#17: Don't Dream it's Over (or, "Don't Dream: It's Over")

Week 17, Thailand

OKAY, SO: we're perched on the precipice of a potentially trip-ending complication. And it was all starting to go so perfectly...

I am, finally, employed. It took two more interviews, but I got there. I'm working now at a high school who's name I cannot pronounce or even spell, for a principal who's name I do not know, without a contract or any official looking document, through a woman whose name I do not know even though I'm on the phone to her every day (it's gotten to that "It would be really embarassing to ask now" sort of phase where I'm thinking up complicated schemes to get her to blurt out her own name). But it's a job. It's easy, the hours are good, the pay is shit but live-able, and the school's close by. So I'm happy.

The first interview I went to last week, however, almost broke me. I walked into an office, was handed a form to fill in in a different room, sat down and wrote my details. When I finished I walked out to hand it to them and -

"Get back in the room!" barked some Thai guy from his desk.

I retreated.

I sat in the room and stared out the window for about fifteen minutes when in walks this Thai couple, all shy smiles and giggles. They sit, and stare at me.

I sit, and stare back.

Finally, they say: "Um, could you introduce yourself, please."

Uh, okay. "I'm Lachlan, and I'm a teacher from Australia." I felt like I was at an AA meeting.

They nodded. We chatted for a while as it became increasingly clear that they couldn't speak English very well, and couldn't understand my half-assed attempts at Thai. The interview became a symphony of "What?" "What?" "What?" in three different voices. I'd had enough, and started to wind the interview up, when they asked:

"Would you be able to do a demonstration class?"

"Sure!" I exclaimed like a boy scout.

They stared at me. I stared back. After two minutes of staring I asked, "Uh... When would you like me to do the demo class?"

"Now," they said.

"Oh. I haven't got anything prepared."

"A teacher doesn't prepare. You must teach from the heart."

I didn't realize I was being interviewed by Confucius, but there you go.

"Oh, okay. Where is the class?"

They looked confused.

"There is no class, is there?" I ventured.

They shook their heads.

"So, you'd like me to stand up, in front of two fully grown adults, with no preparation or plan, and pretend those two adults are actually fifty eleven-year olds for one hour, with no resources. Is that correct?"

"Yes, please," they chimed together.

I walked out. I told myself I'd try one more, and that ended up being the jackpot, in that everybody involved could almost be mistaken for a regular, run-of-the-mill human being. So that's all good.

But perhaps it's all for nothing. Visa talk is boring, so I'll keep this simple: for the whole time we've been here, we've been able to walk across the border into Thailand, and they've given us a free 30-day stamp. No visas, no costs, no hassle - the only thing we had to do was get ourselves back across the border each month to reset the 30 days. The advice we had was that we could continue to do so, ad infinitum.

Turns out our advice is a couple of years out of date. So we rumbled down to the Cambodian border on Friday with no intention to do anything except get a stamp and run back to Bangkok. It's six hours each way, so it's no small journey. When we got there we were informed by a very nice military-looking guy that we had exceeded our 90-day limit on the stamps, and if we crossed the border to Cambodia he would not be able to let us back in.

Shit.

I tried my naive-white-guy best to bribe him, all raised eyebrows and "Is there a special fine we could pay now to get this done? Like, an express fine so we don't have to travel to Phnom Penh and wait a week for a visa?" Nudge, nudge, wink wink. He didn't budge. Border guards are scum; just when you need precisely their breed of complete corruptibility, it evaporates before your eyes.

So, we're back in Bangkok, our stamps have expired and we're racking up a $40 bill for each day we stay here. There are three broad directions this could head. Maybe we go to Laos tomorrow; everything works perfectly; we get our visas in two days and come back to Bangkok where our jobs will welcome us back with open arms. That's what we're banking on.

Or: Maybe we go to Laos, but the visas take longer than they should and we come back to Bangkok only to find that two equally inexperienced and underqualified Westerners are working our jobs. Which would mean that we'd have to start again. Which, in terms of our current bank accounts and mental states, is a potential trip ender.

Or: Maybe we go to Laos, to find out - as has been suggested by some sources - that we will be barred from re-entry into Thailand and not allowed a new visa for another 90 days. Since we are dirt poor and all our stuff will still be in an apartment in Bangkok, completely inaccessible to our greedy little hands, this would almost certainly be a trip-ender.

We don't know how things are going to pan out, but we're hoping for the best. And somehow, deep down, I believe it's our solemn destiny to spend the rest of our lives swinging in hammocks over the Mekong with straw fedoras pulled lazily over our heads, waiting for someone to bring us a beer.

Nothing stands in the way of destiny.

Lachie