Last Thursday I was in Laos for thirty seconds, maybe a minute or maybe fifteen. It all depends on our interpretation of being in Laos. If being in Laos is receiving permission to enter the People’s Democratic Republic – no laughing – then, I was indeed in Laos for the duration of time it took me to walk around the immigration building from the incoming to the outgoing side and wait to be stamped out. On the other hand, if we belong to the geographic school of thought that has me in Laos because I occupied a piece of real-estate on the Laotian side of the Mekong, well, then, it was closer to fifteen minutes that I had to wait for my visa to be approved, so that I could enter the Democratic People’s Republic – no smirks, either – for the duration of time it takes to walk around the immigration building to the exit side and wait to be stamped out of Laos. On my return to Thailand I was granted the 30 day transit visa thanks to my trusty passport from a developed country with appropriate visa agreements with the Thai Kingdom. To ease my perilous journey I hired a visa service. For 500 baht they did all my paperwork and drove me to Laos. I remained in the car as we went through immigration exiting Thailand. On the Lao side, I had to sit in a waiting area for my visa, but my ‘guide’ submitted all the documents and did all the talking. At no point in the process did I actually have to speak to anyone, which, being a bit of an introvert, I found very pleasant. I did have to exit the car as we re-entered Thailand, but no talking again. There was really no pretense in what we were doing. The guide wore a company shirt and was obviously familiar with a lot of the officials. I’m sure it was obvious that I had not really traveled to Laos. Thinking about it though, I was technically in the right. I had exited and re-entered Thailand. There are no minimum time restrictions for what constitutes leaving a country.
I used to take a certain pleasure in telling Brits that I had been to the United Kingdom for eighteen hours. I took the ferry over from Calais to Dover, hopped on a train, arrived in London, checked into a hostel, found a pub, obnoxiously ordered “one of those warm beers I hear so much about”, went back to the hostel, slept, awoke, headed to Gatwick airport and returned to the US. It would seem that now I can wind up my Laotian friends about having visited their country for thirty seconds. Come to think of it, I don’t really have any Laotian friends. Maybe I’ll make some on my next visit.