This week has so far been the week of missions. As in the mission to get internet in my apartment. As in the mission to get furniture for the terrace and a desk for my room. As in the mission to paint my room and patch my roof. And as in the mission to get a visa for Vietnam for the trip with my dad in a couple of weeks.
I’ve recently learned that Vietnam has a reputation of having one of the most annoying and drawn out visa application processes in this part of the world (or in other parts of the world for that matter). Even in Bangkok, the seeming hub of Southeast Asian visas, a Vietnamese visa is supposedly the hardest of these neighboring countries to get. But here in Cambodia, we have it easy. Due to the history and remaining “close ties” that the two governments have, a Vietnamese visa can take as little as thirty minutes. So off I went this morning, hoping to cross off an easy line on my to-do list while still accomplishing something significant. It turned out to be easy enough, if a bit different than I expected.
I arrived at the guard booth outside the embassy and was quickly told by the guard that it was no problem to get a visa. He said that it would be fifty dollars and that I could pick it up the next day. The official rate is $40, so I assume he pocketed the extra $10, but it was a worthwhile deal for me not to have to deal with anything. He asked if I wanted the fifteen-day visa, to which I replied yes and asked if I needed to fill out any forms. No need to, he said, and quickly handed me my receipt and pick-up stub. He told me that I should pick it up at 5:00 the next day, but I asked if I could pick it up in the morning the day after since I’d be working at five. No problem. Come back at 12:00 today, and it will be ready then.
So I went back to my apartment to look over the painting that had been done so far and to lesson plan. (Suddenly, I’ve become a real person - letting the painters in in the morning to paint the apartment; waiting for deliveries; and paying electric bills). Anyway, I went back at 12 and happened to arrive exactly on time. Pre-Cambodia, I had started to get into a pretty regular habit of being moderately late to everything. Here, I usually arrive 15 minutes early to everything since I never know exactly how most things work. Well, I timed this one perfectly, and Buntha and I pulled up to the curb at exactly 12:00. The guard was already out of his booth, and came over to show me the visa.
The only thing was that he gave me a fifteen-day visa starting from today, meaning that it expires before I even leave for Vietnam. I told him this. We miscommunicated a little bit, as his English was not great and my Khmer is even worse. After my rejecting a $10 offer to change it, he acquiesced to simply change it for me and get it back to me the next day. Surprisingly, although we were somewhat arguing the whole time, he was incredibly polite and was never rude. In contrast to some of the interactions I’ve had in markets, I never once felt like he was taking advantage of me, treating me like I was an idiot who wouldn’t realize what he was doing, or simply trying to rip me off. Anyway, we agreed that I’d pick it up at 8:30 the next day.
I began my first class of the afternoon, and about halfway through, I all of a sudden become bombarded by phone calls. I quickly reached into my pocket to silence it every time, embarrassed that I hadn’t turned off my phone when I make such a big deal of my students doing so. Immediately after class, I checked my missed calls, afraid that something had happened back in the US and that someone was urgently trying to get in touch with me. Instead, it was a Cambodian number that I didn’t recognize.
While I was checking, it rang again. It was the embassy man telling me that my visa was ready and asking whether I could pick it up now. I tried to explain that I was working and wouldn’t be able to pick it up until 5:30. He kept thinking that I thought he was saying it wouldn’t be ready until 5:30, as phones tend to make tenuous language communications even more difficult. I tried to ask if I could just come tomorrow, but it seems that, even though he was an official embassy guard, he probably wasn’t the official visa person because he told me that he wouldn’t be in to tomorrow and would therefore not be able to give my passport back. After asking where I worked (a good 30 minutes away from the embassy), I convinced him that Buntha could pick it up for me. I called Buntha, who wonderfully acquiesced, but soon got another set of frantic calls during my essay class. Not wanting to jeopardize the whereabouts of my passport, I excused myself to answer. Buntha was calling to say that the guard wouldn’t give him my passport because he didn’t have the official receipt (which was in my pocket).
Needless to say, 30 minutes later, I had an embassy guard in full police uniform, as well as Buntha, show up to my classroom to hand deliver my passport. They simply walked in, handed it to me, and walked right back out. After all was said and done, I don’t think I will ever get that kind of service at any other embassies around the world.