"Computer Says No"

It was written in my cards that this trip would be a success. I know this because a Fortune Cookie told me so, literally:

"A new venture will be a success."

On the eve of my departure from the Motherland, Canada, Fate had cunningly handed to me a series of words that would prove to mean a world of encouragement. Funny how life works out, and funny how a Fortune Cookie was enough to get me through Day 1 (...or 2 if you take into account time zones).

I had wanted an adventure, and an adventure I got...

--

The Big Day started off early in Edmonton, bumble-cold-fuck-no-where, and eerily reminiscent of Little Britain's David Williams skit as the infamous banker, Carol Beer (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carol_Beer). Yet this time, rather than some bank-wishing customer being denied access, it's my trusted Air Canada flight agent that looks up at me and says, "Computer says no...". I was being told that the system would not process me to go through to Singapore, my final destination, due to visa requirements.
My immediate thought: Oh FUCK.
The rational follow up: No Fucking Way. My Fortune Cooked at last night's Chinese meal predicted success. And anyways, I tried to inform her, Canadians were on the non-visa required list for Singapore.
Unfortunately, handling agents don't have access beyond flights and schedules and it's not their problem if the airline suddenly decides to deny a customer. So, after being asked what my plan B was, and realizing that Edmonton and the whole 1/3 of a person I knew there would offer no solution to my problem I decided to jump on an earlier flight out to Vancouver and hopefully try out my luck with Air China once there.
Without delay, I hop onto an earlier flight out to the City of Olympic Mania and, hopefully, the answer to my problems.

Upon arrival, I wait out the check-in queue for a second time only to be promptly told, again, by Air China that, no can do: no visa, no Singapore. Two strikes, I'm panicking.
The last flight of the week with an available seat (my seat!) leaves for Beijing in exactly 40 minutes. In the meanwhile, we try to contact the Singaporean embassy, customs, immigration, other airliners, etc. and all to no avail. No one is open, or responding, or has any answer. The agent looks at me and flatly tells me that there is absolutely nothing else they can do for me at this point. (Enter tears).
"Let's put you back on a flight to Edmonton so that you can sort it out there," she offers.
No! I don't want to go back-wards. Edmonton-- as already established-- is never the answer.
"Well, what about Vancouver? Any family, friends, place you can stay for a while?"
For a while? No! I don't have for a while! Nor do I have a Vancouver connection!! (In hindsight, I did: Erin O. But Erin or not I wanted Singapore-- and that's what I was going to get! We would have had fun though, Erin and I...).
So, after consulting with a slew of other agents I decided to take a chance and fly to China with no certainty that they would allow me to fly on to Singapore once arrived.
Time check: T minus 5 minutes till gates close. (Exit tears).
With fresh adrenaline pumping through my blood I hectically sign a forced contract that more or less confers full legal and financial responsibility on my self for my decision to proceed without a green light. As an aspiring law student, I am slightly ashamed at having signed over my soul and, potentially, life in such haste. And for a brief moment I question my decision.
"Just how much money are we potentially talking about here?" I ask the agent before sealing the deal with my name.
"I have no idea," she replies. "It could be nothing... or a lot."

A lot? I sign away.

After thanking the agents profusely (for what!?) I grab my bags and book it through YVR to my gate. Run Forrest run I did. All the while an image played out in my head of me calling my dad, desperately asking for him to bail me out for hundreds of thousands of dollars. "They gave me no choice!" I heard myself say. Because indeed flying back to Edmonton where it was minus 30 or staying in Vancouver where the sky was a straight shade of gray were neither options.

The worst part of the day (aside from being rejected Little Britain style twice) was the 12 hour flight to Beijing.

In total, I had at most 40 minutes of sleep. But even that was restless. I was going to China with no formal okay. If they wanted, they could easily send me back upon arrival, or turn me into Tom Hanks in "Terminal". Adventurous and slightly romantic for the latter, perhaps, but again, not ideal.

Twelve hours and 10 nails later we arrive in Beijing. Every checkpoint has me biting further whatever stubs of nails I have left. Again and again I hold my breath to get by.
And I did. No problem.
Fucking Canada, eh.

After speaking with agents in Beijing and being okay-ed for my final destination we conclude that the Canadian agents fucked up and didn't know what they were talking about (my point exactly all along). So, a few translators later I wait (9 hours, due to delay) for my flight to Singapore. Of course, I don't rest properly until I have securely planted two feet on Singaporean soil. And ironically, I do without any sign of protest from the authorities. Just one question: "Miss-y, can you please declare how long you plan to stay in Singapore for?"
"No idea."
Passport stamped.

--

From now to then, A Lot can happen.
But I am comforted and I smile because a Fortune Cookie plays my cards.
(Closing words of travel journal entry on Jan 7).