I am gratified to discover that I have been invited to attend the second round of the Indian National Rally Championship in Bangalore, and photograph it. This is a good thing for three reasons:
- It means an immediate elevation in status from Pattaya hack snapper to international sports photographer, at least in my warped perception.
- I have never been to India and I want to go.
- Roti Porotta (a.k.a Roti Chanai in Malaysia where I used to consume it as often as possible). I want to try the real thing in India.
A visa for India is therefore required, so off to Bangkok to present myself and my papers at the outsourcing agency which handles such things. My experience of embassy officials from a variety of countries has never been positive, it would be fair to summarise them as arrogant twats, especially the creatures that stalk the halls of the British Embassy. I hopefully assume that the more removed confines of an outsourcing office will lead to a less officious environment; and it is partially true.
There is a minor confusion upon my arrival when they, not surprisingly, wish to retain my camera; but as a result of all that excitement they then fail to give me a queue number. I am then accosted by three separate lackeys in the main office who are convinced that a lack of a queue number means I have failed to complete my forms. Having shown all of them that I have all the forms, have completed them perfectly and am in need of a small trolley to support the reams of photocopied supporting information that I have brought along “just in case”, I am finally given a number and ushered to a seat to wait my turn.
For understandable reasons, the procedure for Thai and non-Thai residents of Thailand is more simple than for those who are in Thailand but not resident. I am therefore keen to prove my “more than 3 years residence” eligibility and thrust a pile of copies of my retirement visa into the hands of the man behind the (probably bullet-proof) glass.
He scans them dolefully. Judging by his face, there is a problem. “What is this?” he enquires. “A retirement visa” I answer with a big smile, a cheery voice and a sinking feeling. “Oh. It would be better if you had a work permit”. “I agree, then I could afford to send someone else here to deal with you, rather than wasting my time with this nonsense”. No, I didn’t say that. Instead I suggested gently that a retirement visa was equally valid evidence of residence, that I used to have a work permit, but have been retired for some five years.
At this he moves from doleful to optimistic. Do I still have the work permits in my passport? I rummage through my extensive collection of back-up material and extract an old passport. I show him a page sporting my work permit from 2004.
“Copy this”, and he points triumphantly at the work permit stamp “But it only proves I was working here in 2004” Think to myself, stop arguing. “Still, if this is what you need…..” “No sir (smugly), it’s what you need”
And apparently it was what I needed because now I have my visa.
On the journey home I am determined not to be caught by the speed-trap nazis. Convinced they will flag me down whatever speed I am doing, I rig a camera on the steering wheel and video myself doing a ridiculously slow 60kph in the run up to the speed camera location. Takes ages and several vehicles almost ram me up the rear as they race towards certain capture and fines. I arrive at the toll booth, smug in the knowledge that, if they try it on with me, I have evidence of my innocence.
There are no policemen there. Bastards.
Back to Pattaya and it was windy, so off for an hour or so of windsurfing, just what was needed after a trip to Bangkok. Took the back roads to go home and discovered my day was not to be entirely police free; because a one policeman road block was standing in the middle of a little-used lane; wtf?
He waved me down and I opened the window and gave him a big smile and a “sawadee krap”. He smiled back and inspected my insurance disk on the windscreen. Thumbs up and “very good” he said. Then he looked behind my seat where I had stuffed the large plastic sheet from the carpet expedition.
“What’s that?” he enquired, and I lifted the sheet with a magician’s flourish to show that there was nothing hidden beneath. “No man, very good!” he exclaimed with real pleasure, and waved me on my way.
Pleased to have cleared as a potential people smuggler, I waved back and left him with a parting shot: “I’m a resident you know.”
Comments 🔗
2009-08-05| genuinej saysCongratulations on your elevation. Well deserved and long overdue.
2009-08-06| Spike saysThank you genuinej. Just hope I don’t screw it up.
2009-08-06| Jay saysI’m from bangalore and an avid reader of your posts… What started as an google catch now is my regular read. Can we catch a cuppa coffee or something when u are in blore ??
Let me know if thats okay…
2009-08-06| Spike saysGlad you like Pattaya Days Jay. Not sure what my schedule is going to be, will let you know.