Visa (noun)
an endorsement made on a passport by the proper authorities denoting that it has been examined and that the bearer may enter the country
Government’s love them, travelers love to hate them. In many instances, they’re effective; keeping countries free from any potential threats or any individuals who may be looking to take up residence illegally.
As a long-term traveler, they have been a pain in my ass quite a few times. Granted, that’s usually not for any reason other than because I’m trying to game the system via something commonly referred to as a ‘visa run’.
In most countries, when you leave across the border, your current visa expires, allowing you to return to the country on a new visa. Depending on the country, the process can take as long as a month, or as short as a couple hours. While it’s almost never encouraged by a country’s border agency, it falls in a bit of a legal gray area, enabling long-term tourists to effectively ‘stack’ their visas and stay in a country for longer than any single tourist visa would allow.
My most recent trip-through-the-loophole was one of the most absurd yet, covering over 3,575 miles in the span of 48 hours.
The journey began around 8pm on the 15th of July.
I found myself waiting on the side of the road with a small backpack containing a change of clothes that I was certain wouldn’t be used, a couple of journals, my passport, and my laptop.
It wasn’t quite clear where exactly I was supposed to be picked up, as the process for booking the bus involved a few texts with a guy whose number I acquired from another traveler, a trip to a Western Union that was clearly a front for a number of other business ventures, and another text with a screenshot of my ticket.
If this was my first time traveling in this part of the world, I would have been quite worried. After a year on the road though, you learn to just show up and trust that you’re going to get to where you need to go.
Naturally, the bus showed up about 10 minutes late and seemed to be in no rush to make up any lost time. By Sri Lanka standards, this bus was the definition of luxury: cushioned seats that recline, A/C, and overhead reading lights.
That’s about where the ‘luxury experience’ ended.
After having traveled a total of maybe 10 miles over the span of an hour and stopping maybe half a dozen times to pick up passengers and snacks, we finally started moving at a steady pace and I began to doze off into the night.
The first time I awoke, the bus was stopped for what seemed to be a quick gas refill. In reality, it was an entire maintenance stop: gas, oil, and a new tire. The whole nine in a matter of 20 minutes on a fully loaded bus. It felt like a dream.
An unknown amount of time passed before I woke again. This time to a near-empty bus. The first reaction to this is a panic that instantly snaps you out of that groggy sleep-state. I quickly realized we had stopped at a small restaurant in the middle of God-knows-where and everyone was outside eating, smoking, or pissing. I stumbled off the bus and joined suit before we departed again.
We arrived at the airport around 5am. With my flight scheduled to depart at 10:40, it was going to be more of the same for me: waiting, waiting, waiting.
In fact, that sums up this entire journey: moving, waiting, and moving again before having to wait some more so that you can finally move again. That’s it. I’ve finally figured out the key to brevity folks. You can stop here. The story’s over.
Thanks to the earth’s rotation (I’m talking to you, flat earthers), my 3 hour flight turned into a 5.5 hour flight and I landed on the outskirts of Malaysia’s capital at 4:44pm. Here, I was met with my first legal bout at immigration. Usually, they see The Great Seal on the passport cover and almost instantly stamp me through. This time, the officer dared to question my reason for entering the country. Me, a citizen of the United Goddamned States of America.
“For tourism, sir.” Being sure to appear as if I had a sense of dignity.
“Only staying for one day? Where are you going next?”
A flash of fear struck through me. “Back to Sri Lanka.”
Dignity was off the table. My next words had to be very carefully calculated — the whole journey was at stake.
“I’m just here so that I can get a new visa over there. And I’ve never spent a night here so I figured it was a perfect place to visit.”
He seemed taken aback by my response; a perfectly engineered combination of honesty and bootlicking.
He checked my passport once more before begrudgingly reaching for the stamp. I was in.
I peered out the window of the train as I traveled from the airport to the city-center. The land surrounding the airport was completely covered in what appeared to be palm oil farms. Slowly, the trees disappeared and were replaced by small townhomes and apartment complexes. As the train journeyed further, small apartment complexes became densely populated residential towers which would eventually become surrounded by skyscrapers, megamalls, and quite possibly the largest mosque I will ever see.
The moving and the waiting becomes much easier when you’re in a city that you’ve never been to before.
I took advantage of my time in such a developed city, buying new sandals (most of Asia does not carry anything over a size 11, so this was a rare find), binging on a variety of street food, and even seeing a tourist attraction. Like I said, it’s still waiting that’s disguised as moving, but with a little more excitement.
The next morning, I landed in Sri Lanka around 10am. I headed towards immigration with slight unease, preparing for what I expected to be the hardest obstacle yet.
Approaching the counter, the officer and I exchanged decencies and I handed over my passport.
He scanned the document into the system and peered over his glasses “boarding pass?”
My shaky hands slightly shakier than normal, I slid the pass under the glass and he analyzed it with several nods of approval.
He looked up and asked me something that was muffled by the thick covid glass.
“I’m sorry, sir?” Back to the dignity act.
“Reason for visit?”
“Oh, uhhh, tourism.” Spoken with much less confidence than my response in Kuala Lumpur.
“Oh, tourism!” He smiled and looked back at his computer, waiting for the indubitably outdated system to load.
It seemed like I was gonna be alright, but I thought I’d better not risk it. “You guys should put a speaker here so it’s easier to hear.” I said with a lighthearted smile. The comment went completely over his head but he smiled politely.
Almost as if that stupid comment was all he was waiting to hear, he grabbed his stamp and granted me 60 more days in his country.
I felt a wave of relief rush over me as I strolled out of the airport. “Only smooth sailing from here on out” I thought to myself.
Boy was I wrong. This last leg of the journey proved to be the most mentally, physically, and emotionally draining part of the whole shabang.
Upon arrival, I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to get back to Arugam Bay — located about 350km away on the opposite coast of the island. I had two options: (1), take a combination of 3 different buses from Colombo to A Bay, a process that would take over 12 hours but only cost me about $5; or (2), take a bus to Colombo and do some more waiting before getting on the night bus A Bay. Either way, I knew I needed to get to Colombo, so I headed towards the nearest bus station via tuk-tuk.
This turned out to be quite a mistake, as my tuk-tuk driver was filled with ‘helpful’ ideas on the best way to get to Arugam Bay:
You going Colombo for bus to Arugambe?
Yes.
Too far. New idea. I drive tuk-tuk Nittambuwa. Nittambuwa have open bus going Kandy road Akkaraipattu. Akkarraipattu, Pottuvil, Arugambe. Yes?
What?
I give local price. Only 2500.
No thanks bro, I just want to go to the bus station so I can get to Colombo for the night bus.
Oh night bus no have.
Yes they do. I can book an AC bus for 3000.
Oh AC bus. New idea. We go hotel close by. They call night bus pick you up here. No need go Colombo.
I was told there’s no busses coming up here and that I have to go to Colombo for the night bus.
Yes have. We go hotel. Your idea.
Uh okay, I guess let’s go.
After discussing with the hotel owner for 5 minutes in the pouring rain over the noise of the loud tuk-tuk engine, it seemed that the night bus was not possible from here. We have to check another hotel. They seem like they’re able to arrange the bus, but I have to wait until 4pm (3 hours from now) to confirm. They also want me to buy a room for an hour or two to relax.
Okay, okay. I’ll come back at 4. Can you just take me somewhere nearby to eat?
Okay I take you. Have nice food. Rice and curry.
He dropped me off at another hotel’s restaurant and I gave him 1000 rupees. Three times the original amount we agreed upon to go to the bus station, but after driving around and confusing each other for 2 hours, I knew he wouldn’t accept 300 anymore.
I left the restaurant immediately after seeing the prices and walked to something nearby that was cheaper. There I decided I was just going to walk to the bus station, take the bus to Colombo, and try to catch the night bus to A Bay. Evidently, something I should have decided before I left the airport.
Halfway through my walk to the station, I passed the airport and checked the time. It was half past 1. In the 3.5 hours since I landed, I had effectively moved 0 feet while also driving and walking for nearly that entire time. A frustratingly impressive feat.
A little while later, I made it to the station and caught the bus to Colombo. I headed straight to the night bus booking office and booked my ticket. Immediately a sense of relief washed over me: finally I could do the remainder of my time waiting and moving in peace.
The bus arrived in Arugam Bay around 3am. I walked down to Main Point, the best surf spot in town, laid down in the sand and slept. Finally, the waiting and moving was over.
Quite the adventure again. On the bright side you didn’t get effected by Crowd Strike crashing Microsoft. I’m glad you were successful in your objective. Love you
You are good at problem solving!