Together in Electric Dreams — Vientiane, Laos | June 2004
“But you have to realize this is Laos ”
A thumbs up with a glowing smile, but sad watery eyes. The bus door closes, it’s over. I’ll probably never see her again. For the past couple of months, I’ve desperately tried to find another job, but haven’t found one and now I’ve run out of money.
This whole terrible situation began about six weeks ago when I caught some local staff of the Lao-American College taking jewellery from my students. When I confronted them with this, I was told that I didn’t understand local culture and that the ankle bracelets they took had been confiscated because they were worn too close to the feet and, therefore, disrespectful to the Buddha.
“OK, I can see that,” I said, “but then why did you only take the gold and silver ones?”
“That’s not true,” they responded.
“Yes, it is! I saw you skip the girls with leather or plastic ankle bracelets and only take the valuable ones when you interrupted my class yesterday.”
Once again they denied it and we got into an argument. As our bickering became louder, the college director, Virginia Van Ostrand, came out of her office and demanded to know what was going on. I explained and once again was told that I didn’t understand the local culture. This rubbed me the wrong way.
“You know what, I don’t work with thieves. I quit,” I said.
“You can’t quit because I don’t employ staff who are this disrespectful of the local culture. You’re fired,” Virginia responded. I walked out and rode home.
Back at home, I realised that the college was in possession of my passport for a visa extension. I called a colleague and asked him to check for me who actually had the passport. When he called back, he warned me that Virginia had called the immigration police and intended to have me deported from the country after the weekend. I wouldn’t get my passport back until then. I was to report at the college on Monday morning and bring all my belongings.
After I had recovered from the initial shock, I decided to go to the American Embassy. Virginia Van Ostrand was an American, so maybe they could reason with her. When I got to the embassy, however, I learnt that the US Embassy only dealt with American citizens. When I couldn’t show them an American passport, they simply shut the door in my face.
Now what? It was Friday afternoon and I was going to be deported! Then I remembered that I could go to the French Embassy for emergencies as they represent Dutch interests in Laos. This was an emergency, so I decided to drive to the French embassy. When I got there, a stern gendarme demanded to see my passport before allowing me inside the colonial embassy complex.
“But that’s the whole issue,” I said, “I don’t have my passport.”
“Then I can’t let you in,” he responded, but after a short standoff he made a phone call and I was allowed inside and escorted to the consul’s office.
I told my story to the consul, but she didn’t seem overly impressed. Then she decided to call the American embassy and the story took an interesting turn.
“Oh no… not that Van Ostrand woman again!” an American voice sounded over the speaker phone, “What’s she done this time?”
Now the consul was willing to listen to me and asked me more details about the situation. She then told me to come back to the embassy on Monday morning and we would go to the college together.
“But you have to realise this is Laos,” she added. “If Ms Van Ostrand paid the right people the right amount of money, you might very well be deported. There’s nothing we can do if that’s the case. Prepare for it.”
The weekend that followed wasn’t a very nice one. I tried to explain what had happened to my Lao girlfriend, but as it all just sounded stupid and infantile, she didn’t really understand the severity of the situation. The rest of the weekend I tried to get my stuff sorted and on Monday morning, my girlfriend drove me to the French embassy. I said goodbye, not knowing if I would see her again.
The consul was already waiting for me with a driver and a gendarme. We got into an embassy car and set off to the Lao-American College. When we got there, multi-star policemen were waiting for me but, as soon as they recognised the diplomatic number plate and saw the gendarme, they disappeared into thin air.
We went straight to Virginia’s office where the consul clearly stated her business, “Ms Van Ostrand, you are an American citizen in possession of the European Union passport of Mr Van Gaans, a Dutch citizen. This is not allowed. Please return the passport or I will have to take action.”
Virginia then admitted that my passport was in fact with the immigration police, so our next port of call was the Office of Foreigner Protection in downtown Vientiane. As we drove there, the consul told me to keep quiet, no matter what, once we got the immigration office.
“That college will probably make up all kind of stuff about you to make their case, but please don’t say anything. Trust me on this, the immigration police won’t care about a private college, but they will about me.”
She was right, Virginia’s henchmen accused me of everything from stealing books to rallying students at anti-government demonstrations. But, as the consul had said, the officers didn’t listen at all. They kept on working at their desks, chatting with each other and making phone calls. Then it was the consul’s turn,
“Good morning gentlemen,” she said, “I am the consul of the French embassy and, as you know, also the representative for the Dutch.”
This got their attention. They stopped working, put down their phones and sat up straight. Once the consul had finished her story, the matter was settled. My visa and work permit would be cancelled, but I was allowed to stay in the country and look for a new job. My only concern was that I would have to go across the border to Thailand and then return to Laos on a tourist visa, I didn’t trust this at all. When I expressed my concern to the consul, she suggested that the embassy car would drive me to the border and wait for my return.
This is what we did and so late afternoon I was back at my apartment where my girlfriend was fast asleep, an empty bottle of Lao whiskey lying on the bedside table. She must have had a rough morning as well.
For the next couple of weeks, I went to all the schools and colleges in a 20 km radius of to look for a job. No such luck. Whereas before it had been so easy to find work, this time I could not find anything. Worse than this, I was running out of money.
After two months, I was down to my last 100 dollars, a hard decision had to be made.
Things in Vientiane seemed to be at a dead end, so I decided to leave Laos and give Bangkok a try. Of course, this meant having to say goodbye to the group of friends I’d made since coming to Laos at the end of 2002 … and … I’d have to bid farewell to my girlfriend of the past eight months. There was no way she could come along to Bangkok, no job, no plan, nothing, just the hope things would turn out fine once I got there.
Now, sitting on the bus that will take me to the Thai border, I look at my very soon to be ex-girlfriend. She gives me a thumbs up and a glowing smile, but in her eyes I can see what she’s really thinking. I feel sick.
Philip Oakey and Giorgio Moroder. Together in Electric Dreams on Electric Dreams OST [CD]. Munich, Germany: Virgin Records (1984)
This autobiographical sketch comes from my bundle In the Moment: A Disjointed Audiobiography which is available at Amazon.com. (USD 9.50 for a paperback or USD 4.50 for the Kindle version)
