A trip to Laotian Deep

On-cam talents and some production staffers on TV are no different from carpenters, masons, stevedores and factory workers. They are all daily wage earners. No work, no pay.

Three Saturdays ago, Startalk was preempted by the Pacquiao-Marquez televised world tour and we had no show.

Annually, the hosts and staff members of this program prepare for Black Saturday when there is no live broadcast of any show on TV — except in 2002 when Rico Yan died on a Good Friday (there were live news bulletins immediately after that gave updates on his sudden death).

This is the time of the year when we make grand plans for vacations because — like in my case — I can take off for almost two weeks (I leave on Palm Sunday and return four to five days after Easter) to work on my US immigration papers and spend time with family in the West Coast.

With Startalk’s preemption, going anywhere out of Southeast Asia was out of the question and so I decided to fulfill this dream of traveling to Laos, a wish I nurtured after I read a short story during the grades about a family in this communist country.

This piece of literature left such a deep impact in my soul that I began calling my Dad “Dieh-dieh,” which is supposed to be Laotian for father. Incredibly enough, my Dad who had always been a good and indulging father to me gamely responded every time I called him “Dieh-dieh.” 

But how do I get to Laos? There is no direct flight from Manila. The first option I considered was for me to take the train from Bangkok. That would have been a 12-hour ride to Vientiane, the capital of Laos. I was willing to take that since beds were provided and passengers could sleep their way through the trip.

However, a Filipino friend based in Bangkok recommended a travel agency called Sawasdi Transport Service Co. or SWD. He knows another Filipino connected with that company and hooked me up with that travel agent.

SWD regularly provides vans that only take eight hours to reach the border of Thailand and Laos. There were the regular and the costlier VIP tours. The latter offered — or so I was made to believe — a more comfortable and spacious vehicle, better food and accommodations. Better, better everything.

My co-passengers in the van were mostly foreigners and during that nine-hour trip (it wasn’t eight as promised), no word was exchanged among us. We were all obviously suffering — in silence. Space was tight and had Melanie Marquez been with us in that van, she’d curse instead of being proud of her “long-legged.”

It was 5:30 a.m. when we reached the border of Thailand and Laos. My co-passengers were having their ID pictures taken at a photo booth a few steps where the van was parked.

Would I need my photos taken, too? No one could give an answer. The agency promised that they would be sending with us a Filipino group leader who would take care of our concerns. They did send one — a Thai, who could hardly speak English and the few times he did, he snarled at everyone. There was supposed to be another one — a Thai woman — and her shriek was just as upsetting each time you asked her a question.

The Thais are very warm people. Whatever ugly episode I had with them that time must have been due to language barrier. That’s the problem when promises are not delivered — like the one made by the agency that assured me there would be a Filipino leader around to help out, especially at that very moment because I was clueless as to what was going on around me.

 Thank heavens I decided to carry my backpack with me when I got off the van. The bag of provisions that I brought along — I never saw again. No one told us that the van was not crossing the border and that we would be taking another vehicle to our final destination.

At the border, I discovered that we were a huge delegation. There were several Filipinos in other vehicles — too many to count at random. But there were more questions in my head that were begging to be answered.

That wasn’t the first time I was crossing borders. I’ve crossed US territory all the way to Montreal in Canada by car and the border patrol didn’t even look at my passport. I simply drove through. From Paris to Brussels, no one bothers to check either.

Ironically, I was within the ASEAN region where we don’t require visas from one another if you don’t intend to stay long in one destination and here I was unable to exit Thailand and enter Laos.

I was just a tourist who had arrived via Bangkok and all I wanted was to have an overnight stay in Laos. I knew that all I had to do was present my passport to Thai immigration officers, probably have it stamped to make it official that I was leaving their country and move on to whoever was manning the booth at the Laos border.

However, I had no passport to show anymore after I exited Thailand. The group leader got it and dumped it into a duffel bag along with the official documents of the others in that delegation. I had no choice but to join everyone else and we were herded like cows to pasture. But I was already aware by then that I was the one who had been milked dry by the agency.

No VIP treatment that I paid extra for. I had to shove it out with the rest to get to another vehicle like it was the last ride out of Saigon during the fall of South Vietnam in 1975. I managed to squeeze myself into a van that took us to the Thai embassy in Laos.

Why were we taken to the Thai embassy there? The answer finally came when I talked to the Filipinos in the group. They work in Thailand and were in Laos not for sightseeing, but to comply with Thai immigration rules about exiting the country after a certain period. Others were there for student permits and to secure permission to have an extended stay in Thailand.

I didn’t need that. I didn’t need any of that. I didn’t need a visa. I didn’t need a work permit. But why was I with that group? 

The Filipino contact who works for that travel agency in Bangkok apparently duped me into joining that package tour — to get his commission, obviously. A fellow Filipino abroad sold me and I am now crying ouch.

Laos as I would later find out is a charming country with very friendly people. But no thanks to that Filipino travel agent, that Laotian trip had turned, well, laos. As we say in showbiz speak — Laotian Deep. 

(To be concluded)