When is a Country Not a Country?
Border Crossing Conundrums for Travelers
October 23, 2024
Port au Prince, Haiti, 1999
“Sorry, it’s too dangerous,” says the driver.
To the best of my knowledge and experience, Port-au-Prince is the only place in the world this side of eastern Ukraine where a cabbie will refuse a twenty-dollar bill to take an American into town for a quick drive-through tour.
With nothing else to do I wander the apron. Behind our dormant jet a row of scarred, treeless hills bakes in the noon heat, raped of their wood and foliage by a million hungry Haitians. The island of Hispaniola is shared in an east-west split between Haiti and the Dominican Republic, and the border between these countries is one of the few national demarcations clearly visible from 35,000 feet — the Dominican’s green tropical carpet abutting a Haitian deathscape of denuded hillsides the color of sawdust.
In front of the terminal, men ride by on donkeys and women balance baskets atop their heads. Somebody has started a cooking fire on the sidewalk. Haiti is the poorest country in the western hemisphere, and there’s more squalor along the airport perimeter than you’d see in the most run-down parts of Africa.
I notice a pair of large white drums being unloaded from our airplane. I ask a loader if he knows what the barrels contain, wondering what sort of nasty hazmat we’d just brought in. A forklift carries them to a corner of a ramshackle warehouse, and three skinny helpers pry off the heavy plastic lids. What’s revealed is a tangled white mass of what appears to be string cheese floating in water. A vague, quiveringly rotten smell rises from the liquid.
The forklift driver sticks in his hand and gives the ugly congealment a churn. “For sausage,” he answers. What we’re looking at, it turns out, is a barrel full of intestines — casings bound for some horrible Haitian factory to be stuffed with meat. Why the casings need to be imported while the meat itself is apparently on hand, I can’t say, but somebody found it necessary to pay the shipping costs and customs duties to fly a hundred gallons of intestines from Miami to Port-au-Prince.
THE SEGMENT ABOVE is from a book I’ve been pretending to write. It describes an afternoon several years ago, when I was a cargo pilot for DHL. The setting is the Port au Prince airport in Haiti — a country I’ve never been to.
Oh sure, I’ve flown into to the Port au Prince airport once or twice. But just the same, so far as I’m concerned, seeing that I never set foot outside the terminal, I have not been to Haiti.
The issue here is what, exactly, constitutes a visit to another country. Making that determination can be tricky, and those who travel a lot will sometimes wrestle with this quandary. When your plane stops for refueling or you spend the evening at an airport hotel… does that count?
Where to draw the line is ultimately up to the traveler; it’s more about “feel” than any technical definition of a border crossing. But there should be a certain, if ineffable standard — something along the lines of that you-know-it-when-you-see-it definition of pornography.
According to my own criteria, a passport stamp alone doesn’t cut it. At the very least, a person must spend a token amount of time — though not necessarily an overnight — beyond the airport and its environs. On the pin-studded map that hangs in the dining room of my apartment, there is no pin for Haiti.
Other cases, though, are more subjective. For instance, traveling once between Germany and Hungary, I spent several hours riding a train through Austria. We pulled into Vienna in the middle of the night and sat for six hours. At sunrise we headed out again, trundling across the Austrian countryside toward Budapest. Certain people might consider that enough, but as with Haiti there’s no Austria pin on my map. I saw towns, cars, people… but all through the window of a train, never touching soil. Doesn’t count.
On the other hand, I have been to Liberia. I used to fly a regular route there from Accra, Ghana, and our flights would lay over for a few hours at Liberia’s international airport, known as Roberts Field. One time I hired a driver to take us out for a mini-tour of the nearby area. We never spent the night, but I walked through villages, saw people, took pictures. Liberia gets a pin.
As does Qatar, though I spent a mere three hours in Doha, driving around at night, between flights, on a tour provided by Qatar Airways.
Sometimes the country itself is what muddles things up. Consider the world’s various territories, protectorates, self-governing autonomous regions, occupied lands and quasi-independent nations. Yeah, I know, Vatican City is a sovereign state, politically speaking. But in practical terms, is it really? When I tally up the countries I’ve visited, I can’t bring myself to include it.
And let’s not begin to assess the countless atolls, archipelagos, and assorted tiny islands scattered throughout the oceans. If a citizen of Japan visits Guam, has he been to the United States? In one sense, sure. In another, perhaps more accurate sense, he’s simply been to Guam — neither genuine U.S. turf nor a country unto itself. You can make a similar argument with Bermuda, Tahiti, and elsewhere. And let’s not get started with Tibet, or Palestine. Sometimes, maybe, there is no country.
Together these things can make it impossible to provide a wholly accurate answer when asked how many countries you’ve traveled to. It depends. For me the number is ninety-eight. Or thereabouts.
Of course, that’s only important if you’re the sort who keeps track of such things. Travelers are known to hold “passport parties” upon reaching certain milestones – a 50th, 75th, or 100th country. In the eyes of some, country-counting cheapens the act of travel by emphasizing quantity over quality, but maybe that’s sour grapes.
PHOTOS BY THE AUTHOR
A version of this post originally appeared in the magazine Salon.
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24 Responses to “When is a Country Not a Country?”
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This is so true.
I’ve landed, and disembarked in many countries, but I’ve never left the airport. This saddens me, because there was so much that I wanted to go see. Unfortunately, I was enroute to somewhere else. And that was where I wanted to be more than where I was at.
“Passengers will please refrain
from flushing toilets while the train
is standing still or passing through the station”
So no, I haven’t been to Delaware on Amtrak.
Thank you for continuing to post here. Most people have stopped blogging. Love your posts.
My criteria is basically the same as yours, I need to set foot on the ground outside of an airport. I’ve not yet had a situation where I had to make the same determination about a train station but in most cases I’d take a quick walk around the neighborhood and grab a bite just to make it official. My list of countries that I have been to but not been too is rather short, refueling at Shannon airport on a KLM Amsterdam to New York flight in 1969 certainly does not count nor does stopping at Aukland airport on a Sydney to Honolulu flight in 1986 though that time I at least got off the plane and visited the gift shop. I’ve also been to Keflavík airport in Iceland times and once even had stopover just long enough to eat lunch but not long enough to leave the terminal and non of those counts either. But we did stop in a small town in Slovakia and had enough time to grab lunch and see the local church on a bus from Poland to Hungary so that definitely does count as does staying one night in Helsinki after taking a train from St Petersburg to catch a plane the next day. I have a few US states and one Canadian province on that list as well for similar reasons.
I always try to get out of the airport if I can, especially if it’s a country I haven’t been to.
But I didn’t at Schipol. And I’ve been driven from Germany into Belgium via the bottom corner of the Netherlands, but I didn’t get off the bus. So I don’t think I have ever been to the Netherlands.
And, as for “sometimes the country itself is what muddles things up”, I’ve been to Taiwan many times. But it’s not officially a country. So I’m guessing it doesn’t count.
How about Puerto Rico? Is it a country? There is no Puerto Rican citizenship or passport.
The now defunct San Juan Star, the English language newspaper of record in PR, would add “(sic)” to a quote that referred to Puerto Rico as a “country.”
However, as a long term resident of Puerto Rico I can safely assert that it is not a “floating pile of garbage.”
I can’t say I’ve been to Dubai, where I changed planes on the way to Delhi. But I can say that I’ve been to Singapore, where I had layovers going to and from Melbourne. (This is from NYC.)
One of my layovers in Singapore was 18 hours, so I made a point of leaving the airport. (Changi Airport was excellent, though not a fabulous as it is now. The laksa was extraordinary, though.)
I didn’t get to see a lot of the city, but I did see some, and I definitely have more of a feel for the place than I do for Dubai or Tokyo (where I once changed planes as well).
You know what I saw in Singapore that astounded me? Litter.
Actual litter on the street. In Singapore. I saw it and wondered who got caned for leaving it there.
I muse about this stuff surprisingly frequently…have I been to Czechia and Slovakia, if I’ve been to both territories, but only when it was Czechoslovakia? I certainly haven’t been to Colombia, but I did have an excellent cup of coffee at a lounge at Bogota’s El Dorado airport. (And I pooped there. Still don’t count it as a country visited.) Likewise, two transfers at MSP didn’t mean I could count Minnesota as a state I’d visited, even if I did seek out the infamous Larry Craig bathroom my first time there. (I neither pooped nor got up to anything else there.)
French Polynesia feels different enough from Metropolitan France that I count it as a separate country from “L’Hexagone”; it’s a long way, physically and metaphorically, from Bordeaux to Bora Bora. I’d imagine I’d feel the same way if I’m ever lucky enough to visit St. Pierre et Miquelon.
I’m trying to get to every state before I turn fifty, and have three to go….but that’s only counting ones that I remember having visited. (I must have been to Iowa before visiting a month ago, when I reconstruct old road trip routes from childhood, but now I can say something about what I saw there.) And I’ve spent the night in forty-six of the forty-seven states I’ve visited…gotta get back to sleep with you, New Mexico.
My standard was always just clearing immigration. Reading the comments, I had no idea my standards were so lax!
Ironically, the one that I’m not sure about myself is also Haiti. Years ago I set foot “in” the country on the private resort of Royal Caribbean, as part of some cruise with my family. I don’t count that one.
Recently a Facebook friend asked me how many states I’ve been to and I counted 46. I’ve had a drivers license in 8 and I have ex-wives in 3. That should count for something . . .
We visited the Inner German border on our school exchange trip. The border itself was marked by a ‘barber’s pole’ in the German colours of black, red and yellow and the nasty border fortifications were some metres over on the East German side. At the risk of upsetting my teacher and, quite possibly, the border guards, it would have been possible to step over into East Germany briefly. Whether that was an actual border is another question. It was officially just a demarcation line between the western and Soviet sectors into which Germany was divided post-war.
Once, on a flight to Addis Ababa we made an un-advertised stop in Jedda. The passengers getting off there certainly knew about the brief stopover but we only found out when shortly before landing an announcement requested that all on board stow away any western magazines.
Even though my “visit” to Saudi Arabia was brief -30 minutes or so- I still claim it with a pin.
I like to think I’ve been to Hong Kong because I spent a few hours in the airport lounge during a connection to Singapore. My wife says that doesn’t count, but I point out that I took a shower in the lounge so surely removing all your clothing at least once counts as a visit.
Some of us (like our respected author) must admit that the good fortune of our career choices are key to how many countries we have been able to visit. My work has blessed me with the opportunity to visit, work, and make good friends in just under 70 countries over the past 50 years—-which I believe is the best possible education any person could have. If more Americans spent more time visiting other countries to see and learn how many different yet very legitimate ways one can dress, eat, worship, work, and raise a family, I believe our current political situation would be far less stressful and antagonistic. Travel is key to life….
Several years ago the American immigration officer [was it at the Seattle airport?] insisted that I had visited Miami. I was certain that I had not. After a bit of back and forth he showed me the “Miami” immigration stamp in my passport. Then it occurred to me- flying from Canada I had changed planes in Miami, on my way to a third country. Never left the airport. I still don’t consider that I have been to Miami.
Our family agrees with Glenn… you have to eat a meal outside a transportation facility… no airports or train stations. (Having an ice cream at a shop in the seaside strip of Bosnia Herzegovina counted.)
My wife, two kids and I flew from Beirut, Lebanon (in between wars) to Amman, Jordan, got a taxi from the airport to the Allenby/King Hussein Bridge, and (after layers of security/immigration) entered the West Bank (Palestine?) and got a van to Jerusalem. Did we visit Jordan? Is a conversation with the taxi driver sufficient local contact?
Admittedly, I keep track of the states and countries I have visited. Not so much to boast, but to keep a written record so that when my mind goes south, I can reminisce about the places I have been – which I am sure I will then forget again!
I struggle with the following:
Antigua – was on a cruise, but I did not get off the ship (I am sure that does not count, even though I saw a fair amount of the island from the ship)
Guadeloupe – fuel stop on the flights from JFK to FDF and then again FDF to JFK (since I stopped twice at PTP should that count?)
Taiwan – fuel stop on the flight from SIN to LAX (spent a few hours at the lovely TPE airport, somewhat of a cultural experience, so I am thinking that should count)
Panama – cruised through the Panama Canal from the Atlantic to Pacific (though I never stepped foot on terrafirma, I really think I should be able to count this as a country visit)
Bosnia-Herzegovina – part of this country splits the country of Croatia along its Adriatic coastline for about five miles and we spent about 20 minutes at the rest stop in Neum (I am pretty sure I can’t count B-G as a country, right?)
Bahamas – visited the Castaway Cay, Disney Cruise Line’s private island in the Bahamas (let’s say I did not have a true Bahamian cultural interchange by meeting Donald & Daisy Duck at the bottom of the gangway as the tune from “Pirates of the Caribbean” blasted from the speakers at the port)
Too bad…had these counted I would have been to 71 countries.
US road trips are the one I struggle with. I’ve driven across the width of the Texas panhandle on I-40. I stopped to buy gas, eat fast food, pee, and even spent the night in a motel outside of Amarillo. But since I didn’t really see anything beyond the interstate I don’t really feel like I’ve truly visited Texas. I’ve merely passed through Texas.
I’ve probably spent less time within the borders of Estonia than Texas, but I definitely have visited Estonia. I arrived on the ferry from Helsinki, spent the afternoon walking around Tallinn, had dinner, and caught a very early flight the next morning.
I follow the rule that in order to count a country as visited, you must drink a beer (or eat a meal, or something) outside of the airport. Pooping doesn’t count.
I usually don’t count cities where I’ve changed planes. However, once I was travelling from Halifax to Europe changing planes in New York JFK and the American customs guard wanted me to fill out a US customs declaration. I explained that I wasn’t staying in the US and was going further. He told me that as long as the wheels touch the ground in the US I had to fill out a declaration even if I wasn’t leaving the airport. Of all of my travels over the years that was the only time that this has happened.
I had a class mate at University who was from the Azores. That’s an island group right in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean, that belongs to Portugal. He told me how he dislikes it when Portuguese people from the main land, visiting the Azores, will then talk about ‘flying back to Portugal’.
My parents tell me that I have been to the Azores. I must have been about three. It was on a MATS flight. That would be the Military Air Transport Service. We were going from Frankfurt Rhein-Main Airbase to McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey. The plane, a chartered airliner, not a military transport – probably some short range version of the Boeing 707 – definitely not the 707-300 Intercontinental – needed to make a fuel stop. So our flight landed in the Azores.
I wouldn’t say I’ve been to Portugal.
I wouldn’t even say I’ve been to the Azores.
Not even if I could remember having been there.
I’ve at least given myself partial counting for some places that I’ve only been transiting through. I’m not the most prolific traveler, but I feel I get half credit for the rather stressful time I’ve spent in the Frankfurt airport and the pleasant time changing trains in Stockholm so I’ve partially been to Germany and Sweden.
And in the US, I’ve been to two different airports in Texas but only to change planes so I’ve never “fully” been there, and a recent trip had an unplanned landing in Boise for refueling where we didn’t even get off the plane so only partial credit for Idaho, but the delay meant missing our connection and getting to spend a night off the airport grounds in Denver which for me was enough to check Colorado off as a place I’d previously only been partially to.
I had a student from Delaware in my University of Alabama class, and I told her I’d been there because I rode Amtrak between Washington, D.C., and New York City.
The student behind her said: “No, you haven’t. You can’t say you’ve been to a state unless you’ve pooped there.”
So no Delaware or Idaho for me. But yes to Wisconsin – barely.
Chris Roberts
Department of Journalism and Creative Media
The University of Alabama