Thailand

“If the border opens at eight, we should be there at eight,” was the declaration last night from one of our party. It necessitated a 7:15 a.m. start. I dared not mention that the border actually opened at six…

With a hasty breakfast (surprisingly good coffee — machine-made, quite nice bananas, and so-so bread) at seven, we left a few minutes late (Ham’s tummy was not happy, and he was attending to necessities). So we arrived a few minutes after the notional border opening time. Various bored Lao officials hid in their glass boxes, one labelled Customs, another Passports.

Nigel marched to the front of the queue — admittedly, this was me alone, unsuccessfully trying to figure it out — and presented his passports. 

Stamp, stamp. Next, customs. 

Handing over the form, I fully expected to have to wrangle with authority, as we were leaving from a border not identified on our entry form as the departure point. 

Stamp, stamp. Next.

What? Is that it?

At a funeral pace (lest we upset the uniforms), we entered the Thai border and met Thum, our guide, waving enthusiastically. He passed me a wodge of forms which I duly handed over with my passport. 

Stamp, stamp. Next.

What? Less than twenty minutes for the whole thing? We are used to borders taking hours — seven being our record — but twenty minutes hardly seemed worth it. Were they taking this seriously or not?

Bank it, we agreed. We even had time for a photo opportunity with some brass. 

Convoy discipline fell apart again. A mixture of independence, inability to map-read, and differing routes meant we arrived as four cars rather than one convoy.

We are now in Thailand! From the outset, it was obvious this is a wealthier country. The roads are smooth, the lines freshly painted, the verges neat. There is a bustle and confidence amongst the locals. I’m not saying the Lao lack chutzpah, but life seems a little harder over there.