Two years ago on a chilly November day, I was invited to train some of our business partners in São Paulo, Brazil. At the time, I knew nothing about Brazil except stories of luscious beaches, gorgeous women and The Girl from Ipanema. Without hesitation, I started on the paperwork for a trip to tropical paradise.

Most Americans and Canadians who have never ventured out of North America wrongly assume that you can just enter a country with a passport. Around half the countries in the world demand that travelers ask permission before visiting the country, in the form of an entry visa. The paperwork is quite complicated for business travelers: they need to prove a legitimate reason for going to the country; they must state that they are not stealing any local jobs; and they must leave the country as soon as they are done.

In my experience, most embassies do not actually follow up on the references in the visa application. Some people say that visas are nothing more than an unavoidable entry fee collected by the government.

The São Paulo office didn't fax over their invitation letter until four days before my flight. I finally had all of the paperwork in order. Unfortunately, the embassy requires ten days to issue a visa. My dreams of a warm winter were dashed.

At this point, the American manager organizing the trip had already confirmed the class to our Brazilian counterparts. The training facility was booked. The expensive translators were booked. The partners were flying into the city already. This was a perfect storm in the brewing.

I poured over the visa application to see whether there was some loophole that could get me into that South American country in two days. Tucked away at the bottom of the form was this sentence:

No visa is required, for stays not longer than 90 days, for citizens of the following countries: Argentina, Austria, Belgium, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, Denmark, Ecuador, Finland, France (except traveling for child adoption or filming) , Germany, Greece, Iceland, Ireland, Italy, Luxembourg, Mexico, Monaco, Morocco, Netherlands, Norway, Paraguay, Peru, Philippines, Portugal, San Marino, Slovenia, S. M. Order of Malta, South Africa, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, Suriname, Thailand, United Kingdom, Uruguay and Vatican.

Wait a minute, I have a British National Overseas passport collecting dust in my desk drawer. The passport looks the same to me. Would that make me a citizen of the United Kingdom?

I received quite an earful from the ticket counter when I tried to check into a flight at the airport:

• Hi! Checking in.
• You need a visitor visa to enter Brazil on a Canadian passport.
• I also have this passport (gingerly showing the red BNO passport.)
• Sir, that is not a British passport. Our computers say that you will not be able to enter the country.
• But I called the embassy (which I actually did) and they said that it's all right.
  
• They must be wrong.
• Can't you let me in on the flight?
• Our airline faces a $10,000 fine if someone flew to Brazil without the proper visa.

Defeated, I took a taxi back home. It was too late to cancel the trip and it was impossible to get onto any flight.

After a series of frantic phone calls with managers in Brazil and the United States over the weekend, we devised a plan. On Monday, wearing a suit and a tie, I marched up to the embassy and asked for an emergency visa. Armed with an official letter from two levels of management, I waited for three hours while the embassy workers pondered over my ruddy BNO passport and the rules. A well-dressed gentlemen walked out into the waiting room:

• Sir, as far as I can tell, you can travel to Brazil on this passport.
• The folks at the airport did not let me board the plane on Saturday.
• I don't know what to say, your paperwork is in order to me.
• Say, can you put down what you just said in writing?

I grabbed a taxi from downtown straight to the airport. During the ride, I immediately booked a red-eye flight to São Paulo using my cell phone. I checked in again at the same counter with the same ticket agent at the airport.

• Sir, I told you that you cannot go on this flight.
• I talked it over with the embassy director and he drafted this letter.

The nice lady at the ticket counter was now visibly angry. In her eyes, I must have conned or tricked the embassy staff. But I held my ground. I followed through all the rules. In the end, she relented, said some words that should not be repeated and handed me my boarding pass.

I had a sleepness night on the ten-hour flight to Brazil. I could plead ignorance if I get into trouble at the border control, couldn't I? Would they believe my letter from the embassy?

The plane lands just before lunch in São Paulo. I nervously waited in line towards the officer's desk. What would happen if the plan did not work?

A stern man behind a wooden booth looks at my red British National Passport. He looks up and pierces into my eyes. And then he hands back my passport, without even stamping it.

Luckily, the airport in Brazil does not even use computers to track incoming travelers. I ended up having a fantastic week and a half in São Paulo, ate too much churrasco barbecue and drank too little chopp beer. When I passed border control on my flight back home, the officer asked why I did not have a stamp on the passport. I replied with a confused look and he sent me on my way.

Under no circumstances will I ever try this again.