Showing posts with label border crossing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label border crossing. Show all posts

A voluntary kidnapping

Monday, June 14, 2010 by James
We changed our plans at the last minute, and bought a ticket from a local travel agent to get from Ko Samui to the island of Penang in Malaysia. Apparently it's a popular route for those looking to renew their tourist visas (so they can stay on the islands for another 3 months), so what we had thought was going to be a 2 day journey was actually billed as 12 hours and £20. Thrilled to be saving so much time and money, we paid up and arranged our pick-up for 0630 the next day.

We soon learned that local travel in Thailand is kind of like being kidnapped. You have very little idea where you are, where you are going or when you are going to get there, and are totally dependent on your captors, who seem to view you as a kind of self-loading freight that's best to be ignored as far as possible.

The mini bus driver arrived at 0615, and insisted we leave our untouched breakfast to depart post-haste. Half an hour later we were dropped at a different travel agent office in Na Thon - the main port in Ko Samui – where we were issued with completely new tickets and told to wait for 45 minutes. We wolfed down a second breakfast at a dockside greasy spoon before being hustled onto a coach which drove us to a completely different town to board a ferry. Funnily enough, the ferry was a 2nd hand Japanese ship complete with automatic toilets, original signage, and, I think, carpet which carried us over to Don Sak on mainland Thailand.

We reboarded the coach on the mainland only to be kicked off after about an hour with four other foreigners, in the middle of nowhere at a little shack by a highway. A guy wearing a T-shirt and shorts wandered out, half-heartedly tried to take our tickets then sat back down to watch TV. When we asked him why we had been dropped of there, he told us we had to wait an hour for another bus. We waited an hour. Then the same guy got up from his table and told us all to load our stuff onto his tuk tuk (which had been parked outside the whole time). He drove us 10 minutes to another travel agent in the town of Suratthani. The 3rd travel agent issued us with another set of tickets, and told us to sit tight as she had to make a phone call. A couple of minutes later a young guy appeared who picked up our bags and piled Sarah and me into his Mercedes.

The Mercedes drove two blocks to a 4th travel agent, who didn't even look at our tickets, or us. When pressed he admitted that yes, they were going to Penang 'in 10 minutes'. After half an hour we were piled into a mini-bus along with 8 other passengers, to find the windows wired shut and the aircon switched off. The driver then left us in the car with 8 other passengers for 20 minutes whilst he finished his paperwork.

When we eventually got going, the minibus drove at the 300km stretch to Hat Yai just north of the Malaysian border. En route, we occasionally screeched to a halt to let people off or on, or for people to drop off or pick up mysterious small packages in plastic bags from random roadside colleagues.

In Hat Yai we stopped at our 5th travel agent office, where we had to wait another '10 minutes' for our bus. An hour later in torrential rain we piled into our last minibus, thankfully with aircon, and crawled through heavy traffic for another 2 hours to the border.

As we drove out of Hat Yai the driver informed us that he needed an extra 50 baht from everyone otherwise 'border crossing will be very slow'. Western indignation gave way to pragmatic resignation when we remembered that 50 baht is about 50p. This 'overtime charge' was eventually paid to the border police in a blank envelope.

The border process was none the nicer for this palm-greasing, but then I guess border police aren't often the cheeriest of characters. Thai border police were a fraction nicer than their U.S. counterparts – their default attitude towards civilians seemed to be one of subdued loathing rather than the outright hostility of many U.S. passport stampers. Ironically, the Thailand Tourism Authority's current campaign tag-line is 'Thailand: The Land Of Smiles'.

In contrast, when we crossed no-mans land to the Malaysian border our reception couldn't have been friendlier. The staff were laughing and joking as they checked our passports, and when they x-rayed our bags the attendant let us come round and look them on his screen.

Dirt roads and petrol stalls farewell! We were now speeding down pristine Malaysian motorway past shiny Petronas petrol stations on the final 2 hour stretch to Pulau Penang. Looking west across to the island, we saw skyscrapers and brightly-lit billboards casting reflections on the sea. 17 hours after leaving Ko Samui, we had arrived.

Border Crossing, Vietnamese style

Thursday, June 3, 2010 by Sarah
We weren't sure what to expect from our first land border crossing of the trip, from Vietnam into Cambodia. Having read all sorts of horror stories about crooked officials demanding bribes in exchange for Cambodian visas, we were fully prepared for a difficult entry, even purchasing e-visas in advance, just in case.

In fact, the most problematic part of the border crossing was actually exiting Vietnam, largely as a result of their novel approach to getting people out of the country. We took a bus from Ho Chi Minh direct to Phnom Penh, and shortly after leaving the bus conductor collected in all of our passports. When we arrived at the border, he then threw the 30-odd passports on the desk of the border control guard. The rest of the passengers (all Vietnamese) proceeded to huddle around the guard's desk, waiting expectantly for their passports to be processed. As a result, anyone wanting to get through had to push through a gaggle of men in their 30s and 40s acting more like 15 year old boys on a school trip than businessmen and holiday-makers.

The border guard seemed to take a perverse pleasure in taking as long as possible to stamp our passports, letting through many other people in small groups every time he'd processed one or two belonging to our group – there was no concept of a queue here, it was every man for himself.

Why we couldn't have just queued up and gone through one by one, passports in hand, like you do in any other country in the world, is beyond us. Instead, each time a person's name was called by the bus conductor, it was repeated by the excitable gaggle stationed in front of the desk. That person then had to push through, rugby-scrum style, in order to collect his passport and get back on the bus.

Our passports, being foreign and therefore the most complicated, were processed last, and although the guy did take a long hard look at my passport photo (I do in fact look like a Russian spy in my picture, so this is hardly surprising), we were at last allowed to leave the country.

So then it was back on the bus, where we drove 500 metres down the road.....only to arrive at the Cambodian border entrance, where we had to get back off the bus to do it all again. This was easy in comparison – we kept our passports throughout, and the e-visa worked like a charm. We even made it back onto the bus before most of our fellow travellers, ready for the onward journey.