Visa Run Vomit: A Day of Sitting, Sighing, and the Anti-Adventure to Bangkok

So, here I am, perched precariously on this airborne metal tube, staring out a comically small window at the tarmac shrinking below. It’s another glorious day for a visa run! This time, the destination is Bangkok, a whirlwind day trip designed to keep my residency in Vietnam ticking over. And already, the familiar symphony of flying frustrations is reaching a crescendo.

Why, oh why, is everything in an airport priced as if it were spun from actual gold? My stomach rumbles, but the thought of paying exorbitant fees for lukewarm, questionable sustenance is enough to quell the hunger pangs… almost. And the legroom! Designed, I presume, for a species significantly smaller and less prone to existential dread than myself. Then there’s the pre-takeoff ritual of opening the window shades. Does the pilot need to peek out to check if the runway is clear? Perhaps he'll use them as rear-view mirrors when backing up? One can only speculate on the arcane logic of airline protocols.

And don’t even get me started on the security line shuffle. The concept of a queue seems to dissolve the moment metal detectors and conveyor belts are involved. Personal space becomes a myth, and the air crackles with unspoken impatience. But the biggest question, the one that truly gnaws at my travel-weary soul: why is flying the preferred method of travel?! It’s consistently the most miserable part of any journey, a tedious exercise in confinement and questionable snack choices.

Fast forward several hours and a mercifully uneventful flight later, I found myself with a precious three-hour layover in Bangkok. Surely, enough time for a quick foray into the city for some genuine Thai street food, right? Oh, the hubris! That "fairly fast and efficient" AirTrain proved to be anything but in my severely time-crunched reality. An hour each way, swallowed whole by the Bangkok sprawl, just to reach a street food market that apparently only materializes after dark and looked suspiciously like an extension of the adjacent mall. So much for "authentic."

Seriously, I have newfound respect for those intrepid travelers who manage to squeeze meaningful experiences into layovers. Anthony Bourdain, rest his soul, made it seem like a travel superpower. But for us mere mortals juggling connecting flights, maybe embracing the airport’s bland mediocrity is the more sensible strategy. I ended up with a deeply forgettable meal in a mall food court. The highlight? A decent bowl of Thai curry noodles and some free coffee samples – hardly a reward for two hours of train travel during a three-hour layover.

The rest of the day was the usual monotonous cycle of airports, buses, and planes. But here’s the unexpected twist: despite my best efforts to find fault, nothing actually went wrong. The visa gods smiled upon me, and I secured the coveted three-month permit. The border crossings were seamless. My flights adhered to the schedule. I even only managed to miss one class, a scheduling oversight entirely of my own making.

So, yes, a successful visa run on paper. But let's be honest, the term "visa run" conjures images of some grand, exotic escape. While jetting off to Bangkok for the day might sound glamorous, the reality is far more pedestrian. It’s mostly an exercise in prolonged sitting and the quiet desperation of waiting. And if you dare to venture out in a fleeting layover, you’ll likely find yourself spending more time in transit than actually experiencing anything worthwhile. I could have achieved the same level of "adventure" by exploring the duty-free shops or finding a slightly less depressing coffee kiosk at the airport.

Visa run? More accurately, visa-induced boredom marathon. Let’s all agree to dial down the adventurous connotations. It’s less a thrilling exploit and more a necessary, often tedious, bureaucratic hop. But hey, at least I’m legal again. Until next time…

Vientiane: Lovely... But Where's the Real Laos Hiding?

Alright, I'll give Vientiane this: it's undeniably lovely. A genuinely beautiful city, and the online chatter about its relaxed vibe? Totally accurate. I can see why folks would want to kick off a leisurely Lao adventure from here. But even in this seemingly serene capital, my inner grump can't help but pipe up.

Turns out, this "largest city" in Laos (with a population hovering around the 750,000-840,000 mark, though it certainly feels smaller) is also rather, shall we say, cosy. And when a relatively small city gets a substantial influx of tourists, well, you do the math. It's overrun. Now, I know, I know, tourism fuels the economy, and who am I to complain while probably contributing to the problem myself? But here's the rub: the very thing that makes Vientiane so relaxing – its size – also seems to have paved the way for a tourist-centric bubble right in the heart of the old colonial center.

Forget trying to stumble upon some truly local, genuine Laotian flavour in that central area. It’s a culinary United Nations of hamburger joints, Indian curry houses, and enough Korean and Japanese restaurants to make you wonder if you accidentally wandered into Seoul or Tokyo. And don't even get me started on the coffee scene! Forget finding those charming little spots serving traditional Lao coffee; instead, you're tripping over Western-style cafes catering to the latte-loving hordes. For a traveler hoping to immerse themselves in the local food culture, it’s a genuine disappointment. Case in point: I'm currently inhaling a bowl of decidedly Vietnamese pho, tricked by a misleading "noodle soup" sign. My own damn fault for not being more discerning, I suppose.

And speaking of disappointments (though this isn't anyone's "fault" per se), I had this idyllic image of Vientiane being right on the mighty Mekong, a vibrant waterfront scene. Reality check: the riverfront is there, sure, but the actual Mekong seems to have taken a rather dramatic step back, thanks to a massive sandbar. For most of the year, the water is miles away from the riverfront walk, which currently offers stunning views of… well, a sea of grass. I’m guessing the rainy season might change this dramatic landscape, but then you're trading a distant river for potential monsoons. Tough choices, weary traveler, tough choices.

The night markets, I will concede, are a definite highlight. Even smack-dab in the middle of the tourist zone, they manage to retain a local feel and are genuinely fun to explore. So, kudos for that, Vientiane. But with tourism only set to increase in Laos, I can already see the tendrils of tourist infrastructure spreading beyond the center. It doesn't look like this lack of genuine local experience in the heart of the city is going to get any better. Progress, eh? Sometimes I wonder if "progress" just means more "authentic" souvenir shops selling the same mass-produced trinkets. But hey, at least the beer is cold. For now.

Visa Run Vomit: Or How a Simple Trip Turned into a Comedy of Errors (Starring Yours Truly)

So, here I am in Vientiane, the supposed land of chill vibes and cheap beer, all thanks to that delightful dance we expats in Vietnam call a "visa run." After two glorious years in Hanoi, my temporary residence card decided to take an early retirement, and apparently, the only way to woo it back is a brief, costly separation involving a tourist visa. Fun times.

Now, back in the good ol' days (read: before everything went online), a quick jaunt to the embassy would have you sorted with a shiny new visa faster than you can say "bureaucracy." But noooo, Vietnam's gone full e-everything, which in theory is great, unless you happen to possess a Vietnamese bank account and a foreign phone number. You see, the online visa application is a breeze, until it's time to pay. Apparently, my perfectly functional Vietnamese debit card from a major bank needs to confirm via a text message… to my Vietnamese phone number that is currently switched off and gathering dust in Hanoi. Genius. The banking app offered no way to update the number, leaving me in a payment purgatory of knowing the fee but being utterly unable to fork over the cash.

Enter Plan B: the dreaded travel agent. Now, for a brief, possibly scarring, moment in the late 20th and early 21st centuries, I myself was a purveyor of packaged holidays and questionable advice. The only reason I escaped that particular circle of hell was the post-9/11 travel apocalypse. Even back then, in the dark ages of internet bookings, it was clear that the travel agent's primary skill was upselling, not actual knowledge. Fast forward two decades, and my faith in humanity (specifically the travel agent variety) remains subterranean.

Armed with all the visa intel, I walked into a nearby agency with a sliver of hope and a healthy dose of cynicism. Said hope evaporated the moment they quoted me $90 for a visa that costs $25 online. This exorbitant fee, I was told, was for the privilege of "rushing" the application. Oh, the irony. Not only did they fail to extract all the necessary passport information (cue a frantic late-night email for photos of the very document they held), but the visa they secured wasn't the standard 90-day one offered online. Nope, I got a measly 30 days. Thirty! Days! There's no distinction online, just fill in your desired duration under 90 days. And the rushed service? Apparently, the 90-day visa (which I didn't even get) couldn't be rushed anyway. The excuses were as plentiful as they were contradictory.

So, here's the kicker: this "quick and cheap" visa run has now morphed into a repeat performance in 30 days, thanks to the "expert" handling of these travel agents. They didn't seem particularly bothered by this monumental inconvenience and added expense, which frankly, tracks with my past experience in the industry. Why bother knowing your stuff when you can just upsell and blame the system?

Lesson learned? Apparently, at my advanced age, the universe still has new ways to remind me that sometimes, the old adages ring true. Like "never trust a travel agent" or maybe "if it ain't broke, don't make it exclusively online with a payment system designed to fail for expats." This little detour to Vientiane has certainly provided some prime material for this blog, even if my wallet and patience are feeling a little lighter. Stay tuned for Part Two: The 30-Day Dash (Because Apparently, That's All the Freedom I Get).

Addendum: The Plot Thickens (and Google Maps Saves the Day?)

Well, the digital age moves fast! Mere hours after posting my scathing review of the travel agent on Google Maps, I received a response. To their (very slight) credit, they acknowledged a mistake and offered a whopping $30 refund. Now, while I appreciate the gesture (sort of), it barely scratches the surface of the extra expense and hassle they've landed me with. This whole debacle is going to cost me significantly more than $30 in a repeat visa run next month. So, thanks for the symbolic drop in the ocean, guys.

And speaking of Google Maps, let's take a moment to appreciate its sheer power in the modern travel landscape. It's not just for finding your way anymore; it's become the go-to resource for travel recommendations. Remember the days of TripAdvisor reigning supreme? It feels like a distant memory. While it had its time, the platform has become somewhat diluted. Every other business in Southeast Asia seems to proudly proclaim their "Number One on TripAdvisor" status, to the point where the claim has lost all meaning. Plus, its lack of seamless geographical integration always felt clunky when you were actually on the ground.

Google Maps, on the other hand, offers a far more intuitive and location-aware experience. When you're wandering a new city, being able to see reviews and ratings directly linked to a place on the map is invaluable. This makes the reviews on Google Maps incredibly important for businesses catering to travelers. A few positive reviews can significantly boost their visibility and attract customers, while negative ones, like my recent experience, can (hopefully) serve as a wake-up call, or at least a cautionary tale for fellow travelers. It's a powerful tool that has truly democratized travel recommendations, putting the experiences of real people front and center, right where you need them – on the map.