Welcome to Bahrain

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and asked myself, "What would Edward Snowden do in this situation?"

Miranda looked at me with a tiny hint of concern and reluctantly asked, "I thought you were good at this kind of stuff?"

She had reason to roll her eyes politely. Because by the time she had asked me that, we had been sitting in the Bahrain Airport immigration office for over an hour. Our flight from Abu Dhabi was only 45 minutes.

Meanwhile, my friend Cate, who we were visiting, was waiting right outside the arrivals gate. She was wondering where we were and probably sprung to attention every time a white person emerged from the terminal, which was far and few between.

Indeed. I am usually good at this stuff. You know, travel stuff. Avoiding setbacks. Cruising through Customs, smiling my way through metal detections and humoring small-chat attempts from complete strangers at the airport bar.

But this was Bahrain, dammit! There are no airport bars here.

Immigration guy: "Mr. A-Ron... where are you? You can come in now."

In these situations, I have learned that it is always good to kill your captors with kindness.

White terror threat: "Well hello, sir. Such a fine day it is. How are you doing today?"

IG: "I see here you did not fill out where you are staying. What is the address?"

WTT: "Oh, you guys actually look at that?"

IG: "Yes. Yes, we do."

He was not seeing any humor in the snappy dialogue we had set up.

WTT: "Well, you see sir, I don't know exactly where my friend lives but she is right outside waiting for us. I could go ask her..."

IG: "NO! That is not how we do this. You are staying with your friend? What is his phone number? I will call him."

Yes, I realized that the immigration officer referred to my friend as a man but I did not correct him. He was a big burly Arab man and the idea of some long-haired weirdo living in the UAE with an American passport, traveling with a female and visiting another female -- well, I just thought the whole concept would make his head explode.

WTT: "Ok, let me just check her -- I mean his -- number in my phone.  Hold on, one second."

He then abruptly shifted his attention to the other shady people trying to enter his country who were also sitting outside, biting their fingernails. It's right about then when I slightly started to panic. Like an idiot, I must have punched her number incorrectly into my phone because every time I called, it went right to an instant dummy message in Arabic. You know the message you get when your deadbeat friend didn't pay his cell phone bill on time? Well, it was either that or I had entered the phone number incorrectly into my contacts. I was pretty convinced it was the latter and now I didn't have a leg to stand on...

WTT: "Alright, well, does this look like a local number?"

I then showed him my cell phone screen with my contacts list and I think he noticed my hand has started to shake. Fear was getting the best of me.

IG: "No, you are missing a number."

His eyes started to squint at me, which suggested that I was one wrong move away from getting deported.

Eventually, I was able to dig through some old emails from Cate and located her correct phone number, where she lived, her job and her favorite pizza toppings because in Bahrain, no tiny detail goes by the wayside. Everything checked out until they started to peruse the rest of my passport and work visa information.

IG: "Ok, everything looks good. But it says here you are a journalist?"

WTT: "Indeed. I am."

IG: "What kind are you? Eh, you know..." Then he started to mimic someone pushing buttons on a typewriter.

WTT: "Ohh, yes. Nothing to worry about there. I'm a sports journalist. You know, football. All that good stuff..."

IG: "Well, now I have to make some calls to the appropriate people. I hope you don't mind. It will just be a few more minutes." And then he directed me to sit back down in the outside waiting room.

I walked back outside and Miranda's slight concern was met with a half grin on my face. She wanted to know where we stood, what was so funny and if Bahrain was sending us back to Abu Dhabi, could we make it back in time to enjoy a night out?

I told her that we were all good with the logistics but this latest delay is because of the profession I chose in the world. It's something they never tell you in Journalism school.

Work hard. Ask questions. Seek the truth. And if you find yourself in certain countries, get ready to be treated like a criminal. There was nothing about that last part in our graduation ceremony.

So after a little more waiting, we finally made it through and had a great time with an old friend. It was a real treat hanging out with someone from my hometown while living in the Middle East. Naturally, it reminded me of living back in the States.

Then this global terror threat warning went out and my email was flooded with concerned friends back home. You know who you are and I appreciate your messages. But we are now back in the UAE and everything is lovely here.

All I do know is that transit area in the Bahrain airport is fairly clean but, understandably, not the most comfortable place in the world. Did Edward Snowden really stay in something similar to this for a few weeks while is Russia? I guess it is very hard when you don't have a "home" to go back to.