Have passport, will travel (1)

The shop which I approached for passport photos

It is time to renew my passport, as the present 10-year one is about to expire. The young man pictured in my passport barely looks like me: he has thick, wavy hair, and a beard.

The present-day me has no hair, and is clean-shaven.

When I was young, I would go days on end without a shave.

‘Your grandfather shaved every day of his life,’ my Nana said once, in a not-so-subtle hint that I should do the same.

If my grandmother was still alive, I could tell her that I now shave daily, and have done so for years. As for the hair, I ask my boyfriend to shave it off every week, because this fiery climate gives me a hot head.

I checked the website of my embassy. All I would need to apply is my passport, two new passport-sized photographs, and B6000.

The website explained how the photographs should look. No smiling, please. Sit square on to the camera – no artistic or gay poses allowed. We need to see the colour of your eyes, so no hiding behind sunglasses. They should also be the right size, 36mm high, and 45mm wide.

Now, where to get them taken? First, I tried Talad Phlu, the market where I live. One shop said ‘Kodak’ in front, so I walked in there. Two large, middle-aged men were seated in the shop, talking.

They looked like they might be in charge. But if the business was open, there were no signs of life. When I walked in, they stared.

‘Do you take passport-size photographs?’ I asked, breaking the silence.

‘Why don’t you go to the Foreign Affairs Ministry?’ one asked.

Maybe he thought I was Thai.

‘I can't go your ministry. I have to go to my embassy to get a passport done. But first I have to visit a photography shop like this one to get a picture taken,’ I said.

‘The photographer is not here,‘ he said finally.

Next, I tried the local shopping mall. I asked at the information desk. They directed me to a shop on the ground floor.

'Can I help you?' A young man approached me.

This store is part of a chain of photography stores. They know about service. As for those middle-aged men in the market, I am not sure what business they think they are running.

‘I would like two passport-sized photographs,’ I said. ‘Do you take them?’

The young man pointed me to the photography studio, off the main part of the shop.

A woman and her two teenage sons sat inside. They had just bought their school uniforms for the school year, which opens this month.

The boys were dressed in casual clothes, but wanted to take pictures of themselves wearing uniform.

I sat outside the studio while the photographer did her work. Casting nervous glances at the foreigner, the boys took off their T-shirts, and put on their school shirts.

Outside the shop, a big ‘back to school’ sale was underway. On the way to the photography shop, I passed stalls selling shirts, blouses, shorts, socks, underwear.

The mother of the two teenage boys paid.

‘Come back in an hour,’ she told them.

Now it was my turn. I explained to the photographer, a woman from Esan, what I wanted.

She sat me down on a stool in front of her camera, and did up my top shirt button.

‘They have asked me not to smile – but if I look too grim, please say so,’ I said.

Half a minute later, it was done.

To fill in my hour, I went for a walk behind the mall, looking for a temple which I had seen on a map.

I looked up a map of where I live on the internet. It told me there was a temple and a school behind the mall, but when I went in search of them, I found something different...apartment blocks belonging to the navy.

I have been in this area for eight years, and never knew I was living cheek by jowl with the navy. Where are all those handsome men in uniform?

I walked back to the shop, took a seat, and waited. Customers who had brought in films to be developed were viewing them on computer screens. From where I sat I could see them, too.

One middle-aged woman brought in holiday pictures. They were taken in a cold place, as the people in them were wearing many layers of clothes.

A younger woman brought in pictures of what looked like boats on a green river. That could be Thailand, I thought. Rivers are supposed to be blue, but here they are putrid black, smelly brown or sickly green.

Finally, my pictures arrived. I looked at the new me.

The middle-aged man in the pictures has no hair, and tight, mean-looking lips. It is not a flattering portrait, but at least the airport people at passport control will recognise me.

now, see part 2