We had a wonderful trip touring Cambodia, Laos and then resting in Thailand in February 2001.
The photo albums on Flickr for this trip are divided into five albums, each with 60 to 100 photos (digitised from negatives). Each photo has a narrative, so this can be viewed as a photo journal of the trip. Each album has a click-through link below:
I kept a written log on this trip, as I have done for almost all of my overseas travel. Anyone keen to try and read it all is welcome to attempt deciphering my scrawl:
That border crossing was just a field, a hut and a fence in our day.
From Katou People in Nanong Village, Saravan Province, Laos……to Bar Pool people, Baan Taling Ngam, Koh Samui, Thailand…within 24 hours; renegades who hadn’t properly gone through Thai immigration, looking smug and well dodgy
I recalled that the previous time Janie and I entered Thailand, in 2001, we didn’t formally go through immigration at all.
In truth, we jumped the border between Laos and Thailand.
My travel log is more or less silent on this incident, probably because I didn’t dare write it up while we were still in Thailand. I was too busy getting back to work and dining out on the story when first we returned.
The only other reference to the incident in my log was in my notes for the Steppes East agent, Clare:
…warn about Noukeo…border crossing Laos/Thailand “joke”.
Reading those notes 16 years later, it reads a bit like a Trump tweet. The border crossing also has some Trumpian characteristics,as you’ll learn if you persevere with this story.
Tad Lo Lodge was very beautiful but a pretty rudimentary place. Even to go down to dinner traversing walkways across the falls we needed to use torches as the paths and walkways were not lit. So when Noukeo and the driver didn’t turn up at 4:00 and indeed we were still waiting at 4:10, Janie and I started debating vociferously what to do. I knew the lads were sleeping at the resort on the other side and suggested that I walk around the perimeter road to find/rouse them, while Janie stayed with our stuff. Janie wasn’t keen on the idea, but by 4:15 we were both feeling desperate, so off I went. I flagged the lads down on the road a few minutes later. They had clearly been enjoying themselves the night before and had overslept. Noukeo might even have still been half cut; perhaps the driver too.
So we set off 20-25 minutes later than intended, but Noukeo was confident that we could make up the time. The driver drove like a fury, which I thought put the whole project and our lives at risk on those bumpy roads; it is a wonder he didn’t hit something or at least get a puncture.
Still, we did get to the Vangtao-Chong Mek border crossing in one piece, just after 6:00. The place seemed deserted on the Laos side. “I told you we’d be in good time”, said Noukeo, “they haven’t even opened yet”.
“We have a 90 minute drive on the other side and a flight at 8:25”, I said, “we need to get a move on. Where are the Laotian border control people?”
“They sleep around here”, said Noukeo, “I’ll see if I can find them”.
So he did.
We handed our passports to Noukeo, the yawning Laotian border control people did their thing and stamped us out of Laos.
Then on to the perimeter fence, where all was once again seemingly deserted apart from our Thai driver and guide on the other side of the fence.
Noukeo jabbered with our Thai couriers. The Thai couriers jabbered back to Noukeo. They then formed a sort of human chain across the fence, firstly carrying our baggage over. Then, after I had given Noukeo and our Laotian driver their tips and Noukeo had given me back our passports, they helped me and Janie over the fence – here’s a link to a picture of that fence in those days.
“Where are the Thai border control people?” I asked our Thai driver and guide. “Who knows, let’s go”, shrugged the guide, “we’ll need to drive quick to get you to your flight.”
We’d jumped the border.
I realised that this was not a consequence-free event; someone was going to question the absence of entry documentation at some point; possibly several points. I thought the problem might be just a few minutes away at Ubon, but because the flights within Thailand were purely domestic, the airport people only seemed vaguely interested in our passports both at Ubon and at Bangkok where we changed for Koh Samui.
Indeed, it wasn’t until we got to Baan Taling Ngam that anyone raised the question of the absence of entry visa stamps in our passport. There I simply told the receptionist that we had entered by road at Chong Mek, had handed our passports to our guide and taken custody of them again once the formalities had (as far as we were concerned) been completed. The receptionist told me that we should expect some more detailed questioning at Bangkok border control on departure.
I suggested to Janie that the above explanation should be the sum total of what we tell any officials. No mention of fences, the fun and games with the baggage chain and us traversing the border or indeed anything of that kind.
We then relaxed for several days and temporarily forgot all about our passports.
Forensics have spotted The Human Stain by Philip Roth; very apt.
We didn’t have a private pool at Baan Taling Ngam, but there were several small pools scattered around the property which hardly anyone fancied (apart from us), so to all intents and purposes we did have our own pool almost all the time.
But I digress.
At the end of the holiday, on 26 February 2001, we flew to Bangkok where, at that time, border control for exit after Samui took place. We didn’t have much time between our flight from Samui landing and our London-bound flight taking off.
The first official we encountered remonstrated with me that we had no entry stamps in our passport.
“We entered by road at Chong Mek. We handed our passports to our guide and he returned them to us after giving them to the officials for processing,” I said, slowly.
The first official called a second, slightly more senior official.
“No stamp. No stamp,” said the second official.
I spoke even more slowly and a little louder this time, because speaking slowly and especially speaking loudly helps people understand an unfamiliar second language much better:
“WE ENTERED BY ROAD AT CHONG MEK. WE HANDED OUR PASSPORTS TO OUR GUIDE AND HE RETURNED THEM TO US AFTER GIVING THEM TO THE OFFICIALS FOR PROCESSING,”
The second official shook his head in bewilderment and went off to find a more senior official.
Soon enough, Janie and I were shepherded into an office, in which sat a rather military looking official with strips on his lapels.
“Why have you not got entry stamp visas in your passports?” he asked.
“WE ENTERED BY ROAD AT CHONG MEK…” I started to say, slowly and loudly.
“Ach, Chong Mek. So many problems, Chong Mek,” said our senior official.
“OK”, he went on, “I have the authority to stamp you into Thailand as well as stamp you out of Thailand. So; welcome to Thailand, enjoy your stay…”
…he said, stamping us in, followed by, without a pause for breath…
“…thank you for visiting Thailand. Do visit us again soon. Goodbye,” while stamping us out and stewarding us towards our flight on the outbound side of border control.
There’s probably a lesson in this story for those who think that fences, walls and “control of our own borders” have much meaning in the real world, where hapless travellers and their even more hapless guides could seemingly do as they please, even at the official border posts, but that’s a debate for others, not us.
I should also say that we don’t recommend that you try emulating this activity when you are on holiday (or indeed for any other purpose). Jumping the border was not fun while we were actually doing it; even less fun and more dangerous now, I expect.
Still, Janie and I laughed about it a lot afterwards and dined out on the story for ages. It remains surprisingly fresh in my mind 16 years later, even though it has taken me that long to write it down.
We probably had more transport difficulties on this holiday, Cambodia, Laos and Thailand 2001 than any other, for some strange reason; perhaps the itinerary was a little ambitious for its era:
First stop, the National Museum, then back to hotel to sort out problem over airline ticket.
I can’t quite remember what this problem was, but I think it was an absence of airline tickets for our flight to Vientiane in our ticket pack on arrival at Phnom Penh. This one was resolved easily enough I seem to recall.
But somehow, when we later flew from Vientiane to Luang Prabang, someone made a mess of the Laotian domestic ticket vouchers (which were all in one book), accidentally removing the Luang Prabang to Vientiane vouchers as well as the Vientiane to Luang Prabang ones.
On 15 February, when our lovely guide Prasauth took us to the airport for our Vientiane flight, we were voucherless for that flight/ Although it was very clear to all concerned that the airline handling people must have made a mistake on the first leg, the official refused to let us on the flight without either the vouchers or the full fare being stumped up again; a few hundred dollars.
Could do with a shot of Lao-Lao now, eh Prasauth?
Prasauth, who was unusually white haired to start with, looked even more white haired and pale when this problem unfolded.
I tried to get the official to understand, through Prasauth, that if I did pay for the flight a second time (which naturally I would do rather than miss the flight) there would be one heck of a palaver when I got back to London to get the money reimbursed, especially as the problem was undoubtedly caused by an error by the airline handling people at Vientiane.
But it was more than the official’s job was worth to let us on the plane without a voucher. Indeed, he’d have to pay the money for two flights himself if he was two vouchers short.
Then I had a bright idea.
“What happens if we give you the vouchers for our next flight, Vientiane to Pakse?”
Turned out, that would be OK. The official simply had to have one voucher per passenger. It didn’t need to be the right voucher.
I then suggested to Prasauth that he call his colleagues in Vientiane, explain what had happened and get them on the case to rectify the problem in time for our flight to Pakse the next day.
Everyone agreed that this idea would work. Indeed, by the time we landed in Vientiane, less than two hours later, our guide there, Wang, already had reissued tickets in his hands ready for our trip to Pakse the next day.
Janie and I have very happy memories of the few days we spent in Luang Prabang, Laos; 12 to 15 February 2001. Everything about that stage of our journey felt right.
We stayed in the picturesque Villa Santi, depicted above and below.
The monks’ grub run takes place outside the Villa Santi at dawn
We did really interesting touring with a delightful guide, Prasauth. We are usually happy with our guides, but occasionally we are fortunate enough to get a really exceptional guide with whom we form an affinity. Prasauth was one such guide.
I wanted to get Janie some flowers for Valentines Day. Luang Prabang seemed to be awash with flowers, yet I didn’t see anyone selling them. I had a chat with Prasauth about it the day before Valentines. I tried to explain the tradition to him and said that I wanted to buy some flowers.
“That might be very difficult,” said Prasauth.
“But why?” I asked, “I see flowers everywhere. Surely I can buy some?”
“I’m not so sure”, said Prasauth, “we don’t really buy and sell flowers here. I’ll see if I can get some for tomorrow, but I don’t think it will be possible.”
Wind the clock forward to Valentines morning. Janie and I are taking an early breakfast on the beautiful balcony shown in the top picture of this piece. Then Prasauth appears, below, waving a lovely bunch of flowers and proclaiming, “Happy Valentines Day, Janie”.
It was a bit like a muddled up version of the Romeo and Juliet balcony scene. Everyone else who was taking breakfast on the balcony, plus the passers by on the street, observed the dramatic moment along with us.
Prasauth then bounded up the stairs and presented Janie with the flowers. Janie clearly worked out what had gone on, so with poise thanked us both profusely at the time. She and I had a good laugh about the event afterwards.
As soon as I got another quiet moment with Prasauth I tried to settle up with him for the flowers. He was having none of it and refused any payment.
“But Prasauth, it isn’t my Valentine to Janie if I don’t reimburse you for the flowers.”
“No, no”, said Prasauth, “they didn’t really cost me anything so I couldn’t take any money from you.”
I never found out where they came from. Perhaps his garden. Perhaps a favour he called in from a friend.
At least let me buy you a wee dram of Lao-Lao, Prasauth?
I think I might have persuaded him to take a nip of Lao-Lao (the local rice wine/whiskey) with me, when we got to Xang Hai village later that day…but I have a vague feeling that he refused even that.
