Have passport, will travel (2, final)

Next stop, the embassy.

First, though, I needed cash.

I walked to an ATM machine, in an enclosed area outside a bank. A large man pushed in front, and coughed over the keyboard.

From where I stood behind, I could watch him make his transaction. After taking his money, he had more than B850,000 left.

I withdrew my passport fee. After the withdrawal, I had just B1000 left.

I walked back to the condo. Motorcycle taxi drivers have set up shop directly opposite, which annoys me, because another group of motorcycle guys sits not 30m away.

‘You!’ one beckoned.

‘I am going to the other side of the river,’ I said.

That’s too far to go by motorcycle.

A taxi arrived.

I opened the door, and told him the name of the embassy, in Sathorn Rd.

‘Do you know the way?’ he asked.

I could tell from his face that he was from Esan.

Many taxi drivers come from Esan, in the country’s poor Northeast. They move to Bangkok in the hope of making a living as taxi drivers, but do not know the city.

Sathorn is the central business district: everyone knows it, or should, if he wants to drive a taxi for a living. But this one did not.

‘What do you mean, you don’t know it?’ I asked.

‘Er...I drive past it every day, I have just forgotten where it is on Sathorn Rd,’ he said.

I didn’t believe him, but took a seat.

Five minutes into the journey, he called a friend on his cellphone.

‘How do I find the embassy?’ he asked. ‘It’s on the south end of Sathorn Rd.’

Pause.

‘Oh, you’re in Korat?’

That’s hours from Bangkok. How did he expect his friend to remember?

The driver himself had barely left home: sleepy Thai country music, Esan style, drifted from his car radio.

‘I will tell you where to go,’ I said, interrupting. I have seen it often enough, over the years, though this was my first visit.

When we found it, he pulled up in front.

I gave him B100, and told him to hurry. A security guard was approaching. Embassies take security seriously, and do not like taxis loitering about the entrance.

‘I don’t have change,’ said the driver.

‘Let me see...you don’t know your way around Sathorn Rd, and now you don’t have change,’ I said.

The security guard had arrived and was haranguing the driver. ‘Move down to the bus stop,’ he said. ‘You can’t stop here.’

I dug about in my wallet for loose change. I found some, but was still B30 short.

‘Don’t worry if you are short,’ he said.

‘I’m not worried. It is illegal to offer your services as a taxi driver if you don’t have change,’ I said. ‘Next time, don’t bother coming out.’

I gave him the money, and left.

The security guard smiled – something Thais like to do in the face of misfortune.

‘The driver had change...I saw a bunch of B20 baht notes in his change compartment,’ he said. ‘He was trying to cheat you.’

Gaining entry to the embassy was an experience: if anything, security was tighter there than at Bangkok’s new airport, which is tough enough.

I passed two, maybe three metal detectors, and was asked to leave my cellphone at the entrance.

Inside, I waited my turn to speak to the consular staff alongside two well-dressed Thais, and two fellow countrymen.

One, a young woman, had lost her passport. She looked like a backpacker tourist.

The other, a man of retirement age, had come to renew his passport. Unlike me, he was no stranger to the place.

‘This is the eighth passport I have renewed at this embassy,’ he said proudly.

When my number came up, I approached the booth. The Thai consular officer looked at my passport, then asked me for updated photographs.

I handed over the head-and-shoulder shots which I had taken at the shopping mall.

‘You look much more handsome, now,’ said the Thai woman approvingly, as she compared the new me with the bearded, woolly haired young man of the past.

‘I look older,' I said.

‘You are getting better with age,’ she said. ‘Please come back in 10 days.’

I walked to a petrol station nearby to find a taxi. The first one to come along was driven by another man from Esan – more pleasant than the last.

We listened to a news story which said alcohol consumption was now banned at temples.

‘Maybe they are scared that mourners, if they get drunk, will see a ghost,’ I offered.

'Yes...but it ‘s probably just the undertaker,’ said the driver, a man with a sense of humour.

The driver, aged in his 30s, switched to a radio station playing Esan country songs.

One song was about the northeastern province of Surin. The word, Surin, sounds like a Thai word for alcohol. The singer paired them to make a catchy ‘hook’ for his song.

‘He says that when you go to Surin, you have to drink,’ said the driver. ‘But you also have to pay for your own.’

‘I would rather drink at home,’ I said. ‘Why go all the way to Surin?’

My driver gave me 10 baht change. We had such a good time on the way back that I should have let him keep it.

I go back to fetch my passport in two weeks.