Loco

To know the road ahead, ask those coming back, so says the Chinese proverb. And it was with this in mind that I looked around me, lost and confused in the northernmost part of Vietnam and asked a question I never thought I’d ever have to ask; “excuse me, but have you seen China?”

Cross the bridge and you will see the border control said our guidebook. That sounds easy enough. But then I should have known from experience that going overland was never easy. Fun? Yes. Exciting? Definitely. But easy? No. I had with me my little book of Chinese sayings, and turned to it for advice: “be not afraid of going slowly, be afraid only of standing still”, ah yes ki mo sabi, these are wise words indeed and well in tune with the Loco2 ethos. But when you’re this close to the fourth largest country in the world and you still can’t find it, standing still is the least of your worries.

After a short break, a fit of giggles and a video blog, we decided to seek advice from passersby; we must have asked fifteen people, including one man who was casually doing some welding atop a digger. Yet mighty China remained elusive. Maybe this is part of their neo-Communism thing; open markets, mass production, fake google and a hide and seek nation, you never know.

Finally, we fell back on common sense and consulted the trusty compass. We reasoned that if we headed north we’d have to bump into it eventually. After all, there are a billion people there, they couldn’t all hide from us forever. And so it was, after an hour of wandering around the periphery that we got ourselves to the Sino-Vietnamese border and were promptly arrested.

OK, so arrested may be a slight exaggeration, there were no handcuffs, but we were definitely in trouble. It seems that in Vietnam, paying for a 30-day visa doesn’t necessarily mean that’s what you get. Note to reader: always check the expiry date of your visa. And if in doubt, feign ignorance. Vicki and I looked around the interrogation room. Blank walls, bars on the windows, a lone desk and a solitary uniformed man with a stern look on his face. $100 fine. Shit!

We looked in our purses and counted out our worldly possessions. I had somewhere in the region of 26,000 Dông, Vicki had twenty American dollars. Our guard did not look impressed, and asked us to face the wall as he counted out the cash. Twenty-six grand you say, not too shabby for a backpacker. But if I were to tell you that this sumptuous wad of cash works out to a little less than $2 then perhaps you’ll better understand his stony face.

Luckily for us, our ignorance was totally genuine, and Vicki’s not one to part with money without a fight. “I must ask the leader” says our guard and marched off into an adjacent room to consult this faceless authority. A few minutes of anxious waiting later, he returned to tell us that the leader was not prepared to accept our meagre offerings, and he once again re-iterated the laws of over staying visas, and $100 fines. We, in turn, opened our empty purses and shook ticket stubs, rogue chopsticks, and origami frogs onto the desk; we really didn’t have any money*.

“We’ll have to go the bank” we declared, and made to collect our bags and head back into Vietnam in search of an ATM. He liked this even less than the paper frogs, and went, once again to consult the leader. Now, at this point I was of the impression that the leader was a big fat suited man with a giant moustache sitting on a swivel chair stroking a white cat à la Inspector Gadget, but in retrospect I think it may well have been an empty room and all this was a charade to make us nervous. Either way, when he eventually returned, the matter was resolved. “The leader will accept this”, he said, gathering the pitiful collection of cash on the desk, but “don’t come back”.

Well, in all my many years travelling; through 40 countries, across two oceans, 50 pages in my passport, umpteem visas, and even more visa extensions, I have never been banned from a country. Damn it! “So we’re never allowed back?!” exclaimed Vicki. Our guard pulled one of those faces that we normally reserve for the most moronic people on earth; “no, don’t come to bank” he said, clearly anxious that if they let us back into their country they would never see us again. And with that, he ushered us out of the interrogation room and unceremoniously dumped us into China. Talk about arriving in style…

*Vicki actually had another $50 in a different bag, oh great sneaky one how I admire you.

Photos: Kate

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