Yup, too much
time to think things over and to be able to get to the level of paranoia one
can only envy…
Because I get
to Bangkok International Airport and everyone scrambles out of the plane,
changing shape from contorted lemurs to actual human beings (well, the Russians
– of which there are so many – stay basically the same). And I think to myself ‘man,
I should get my luggage, if, that is, it arrived’. But no, they point me to the
‘Visa on Arrival’ counter. And as I slalom through the specially erected corridor
of tape, I see that before me there stands a great sea of young Indians or
Pakistani, all waiting to get their visas on arrival.
I get out my
passport, a picture and while waiting I fill in an application form. And that’s
three things out of 7 on the list. Because I now see that there are 7 steps to
follow and another two are ‘patiently wait in line’ and ‘give documents to
officer’. But there’s one step which gives me the willies: ‘attach flight
ticket out of Thailand’. Hmm, this one I don’t have. And so I wait. And while
waiting (a lot!) I increasingly think about that damned ticket. What if they
don’t give me the visa because I have no ticket out of the country? What if
they make me go back? Back to where? How will I get my luggage that made it
safe and sound inside Thailand…?
Tough 20
minutes, I tell you. And then I get in front of the officer, who, at an obvious
advanced age, with trembling hands but mesmerising smile, takes the papers I have
and starts leafing through them.
‘Yes’, he
says. ‘Whele is ticke?’
‘What ticket?’
I ask, looking as docile as a new-born lamb.
‘Ticke flom
Bangkok to Lomania.’
‘Well, no have
ticke. I no go Lomania. I go Burma. I only come Bangkok for Burma visa.’
‘Need ticke.
No possible Bangkok withou ticke…’
And so it goes
on for at least 10 minutes throughout which he simply smiles his hypnotising
smile and I go through a myriad of emotions from pleading to flirting to
looking desperate. And then, just like he only wanted to fool around with my
mental sanity, he smiles elfishly and scribbles something on my application and
then tells me to wait at the next counter. So, together with the 60 or so
Indians, I wait. And again have more than enough time to think about what that
little written blob from my application actually means and how will the next
officer react when he sees me and what if he asks me again about my outgoing
ticket…? Suffice is to say that not even the Chinese drop could be as much
of a torture for me as that was.
Of course,
after the next 30-40 minutes or so I get to the next counter, where a nice
young Thai lady warmly welcomes me in Thailand.
After I thought
all the mental games are over, I have to go to the Myanmar Embassy to go
through almost the same process. But.
First of all, I arrive quite late and
there’s literally a heap of people who are waiting for exactly the same thing
but who've already filled in their applications. Secondly, I’m not really
sure what I have to do. Apparently, I have to have my passport ready, two
photos and a filled-in application form for the visa. But the form drives me
nuts. And then the paranoia kicks in. Colour of hair, colour of eyes, height,
skin complexion… But only after this does the real fun start. Religion? Wow,
what should I say? Should I be completely honest and tell them I’m orthodox? They
might look at me funny and maybe they’ll refuse my application. Maybe there are
not so many Christian orthodox people applying… damn! I’ll only be Christian. As
I turn the application form around, I remain agog about the following
questions: current job title; describe your attributions; previous job title;
describe your attributions. I’ve heard that jobs like journalist and writer are
not very well seen but I think I can impress them if I write something along
the lines of PR Officer. But as I fill in the job description, I realize it’s
not that far from the attributions of, say, a journalist. But my time is
running out and I can’t get another form. So I give my documents at some
counter, they again scribble something on them and give them back to me along
with a number. When my number will be called, I will be able to give the
documents (and money) for a visa. And I wait. And I see people that have been
turned around and didn’t get to leave their documents, which to me it means
that they have been refused.
Long story
short, I have two hours to sweat blood and think about what the refusal for the visa looks
like. Do they write in big red letters on your passport ‘NO VISA!’ or can you
try again in a couple of days? Do they shout at you and show you off at the
other people, saying ‘See? This is what you’re not supposed to do…’? When I finally
get to the counter, the nice lady asks me when I want to get my visa and I say
3 days later. ‘Then please give me 810 baht.’ And that’s it. My hands still
trembling, I look at her and don’t even realize that she slips me a piece of
paper that could be a receipt and waves me off. I only see what’s written on
the paper when I get back home:
Lovely, isn’t
it? Romania is giving them 810 baht and nothing more. Damn this waiting time and damn their mind games!!!
Hey.... scrii din nou... super....Multa rabdare, multa, ca asa sunt de draguti incat te termina cu zile...
ReplyDelete@Vasi: da, da, incet şi cu simţul răspunderii...
DeleteSa inteleg ca functinarii romani mai trebuie sa invete? :-P
ReplyDeleteO, da! Dar şi eu mai tre' să lucru la partea cu răbdarea, stressul... 8-}
DeleteCred ca rsti in locul potrivit sa-l gasesti pe Zen :-P
ReplyDeleteDoar că Zen ăsta se cam ascunde de mine... :P
Delete