My friend Dawn was the first person to ever make me aware of how sensitive I am to my geographic location. You know how certain people might bring out your sense of humor and others bring how your intelligence? I have found that where I am on this planet does the same thing for me.
As I write, I’m on a plane bound for NYC. Kids, if you ever have concerns about crossing borders, invite me along. I don’t know why, but I must have a face that says “I’m an innocent, don’t waste your time.” I am never hassled. Now, as sure as I write that, let’s see what happens when I come back to Panama. I should say, to date, I’ve never been hassled. Not after Lockerbie when leaving Heathrow. Not during September of 2001 leaving NYC. And once I had to fly to London with a colleague who was of Arabic descent. He said it was the first time he hadn’t been hassled. So, I’m the designated smuggler. Of course, the only time I remember smuggling something and lying on my customs form was because I was hell bent on bringing back 4 liters of the most amazing olive oil I’ve tasted to this day. It was from the south of Spain. The olives were grown on the property where I was staying the oil was processed at a co-op down the road.
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