Time for a visa chop! Yay! (Not my favourite time.)
Now, why should a Westerner, such as myself, feel uncomfortable, annoyed or even stressed out over a simple visa trip? Shouldn't we enjoy the change of visiting another country and re-entering Malaysia, being greeted by welcoming and friendly immigrations officers? Shouldn't it be something to look forward to?
After all, countries like Cambodia, Indonesia and Thailand welcome us for as long as we want without question. Pay the visa fee. Welcome! Welcome! Come and stay as long as you like.
I'm not selling guns or drugs. I'm not smuggling. Or kidnapping people. I don't even have the strength to be any kind of a threat.
So, why do they hate me?
Ah, yes another visa trip. We pray the next one will be less painful than the last. This time, I decided to fly to Singapore, rather than do the ride-the-bus-all-day-for-two-days thing. Granted, it is a little more expensive. But, you know, sometimes, that extra comfort is worth a little more. Don't you think so? Less stress...
Just a joke.
First, I had to take a three-hour bus trip into K.L. (Kuala Lumpur) before boarding the airport bus at the terminal. But, when I went to buy the airport bus ticket, the girl behind the glass insisted that I absolutely did not have time to take the airport bus from that terminal because I needed to be at the airport two hours in advance. (Take heed, all you would-be-fliers to Sing.)
She sent me out to hail a taxi to K.L. Central, but as I got in the taxi, we were at a stand-still in a jam. Right about then is when I started to feel like I was going to have a heart attack. Talk about stress. The friendly taxi driver offered to take me directly to the airport.
"But," I lamented, "You're going to charge me 100 ringgit and I can't afford it."
"No!" he said. "I only charge you 75."
"Still too much," I said.
But, the wheels are going around. (At least the wheels in my head, not the ones on the cars!) And I'm thinking, Yeesh, I'm going to be out a lot more than 75 ringgit if I miss that carnsorn plane.
When I realized we were going nowhere fast, I finally accepted his offer. He went on to praise himself for how fast he could get me there. To which I replied (like the seasoned travel veteran I am)
"Hao le."
Well, true to his word, he got me there an hour later and I had an hour and thirty-five minutes to spare. I found my way to "Air Asia" and waited in the snail pace line. When I finally got served, the polite young man said,
"I'm afraid I have to inform you that you have over-stayed your visa by five days."
What?
They ushered me into "the back room". I just love back rooms. Not. And told me to take a seat among a group of other people who were standing.
"Fill the form."
Form Question: Why did you over-stay your visa?
My writing: I counted the days wrong. (Seriously, could there possibly BE another reason?)
I sat there thinking this minor infraction was going to empty my entire bank account and wondering whether I even had enough money to pay the fines for five whole days.
But, the man handed me back my passport after writing something in it in his language and began to speak. He had a vacant look on his face even while looking into my eyes the whole time.
"You have applied for a visa several times in Malaysia and have been refused. You will most likely not be allowed back into Malaysia and if you are refused entry into Singapore, we will only be able to give you a one-week pass."
Of course I tried to argue that I'd been in Cambodia for a whole month, but then I realized, he was just quoting what he was taught and had not the least interest in anything I had to say. I was so surprised that he didn't issue a fine that I went on my way light-heartedly to queue up yet again.
Arriving in Singapore airport, the first thing that hit me in the eye (after using the WC) was a chocolate shop! Wow! Chocolates from all over the world. I dared not go in.
Wandering around, you come across interesting sights like the kinetic waterfall sculpture. It's thousands of copper rain-drops that fall in patterns on perpendicular lines from the ceiling. Very soothing and entertaining.
Then, of course, there's the "Burger King" with its outrageous prices. (For those of us who are used to Malaysian prices, paying three-times the usual price feels like a gouge. Especially when your onion rings are stale.)
Changi has a swimming pool and sauna up on their roof! And you can swim for free. Once you're finished, try the huge high-speed slide. Then take a walk in the cactus garden. Fun.
Legs tired? Get a free mechanical massage in one of their massage chairs. Want to smell pretty? Try on some perfume. I love Channel. Although, I'm not sure which one it was, exactly.
Four hours later, I'm back on the plane and totally exhausted. Having your body transported around seems to wear it out, for some reason.
As we were landing, an idea came to mind. I thought,
"I can walk faster than all these people even if I get off the plane last. So, I'm going to get myself to the front of the line at Immigrations."
(Why haven't I ever thought of this before? I have always lagged behind, milling slowly with the rest of the herd like cows to the slaughter, when I could have just moved a little more quickly.)
So I charged ahead of hundreds of people until I was up at the front, catching up to a lone speeder who apparently had gotten off the same plane. I followed his lead past four "No Entry" doors into "International Arrivals" and into "Immigrations" which was totally and completely void of people! In fact, he was the only one who went all the way to the front and up to the counter. I followed.
When I arrived at the white line, an elderly man said,
"Go."
I looked at him with a little amused grin and said,
"Go, la?" to which he nodded. It was a little funny. The only two people in the entire Immigrations.
I went to the counter, smiling and asked the young attendant,
"How are you?" He also seemed amused and smiled.
Then came the passport perusal. I watched as his eyes scanned the hundreds of stamps and stuck in visa extensions, holding my breath and not breathing one single word. After thirty seconds of suspense, he lifted his friendly hand and stamped a three-month visa into my passport.
And I smiled even bigger.
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