Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I had ridden through, people had signed for me, but it didn't seem to phase him. Of course
it didn't. He had no idea what I was saying. But help was on the way. Or so I thought.
My non-English-speaking border guard had gone to get reinforcements: eight other border
guards. I hoped that at least one of them spoke English. The new contingent of border
guards huddled around my little piece of paper, talking quickly in Thai.
This back and forth went on for over an hour, as the sun faded into a dark and humid
night. Things were not looking too good, and then, just before the office was about to close,
the headman just took out a pen and signed. And then stamped. I was free.
“Really?” I exclaimed.
“Yes. You leave,” the officer commanded.
I pushed the bike to the gates that would let me into Cambodia. Just one more person to
charm, and I was on my way. Or so I thought. I would soon find out that
I thought wrong.
Again.
I handed over my freshly signed document to the final Thai border guard. The woman
looked at the carnet and again looked at the bike and handed the carnet back to me, shaking
her head, “No come through.”
No come through?
I thought I just came through!
It was about fifteen minutes before the border would close and I would be stuck in ba-
sically a no-man's-land between Thailand and Cambodia.
“But I already got this signed? The man next door, he—”
She cut me off swiftly, “Sorry. You no come through.”
I had to think quickly. I decided to go back to the chief and beg him to come out and tell
this lady that I was free to go and that my carnet had, in fact, been signed.
“Sorry,” he said, echoing his comrade. “This not my job.”
“Please, sir, you don't understand,” I begged.
“No, you no understand. I go home now. My wife, she wait. Not my job.”
Going home! This called for drastic action. I had to go rogue. And rogue I went. I hit
my knees and clasped my hands together.
“No, sir, I have to get to Cambodia. Tonight. I have to get home. Please save me.”
The man was putting papers into a bag, trying with all his might to completely ignore
me. I knew if there was one thing people responded to it was this: children.
“My son,” I lied. “I need to get home to my son!”
