If you live very long around European Nazarene College (EuNC) or the Eurasia Regional Office, both of which are situated about a kilometer from the border between Germany and Switzerland, you're bound to hear some border horror stories. With all the missionaries, volunteers, guests and students coming and going over the years, there are some doozies.

Like the time a new ministry staff person drove through a pedestrian crossing zone when a person was standing at the curb trying to decide whether to walk across the street or not. According to local law, the missionary driver should have stopped and waited for the person anyway, even though the pedestrian was doing nothing more decisive than sneezing in the direction of the crosswalk.

A Swiss patrol car was parked across the street and the officer pulled him over and wrote him a ticket for several hundred Swiss francs (equivalent to several hundred U.S. dollars). The rule is that you pay the fine with cash on the spot, unlike some other countries where you can pay it in the mail or traffic court later. The missionary had to walk on foot several miles to the nearest ATM (while the officer waited with his car) and attempt to withdraw the money. When he realized he didn't even have that much money in his account, he had to call a number of friends and have them drive to meet him with as much cash as they had so he could pay the ticket and get his car back.

Or the time when a couple drove across the border into Germany to do some grocery shopping. They stopped at the border control to get their receipt stamped, which gives them the right to receive their Germany sales taxes back the next time they shop in Germany. However, on their way to the border cross they had eaten some of the fruit.

When they reached the Swiss border control, the guard conducted the routine check of their purchases and couldn't find some of the items which were shown on the receipt -- the fruit they'd eaten. The taxes on these items would have amounted to about 40 cents. But because they didn't have the items they claimed to have paid taxes for, according to local law this constituted tax fraud. They were held for questioning for an hour, and charges were filed against them. They had to go to court and the entire debacle took months to sort out, just for 40 cents.

Then there was the time a visiting administrator wanted to drive himself into Germany to buy some groceries, but he didn't speak a word of German. Locals told him that when he was stopped at the border, the German border guard would ask him if he had anything to declare to customs. All he had to do was say, "Nein," meaning "No," and they would wave him through.

When he got to the border, he rolled down his window and the guard leaned in. But instead of asking whether he had anything to declare, the border guard instructed him -- in German -- to show his driver's license. Following the instructions he'd been given, the visitor smiled widely and said, "Nein."

Stories like these rushed through my mind in a blur one night recently when my husband, Andrew, and I were randomly stopped by some police conducting routine traffic control. Still new Mission Corps. missionaries in the area, we were on our way home around 10:30 p.m. from dinner at a friend's house.

It wasn't so much getting pulled over that resurrected these stories in my mind, because I hadn't done anything wrong. It was when they asked me for my driver's license, and I realized both my wallet and passport were in my computer bag back at the office.

I discovered this while Andrew was with the officer back at the trunk, digging out a little book with our car registration papers. He wasn't sure exactly which papers they needed, so the woman flipped through the book and found it for him. Already this was sending the signals that we were probably tourists, or at least brand new to the country.

When she came back to my driver side of the car, I admitted that I didn't have the driver's license.

A bit startled, she said, "Oh? Well, where is it?"

"I think it's back at my office in my laptop bag," I said, apologetic.

"Where's your office?"

I gave her the address.

Our village was very close to where were at that moment. So she said, "I will hold your papers here. You go back and get it."

That was unexpected; I wasn't sure I understood.

Attempting to clarify, I asked, "You want me to stay here while my husband gets it?" I asked. Surely driving without a license would involve a BIG fine in Switzerland, if they charge people hundreds of francs for going through a crosswalk when a pedestrian is just looking at it.

"No, no!" she said, smiling and waving me on. "You can go."

"Um, do you want him to drive?" I asked, pointing at Andrew.

"No no!" she insisted, laughing now at my discomfort, as if to assure me this was no big deal. "Go ahead, it's fine."

A little confused, we drove home in the dark; I got my license and passport from the computer bag and we went back. On the way, I tried to resign myself to the huge fine that was coming, or worse. After all, I've learned from daily contact with the border guards and police in both Germany and Switzerland that they are very nice people, but very dedicated to their jobs, to the rules and to making sure society is orderly. Order is highly valued in this part of Europe, whereas we tolerate a bit more chaos in the United States, where we are from. So, when you break the rules here, there is often a swift penalty.

I swung the car onto the sidewalk, rolled down my window and handed the license to the same officer, saying, "I'm sorry about that. I just left work in too much of a rush, I guess."

She gave a polite chuckle and said, "Don't worry. We all do it sometimes."

My license was so different from the Swiss ones that she didn't know how to read it. So she went with her flashlight over to another officer and they looked at it for a long time. By now her casual demeanor had me completely relaxed. I knew they weren't going to hassle me, although I was still concerned about how big the ticket was going to be. I've been warned numerous times that the traffic fines are very, very large.

Once they were satisfied with our papers, she returned everything to me. Instead of starting to write out a ticket, she began to make small talk: "So, you're from America? How long are you here? A few weeks?"

"We're here for a year, down at the Bible school," I said. "My husband just finished graduate school, so we're volunteering here." I always throw that in because it's so common in Europe for people to spend a year abroad after they finish high school or university.

She laughed at the explanation. "The Swiss go on holiday to America and the Americans come here," she said, shaking her head. Then she wished us a good night. We looked at each other, shrugged and eased onto the road.

I still can't believe we got by without a ticket. Hopefully, that's our only border story.

-- Gina Pottenger and her husband, Andrew, are Mission Corps. missionaries serving in the Eurasia Region. Gina is a member of the regional communications team, as well as edits Engage magazine; Andrew manages the library and teaches at European Nazarene College.