The Beginning : Thailand

I.. live.. in Asia..

The Asian thing didn't become very "real" until the airport in Berlin. I constantly felt like a foreigner in Colombia because often, my appearance didn't match the local complexion (other than in Medellin). I sure as shit won't be blending in where I'm about to go anytime soon. My gringo status can now be changed to Farang status, or even foreign devil status, your choice.

As I checked my luggage in at the Air Berlin stand the presence of South East Asians became quite pronounced. At our departure gate the ones on either side flew to Paris and Geneva, and another to Madrid = European looking folks surrounding a mass of tan colored Asians.

An unorganized crowd begins to form as people make the move to board the aircraft. I see 6 white family members wearing matching white polo shirts with "Thailand 2010" written on the front in black marker. On the back they have "Pops" or "Mum" or "Robby" written on, below is a giant 1.5 foot diameter smiley face version of themselves..

How cute.. A families first vacation together.. except the kids are over 30. They're probably the kind of people that have a dresser full of _ _ _ _ _ _ 200/6/7/8/9 shirts.

To board the plane we walked through the normal metal thing that connects the terminal to the plane, only there is no plane. There are however, ghetto stairs leading down onto the tarmac. Walking out to the plane in Germany? Really? I thought that was reserved for tropical or extremely poor locations.

My seat is located at the back 40% of the plane so I'm steered towards the second entrance to the plane. They have created a funnel out of caution tape, similar to the finish line of a cross country race. As I near the mobile stairs a worker up at the top starts waving to the worker lady at the bottom and she stops anyone else from going up the stairs. He locks the plane door from the outside, runs down the steps, runs around to the driver seat of the mobile stairs, we hear a motor rev but don't see any movement.

He jogs back around to our side of the stairs and pulls out one of the extend-able "don't walk here" ribbon thing and attaches it to the other hand rail, then bounces back around the vehicle to the drivers seat, while we bake on the tarmac on a blistering hot German summer day.

He reverses the mobile stairs a foot or two, inches it forward again at a slightly different angle, repeat, repeat. Still sweating on the tarmac.

Finally he decides it is right this time, run back around and undoes the ribbon at the bottom of the stairs, runs up to the top to check the gap again between the stairs and the plane, re opens the door and gives us a thumbs up.

I'm now walking with my carry on through the cramped plane counting down from the 60's to the 50's looking for the 40's and seat G. I spot it and set my bag in my seat and being to look for room in the overhead compartment when I realize who I am sitting next to.

The family of 6 is in my row and the one in front of me, sprawling over the seats taking cutesy "oh em gee we're in an airplane" photos they'll probably use for Christmas cards this year. Kill me.

Shortly after take off I noticed there was a hand with highly polished nails resting on his inner thigh, most likely on his dick, slightly stroking. Maybe that's not his sister to the left then, and thankfully this is a short flight, only 10.5 hours...

The first day

I thought I would have plenty of time to curl up with my laptop and type away about Colombia, but by the time I’m back at the hostel and the internet is working I’m so worn out the last thing I want to do is use my brain.

I want to talk about the last few days right away, but it will probably be better if I start from the beginning.

1:30am February 28
After packing and saying goodbye to a few friends I attempted to get an hour of sleep before the 2+ hour drive to Chicago. No luck. We arrive safely to the airport, everything is good.

My cheerful mood is broken when the Spirit Airlines counter employee asks me for my return-flight details.
“No return flight, it’s just a one-way” I say, feeling a little proud and excited to have such freedom in South America.

“No Sir, that is not possible. Americans flying into Cartagena, Colombia are unable gain entry without exit transport information.”

“Wha…?” Bullshit! No one on the online forums mentioned this (that I saw) and neither did travel.state.gov

After some really stupid minutes I asked for a manager or someone to come over. Even after she talked for 5 minutes I didn’t get a straight answer if this issue was with Colombian immigration, or Spirit Air being toolbags.

Blah Blah Blah, if I want to get on this flight I have to get a bogus return ticket (they will only let me book it less than 90 days out as Americans can theoretically stay 90 days sometimes without any additional paperwork). If I bought a one way and threw the ticket away, and then bought another one way to come home it was about the same price as a refundable ticket. I guess it was good to drop the $600 on the refundable in case something happens. Either way, I’m pretty pissed off.

The flights down went fine, talked to my first Colombiana on my second flight. She was pretty nice and flirty but not my type, plus she was flying with her parents and her mom kept looking over and smiling. A little distracting.

We climb down the stairs next to the plane on the tarmac and man is it hot and humid, uhhg. The line for DAS (immigracion) took about an hour in the same blistering heat. The agent checks out my flight info with 90 days written on it, or maybe he didn’t even glance at it, it was hard to tell.
“How long are you staying?”

“About 90 days please, is that alright?”

“Yes, no problem”
*Stamps passport for 30 days.

You motherfucker.
Now I have to either bail and go to Venezuela before Medellin and Bogota and hope I get a 60 day tourist visa with that border crossing or get some pictures and a bunch of forms and spend 10 hours trying to extend my visa... every 30 days.

I hop a cab to my hostel and get ripped off on the price like every other whitey with basic Spanish skills. I asked 3 times to lock in a price before I got in but he would only respond with, “I give you good price, no worry”.
“No, tell me the price”

*Tosses my bag in the trunk and closes it.

Whatever. I get in anyways. On the ride he asks if I need an apartment or a beautiful girl about 10 times each. Pass, no AIDS please.

Once I check in at the hostel I get online and see if my parents can cancel the flight I charged on the credit card this morning since I had already passed through immigration. Good news, they were able to remove the charge without a problem.