THE TRAVELLER displays the actual contents of my suitcase on the first of January 2001, as I returned home to New York from a trip to France.  I had married my (now ex-) wife a few months earlier and we went to see her family for the Christmas and New Years’ holiday.  Our tickets took us round-trip to Paris through Montreal, and we had a rather uncomplicated flight to Europe and a great time hanging out with the in-laws.  However, on the return leg of the journey, things changed.

As we passed through immigration in Canada, I was asked about the purpose of my visit to France.  Since I was more concerned with the possibility that they would focus on the unusual contents of my luggage than on my recently married foreign wife's legal status, I replied, “to visit my wife’s family in France.”  My statement immediately red-flagged us because she was a French citizen without a green card, and we had to go to a little room to speak with the U.S. immigration officers, who are not renowned for their pleasantries.

We missed our connection, there were a lot of questions and there were threats of her being deported to France because we had no proof of legal marriage on our persons.  After she began to cry hysterically and I negotiated, the officer in charge relented and allowed me to go on to New York alone with the promise to release her if I faxed a copy of the marriage license to him in Montreal and if she paid a fee and filed a form.  I left my only credit card with her and took just enough to pay for the cab ride from La Guardia airport to our apartment.

I had about fifteen minutes to catch the next flight to New York, and my suitcase was tagged with a ticket that said it had to be inspected at customs.  However, if they decided to rifle through my baggage, I was sure to miss the flight.  I explained my predicament to the guy at customs, and luckily, he was accommodating and let me pass without opening my suitcase.

I got into New York alone, dashed back to the Bronx in a cab, grabbed the marriage license and ran to the local 7-11, which was the only place with a fax machine open at 9 pm on New Years’ Day.  I took care of everything and she was allowed back into the U.S., but it’s fortunate that they didn’t open my baggage, because they would have found the real traveler in the suitcase.

Did you find the traveller? If you look closely, you’ll see it, expertly camouflaged within, but still visible in this x-ray view.

In fact, the drawing progressed exactly like an x-ray, since I drew each layer of stuff as I unpacked the suitcase.