It seems that when ever we cross the borders eastwards the customs agents and border patrol people are not so much suspicious as they are amused by the fact that someone would wish to enter their county by bike.
The control itself is rudimentary at best – we were simply asked what the bags contained, and only the front bags were even opened.
Christoffer almost didn't make it over, as the border control agent scanned his passport time after time with a more and more worried look on his face. The problem was finally resolved as his superior (who looked eerily like Lance Armstrong) pushed some random button on the machine, which resulted in the light turning green.
Happy times!
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