Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
The woman was a schoolteacher from a village not far away, I had learned from Dah-
lot, and she spoke English. Like him, he said. She was in her 20s, maybe her 30s. With
a serious expression fixed on her face, she sat next to me, across the table from the Evil
Communist, who was once again obsessively thumbing through my passport. Beside him,
a tall, worried-looking lieutenant sat rigidly with a pen and paper, poised to transcribe
our conversation. The Evil Communist spoke only to the woman, and she redirected his
questions at me.
“When you were captured,” she said, “you were traveling lonely. Why?”
“Your passport was issued in New York, but your visa was issued in Mexico City.
Why?”
1
“Did you go to Mexico City?”
“Why not?”
“Do you have other papers?”
“Why not?”
“What are the names of all of the people you are meeting in Hué?”
This went on for half an hour. In the end, she told me, “You have violated adminis-
trative law.”
2
The Evil Communist whispered something.
“You must be punished,” the woman said to me. “You agree?”
I agreed, which meant, as it turned out, a $20 fine. I paid in cash, with a single bill,
for which I was given a receipt. I also signed a confession, written out during my in-
terrogation, which included the line, according to the translator: “All he wants is to be
free.”
The Evil Communist returned my passport and my camera, though he removed the film
first—we didn't have digital then—and I'm still disappointed that I lost the evidence of
that remarkable overnight visit. I snapped a couple of shots of the entrance to the com-
pound on my way out, but not very satisfactory ones.
