If patience is a virtue, then ensure you are such endowed before visiting Laos. I’m not a man of virtues, however, and my patience has been stretched malleably beyond its elastic limit. My hired tuk tuk that I bullied in to halving his original price, having filled his tank, is now proceeding in the opposing direction to my destination. “Ten minutes, ten minutes”, he says as something must have been lost in translation; bartering, I suggested thirty five and he reverted with thirty.
The engine idles faster than expected as his lazy foot is no doubt resting on the gas pedal, whilst we wait outside a primary school. Boarding, the previous local lady passenger returns and is accompanied by her daughter, of perhaps 5 or 6 years old. Brown hair, green eyes and curly locks suggest contamination from a falang influence. There is a sex trade here also, however, unlike Thailand it has been driven underground and is hence far more ominous – young girls of pre-pubescence are on sale, which is as horrific as it is tragic.
The driver has let me off, opposite a mock Arc du Triumph, altered for Laotian tastes. Thanking politely I realise shortly after he departs that I am in fact, a mile from my destination. And with that, my patience has snapped; disintegrating in to a dust of pointless efforts that have now forced me to treat everything and everyone with the utmost caution and distrust. It’s not all bad though – I feel like I’m home, in London.
I’m early to the Consular Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and it’s a 20 minute wait until the doors open for 1pm trade. Stood at counter 12, I observe a man behind the counter idly chatting on his phone, whilst I gradually grow more infuriated and red with flushing cheeks. This is day number two of my process for obtaining a temporary Passport and entrance Visa back to Thailand. Ten minutes pass and I am attended – only to find that I actually require counter 14.
Approached by a student of 21 whilst I wait, desperately trying to bottle and cork my growing irritation, I am harassed. His interests beyond study of Chemistry extend only to either sale of his female Lao friend, or himself. He will “make me happy” should I pay for him to travel with me. Where’s the bucket – quick fetch one – I can feel my stomach preparing for spontaneous projectile vomiting at the mere thought. Any more of this and I may turn green, develop enormous muscles, rip through my clothes and go on a serious rampage.
He does, however, serve of some use and confirms with one of the attendants that my booth will open in ten minutes. As two o’clock rolls around, I’m again marred by their remarkable uselessness.
“You like sex with Laos girl?”
“Erm. Not really?”, I reply with a questioning glance and eyebrows poised in confusion. I wish I could squish this bug between my palms; his buzzing in my ear is just as annoying as the Vampitos.
“You like Laos women? Think they are beautiful?”
“I guess. What are you suggesting?”
“Maybe I fix you with my friend.”
“Yeah, OK, whatever.”
“You sex with Thai girl?”
“No, I’m not paying for it.”
“Oh”, he says as his smile vanishes in an instant, and is instead replaced with a long face, lengthening as my eyes widen, glaring intently at the 4’5” pimp.
Is everything for sale here, along with everyone – I hear stories of mothers selling their own daughters for $22 willingly. This student, having spotted a falang, must have envisaged making a quick buck by conversing with me. It ends abruptly – and I’m glad for it – the attendant has finally arrived.
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