. A frontier of my own, only with wifi. It presents challenges, but if I didn't want challenges I'd still be a postman in Liskeard, Cornwall. But from the postman, who went to the city to get he-self an education, to London to Manchester to travelling the world on every windfall that arrived to settling in the USA. I believe I may have a life that is worthy of a blog - oh here it is.