The Underbelly of Suvarnabhumi Airport and Further Afield

9:45 a.m.

Think of everything you can conjure in your mind about being taken to the dungeon of the Thai Immigration Offices. I first must flashback to the incident that brought us to said underbelly of the Bangkok Airport. Arriving from Phnom Penh, Cambodia, waiting in the immigration line, my friend Heather realized she did not have her passport. Amazed at herself, she told me she was heading back to the gate to reboard the plane and get it. She was certain she left it there and started to head that way. I was encouraged by her confidence, and knowing we had to board a flight to Borneo in two hours, I suggested a meeting point for us at the baggage carousel. I proceeded past the check point entering Thailand and spent about 45 minutes arranging, rearranging and consolidating luggage for storage, waiting and waiting for Heather to arrive. Except...no Heather.

10:30 a.m.
Heading back to immigration, I got the heavy feeling I know all to well regarding dealing with “Thai” ways and the Asian need for 8 people to make one tiny little decision. Having visions of this happening to Heather at the gate (she having no previous Asia experience), panic started to set in as our flight time to Borneo began to tick away on the digital clocks above. Miraculously, (upon surrender of my own passport), the immigration supervisor allowed me back airside to go find her. Running through the airport in dread, I knew we were heading in to a long day. She wasn’t at the gate and wasn’t at the immigration point. I asked them to check the immigration manifest to see if she had entered the country which must have been a tall order, because it took 5 people at the immigration desk to decide if that was a feasible request to bring before the director.

11:00 a.m.
I gave up that ridiculousness and remembered that she had her cell phone on global roam. She answered with alarm in her voice, and we were able to coordinate and re-meet at a numbered immigration kiosk, me “officially” allowed into the Kingdom on the Thailand, and she, stuck in transit with no official documentation. Apparently, the airline officials wouldn’t allow her back on the plane to check it out. Heather is very kind and on the timid side in conflict so its understandable that she would back down. I, on the other hand, would have been relentless in my pursuit and probably would have ended up in the holding facility for people to which they refuse entry. . . like Viktor Novorsky.

Immigration granted me “un-entry” and allowed me BACK airside to accompany Heather in her quest for asylum. After much understandable confusion as rejects, we aimlessly wandered around waiting for Air Asia staff, in whose custody we were left. “Belonging” to Air Asia (a daunting outlook), we were understandably concerned, especially given Heather’s treatment regarding re-boarding. Visions of sleeping across uncomfortable armchair airport chairs and eating packets of ketchup were flashing before my eyes. Just as I was starting to panic, a well dressed, polo wearing, khaki’d, blond man approached us. He said he was the director of Air Asia Security and would be taking us from here. We urged him to try and locate the passport via radio and try to connect with the staff that manned the plane and its turn around. No one had seen the passport. Heather was very frustrated because she knew the passport was onboard the flight (now in transit to Vietnam).

11;15 a.m.
Continuing to make our way to the deep recesses of the underbelly, the security director escorting us through tunnel after tunnel, turn after turn, I startlingly realized, “Hey, he’s an American? What in the world? – it just so happens, he is married to a Thai woman and decided to come out of early retirement to help Air Asia with their security. I realized how lucky we were, because this could go much worse had we not had an advocate bearing our common citizenship. He escorted us into a room where people rushed about, shuffling papers, maintaining a constant state of readiness, doing their best to appease the “Don.” The Director of Immigration was everything you can possibly imagine about what you would find in such a place. The “Thai Don of Immigration” (as he will officially be remembered in my memories) sat behind a rather large desk, like a fat little Buddha with his subjects scurrying about hoping to appease him. I noticed, no one looked him directly in the eye, and as such, I followed suit. He only spoke Thai to the various Air Asia staff and didn’t acknowledge our presence. After he drafted a temporary Letter of Excusement for a direct trip to the U.S. Embassy, he sharply turned to me and asked, “What hotel in Bangkok you stay?” I sort of looked down and timidly said that we didn’t have a hotel because we were transit passengers to Kota Kinabalu. Again, he said, “What hotel in Bangkok YOU STAY !!.” I replied, “SIR, I don’t have a hotel.” And once again with fervor, “LADY, I ASK YOU, WHAT HOTEL IN BANGKOK YOU STAY !!!.” The American looked over at me pleadingly as if to telepathically suggest. “Say SOMETHING, just make something up!” I mentioned my usual hotel in the Sukhumvit district which seemed to appease the Don. Funny how far lies go. . . but if I’ve learned anything about Asia, its that you HAVE to FILL out the piece of PAPER. Everything in Asia has to have the piece of PAPER !!!

After another hour of paperwork and an official handoff, we were escorted to the Air Asia ticket counter to try and rebook our Kota Kinabalu ticket. We had already been in contact with the embassy which told us to come right away and they would issue a temporary passport which would grant Heather access to Malaysia without a visa. (the Sabah region of Borneo) This was the first good news we heard all day, But good news is usually short lived in immigration circles because we realized, it was the only flight that week (aside from a short Friday to Tuesday jaunt which would not be enough time in Borneo). We tabled that challenge and decided to head directly to the embassy to fight the battle there.

2:00 p.m.
Heading to the embassy was a feat unto itself. Apparently, the taxi’s do not know where the embassies are. Wireless Road is a bit too English sounding and not enough Thai to warrant paying attention to. Roundly about, we finally made it and I let Heather out to do her thing and I headed to the Manhattan Hotel to do my best to persuade them to give us a room, having already told us they were fully booked. Halfway down the street, stopped in traffic, I was startled by a running Heather opening the door and jumping BACK into the taxi. “CLOSED!!” the embassy is closed at 2:00 !! “WHAT”, I said, “They TOLD us to come.” Picking up my cell phone, calling the embassy, I got an operator and explained the situation. She put me on hold and got back on the line explaining that Heather should NOT have been refused and every American, no matter what time of day is legally granted asylum on the American soil of the embassy and that we should return. She said, she would call down to the guard and demand them to let Heather in. Turning back around, we dropped her off. At this point, we were in the 3:00 heat of the monster that is Bangkok traffic and the taxi driver cursed me heavily as I continued to change my mind about where I was going and how long it was taking. Not TWO seconds later, I received a phone call from Air Asia PROUDLY telling me that they had found the passport. Knowing what I know about Asia, I asked them to tell me the name on the passport and place of issue .. “Marie Burrow. California.” – (Marie being Heather’s middle name), . . .good enough for me.

3:10 p.m.
I called Heather and she found out about the same time from the American staffer at the passport window. “Good news Miss Burrow, Air Asia has recovered your passport from a flight that went to Hanoi and has returned to Bangkok.” I didn’t see the look on Heather’s face, but I’m sure it was the visual version of “duh.”. But, I’m pretty sure that was shortlived as the tears of relief started to fall.

I timidly told the taxi driver we were going to have to go BACK to the embassy to get Heather and he started yelling at me and pointing to the clock on his dashboard yelling at me in Thai and saying “TrAAFFic, TrAAFFic.” NO NO NO. I was afraid he was going to throw me out on Sukhumvit Road with all our luggage, so I just had Heather meet me at the Manhattan.

3:30 p.m.
Upon arrival, I prepared luggage once again for storage and started gearing up for heading back out of Bangkok, now that we were free (aside from a quick return trip we would have to make to the Don’s Laire for the official passport stamp). As I was packing in the lobby of the Manhattan hotel, I looked over to see the T.V. and to my total disbelief saw the scene in “The Terminal” where Viktor Novorsky (our comrade and kindred spirit) was translating for the goat farmer. I stared in amazement at the t.v. having already thought of Viktor Novorsky that day and remarked my usual. . . “I have no words” mantra. It was as if everything in the universe had come together to make fun of me. At this point, I was waiting for the man behind the curtain. All I could do was laugh and relive the laughter when heather walked in the front door of the hotel and I silently gestured to the t.v. We both just cracked up at the irony.

4:00 p.m.
Exhausted and spent, we headed back to the airport, bags packed for who knows where. We just figured, if we worked something out with Air Asia, we would just get on a plane for somewhere in their network of destinations. Heather returned to the Laire as I fought with Air Asia about rebooking and fees and penalties. I urged them to reconsider their penalties assessed to our tickets considering their staff was, to a great degree, also at fault due the negligence in recovering an American Passport (an extremely valuable commodity in the world). In fact, I mentioned that the Embassy had told us they were disappointed with how poorly the airlines had been handling such communications and that such holes in security were alarming for them and their views on the airline and the policies at the new airport (which apparently is a total mess). Well, apparently, this was enough of a threat to buy me a visit with the Air Asia supervisor who refunded all my penalties, allowed me to rebook a departing flight for Phuket and granted me a credit for the remainder of the original ticket price to use at my leisure. My Asia experience has finally paid off! - I must give myself some kudos for that one. Getting around policy in Asia is like squeezing guava juice from a mango.

5:00 p.m.
Still awaiting “official” arrival of Miss Heather Marie Burrow into the Kingdom of Thailand, I call her and she tells me she’s still in the Laire. I tell her, she better hurry up because she was on a 6:30 flight to Phuket and they needed to get going on her entry status. She finally made it and we checked in.

6:00 p.m.
Heading to board the 6:30 flight to Phuket. I’m assuming at this point, we will just head over to Koh Phi Phi in the next day or two I’d been in this area several times and was familiar enough with southern Thailand to plan a spur of the moment trip. Worn out, spent, in a bit of a fog having exhausted all energy on the day, we hoped our evening would look up. This, unfortunately was not in the cards.

9:30 p.m.
Having no idea we would be going to Phuket, we had no hotel booked or reservations whatsoever, which usually isn’t the end of the world since the lovely little kiosks at the airports are ready and willing to rip you off as soon as you set foot off the plane. After some scrutiny, we booked a room for two nights in Karon Beach, went outside for our taxi and headed out.

10:30 p.m.
Checking in, we were a little alarmed by the noise first, the smell second and the sheer concern for hygiene third. We agreed on the second room we saw and tried to settle in. It was needless to say, NOT a four, or three, or two star hotel. I won’t even go into it in DETAIL, but I will say this, they had the beds made “Euro-stye” which means there were no sheets on the bed. I called down for sheets knowing my body did not want immediate contact with that situation they claimed was a “bedspread,” and having no English speaking individuals at the entire hotel, I went downstairs to try to gesture our needs as best I could. They said that housekeeping was gone and we could not have sheets and that we would get some tomorrow. I’m very familiar with the runaround I get a lot over there, so I was firm and said I wanted sheets for our beds. He said no, and I asked to see another room. After 10 more minutes of negotiation, I was shown another room, where I proceeded to take the sheets off the beds and silently carry them to my room. I didn’t even flinch. I had had my fill. The Asian run around had NO more power over me. I had hit the wall.

9:00 a.m. (next day)
Attempting to check out of this “hotel” (which is a term I use quite loosely in this cat infested, unvaccumed floored shack of a building). We were told rather rudely that we pre-paid two nights and would not be allowed to check out. The rest of the story continues for the better part of the morning, into the afternoon, so I won’t go into it, but let me just say, it involves a trip to the Karon Beach Police Station. Needless to say, I eventually got my money back for one night as we checked out. The police were absolutely useless aside from the fact that they actually wore a uniform and carried a gun. AND, It wasn’t a TOTAL lie that got me out of another night in the meow motel, I DO actually know people at Lonely Planet !!!!

As I hopped on my rented motorbike and did my absolute best to stay on the right (wrong) side of the road, I thought to myself, well, it certainly could have been worse. I’ve had 24 hours of more challenge than I would have asked, but it without a doubt has provided some good memories. Heather and I are still laughing at that 24 hours. If only we had a cameraman following us. “What NOT to do in Southeast Asia.”

Exploring Phuket by moto was quite fun. I’ve never explored this part of Thailand this way and we thoroughly enjoyed it. We hit an orchid farm which grew the most beautiful orchids I’ve ever seen. We saw an abalone restaurant on the map and decided to venture out that direction which proved to be quite fun. I think most of the fun itself was just trying to stay on the right side of the road while trying to navigate the heavy traffic and cliffs on our left side. It was so much fun !! My parents would probably say otherwise ! My dad was at least pleased with my choice of helmet. I felt like an old man with a bowl haircut. One of my most memorable and fun days in the tropics.

So Koh Phi Phi ended up being fine. I missed the idea of Borneo for the first day, but I tried to soak in the idea of just lounging for a week. That took about 2 hours to take and I soon became a rather lazy individual. A typical day consisted of sleeping in, eating breakfast, reading and laying by the pool, hitting Ton Sai village during the heat of the day – where I would usually sit on the deck of D’s Books and email. We did some kayaking and I did a little climbing. Thai massage was usually factored in by the afternoon. Dinner, more reading and bedtime. Aaaah, vacation – sun, activity and lounging.

Phnom Penh, Mary Knoll and Kong

As always, I’m home here in Phnom Penh. Its so familiar to me now. I have my spots and my hangouts. I have my people I see – even the people who run the little internet café next to the Cozyna Hotel. Its so neat to walk in after a few months and get to see people who are excited to see you back in their town. I got to see my babies. As soon as we drove up on the motos and walked in the gate, they all RAN over. I think they were more excited about the huge bag of stuff I was bringing them than actually seeing ME. Amidst the squeals of delight, I was so happy to see them. How much they grow in such a short time. We had so much fun with the beach balls and playing with the various toys. I always want to bring them home to California, but in the same thought, I know the contented hearts and simple peace of the Cambodian people and can’t help but think, in many ways, their native home is better. Life is very real here. There continues to be no time for petty things. Even Bangkok has acquired the ways of the modern first world. Coke advertisements dot the concrete landscape and skin brightening billboards nudge Thai women toward the west’s version of beauty…light skin. Funny that westerners all love to be tan. Not unlike the idea that the more food we have, the skinnier we strive to be. Not so in the third world of Cambodia. While there are travesties and depravity everywhere, there is one thing they haven’t lost….reality.

I think that is the thing that rings the truest with me when I’m in the third world. It is so real. The scarcity is universal, but widespread is the thankful spirit of a people oppressed. People often ask me to describe Cambodia. Its very difficult to capture the emotion of a place. I can show pictures and tell stores, but for Cambodia, its about the people. Its about their smiles in the face of starvation, their perserverance in the face of adversity, their generosity in the face of poverty, and their hope in the place of devastation. I continue to be amazed by the stories I hear of the rise of the current generation who lost every parent to a great evil. They raised themselves. They taught themselves to hope. They faced a dead country with courage and conviction. They fight adversity everyday for education and a better way. I admire them. They reside in my heart with great fondness and respect. I'm thankful that I've been given the privilege of another perspective on the world. I wish every one of us, in the United States knew just how easy we had it. I dare wonder what we could accomplish in our country with our resources and the kind of dedication and determination of these many men and women.

Project Art for Hope

In the course of working here in Phnom Penh, I’ve come to know many of the local travesties that continue to pervade this tormented nation. Cambodia has seen many evils and while one expects the veil to lift, it doesn’t always work out as we would hope in our timeline. Peace reigns here amidst the blatant corruption, however, each citizen lives in the shroud of oppression that corruption breeds. Just yesterday, my friend Mekong was taking his moto to get my friend Heather flying in from Angkor Wat and he was stopped by the police for no apparent reason. The police were just having a day of provocation. They demanded he produce his registration but Mekong didn’t have it with him. At this point, they should have just written him a legitimate ticket, but decided to taunt him instead. The policeman who stopped him insisted that Mekong pay him $5 US in order to let him go. Five dollars is more than a two day’s wages here in Phnom Penh and goes a long way in this economy. Mekong told me about this later in the day. I was furious. I wanted to go back and tell off that corrupt, selfish “law abiding” policeman. Unashamedly taking hard earned money from a kid who earns an average of 80 dollars a month is absolutely infuriating to me. I told Mekong is was probably a good thing I wasn’t with him because I probably would have had to call one of you guys to come rescue me out of some shady Cambodian prison.

I’m told these incidents happen all the time, yet when I see or hear of them, I’m angered nonetheless. I can’t seem to accept it as reality. My dad would call my need for justice the thorn in my side. I suppose so, but I believe, a blind eye would require more of me. So much of that is an understanding of the reality of evil in the world. I still hold the expectation that good will always triumph that justice will always prevail. For now, I’m still surprised by what I see.

I think this leads me to the greatest evil I’ve seen so far. The total exploitation of children isn’t new, but sadly, it has been growing steadily in the last few decades. In previous entries, I’ve mentioned of working here in Phnom Penh with an organization that is triumphing for the cause in the rescue of young girls from the trafficking industry. In the past few visits, I’ve developed a little non-profit called “Project Art for Hope.” This has been something that has completely found me and I’ve just tried to follow its lead. I was working with some of the young girls last year, teaching them jewelry skills, and watercolor techniques and various creative outlets. I noticed walking around the room, looking at the art, the imagination just coming alive! I thought to myself, “wow, these girls have seen evils I’ve never seen and hope to never see, yet they still draw butterflies and flowers.” I was amazed by the sheer innocence that the brush put to paper. I slowly saw a story begin to unfold. Not only is art so therapeutic in a reclamation of one’s self and beauty, it is a face to the many faceless girls and a tiny voice to the powerlessness they all feel. I felt as if every piece of art was a memoir of each of these young innocents. They have a name, a story, a passion and a dream. They have rich hearts and much to give the world. I knew I had to somehow be a conduit for those many voices. That is how “Project Art for Hope” was born.

I am still in the beginning stages, learning the logistics and how best to provide an avenue for this art to be seen. My intention is to do installations in galleries in the United States and Europe and use the presentation as a means to tell the bigger story that many people still prefer to wish didn’t exist. There are wonderful organizations who are tirelessly working on continuing to spread the word. IJM (www.ijm.org). World Hope International. www.worldhope.net. I hope that the art from this venture can begin to raise not only funds, but heighten awareness as much as humanly possible. The rest is up to “supernatural intervention,” as the director here in Phnom Penh so truthfully stated.

I have grown in my understanding of what it means to make a difference. My contribution is a small wave, but nonetheless a wave. I believe that one little step is still a step forward. If my small voice touches a heart, we have four feet now walking forward. Where are we called to be, but to walk forward in the faith that God will bring change on this earth, . . . today.