For This I Risked Deportation?

Dearest Rachel –

It was a little over a week ago – just as we were coming into Vietnam – when the phone in my stateroom rang. For all the time I spend here (sometimes acknowledging that I really shouldn’t; at least, not as much as I do), this isn’t a thing that happens. If nothing else, who would be looking for me on board the ship (because, let’s face it, the only people calling me on that phone would be aboard the ship – anyone calling me from home would be using my cell number, after all)?

As it so happened, it was Guest Services. They hadn’t received my visa for Sri Lanka, and they needed me to provide it. Truth be told, I’d forgotten that I hadn’t received it; I’d left that whole process up to the company that I’d sent all my passport paperwork to, and they said they were going to send my India and Sri Lanka visa documents at the same time. But while I did receive the India visa late in February, it turned out I hadn’t actually received anything from them regarding Sri Lanka.

But, I thought to myself, what’s the worst that could happen? I don’t have a visa, therefore, I can’t get off the ship. It’s a nuisance, but it’s not as if I had my heart set on Sri Lanka to begin with. As with Malaysia, they were never on my radar as places that I needed to visit in my lifetime; if I got to see them, fine, but if I never did, it wouldn’t be any great loss, apart from the wasted time spent aboard the ship when we were in port.

But apparently, that’s not how it works. The lady at Guest Services who rang me up informed me that, if I didn’t have a Sri Lankan visa, I would be deported. They would have to escort me off the ship, presumably to a nearby airport – likely the Hambantota airport that doesn’t get much use in the first place – and get me sent back home to the States. The irony is, that would leave me spending more time physically on Sri Lankan soil when I didn’t have the right to be there at all. Couldn’t they just leave me on the ship, where I wouldn’t be bothering them? But no, I suppose they consider me to be on Sri Lankan soil as soon as I’m within the 12-mile limit.

To be sure, I emailed the company that had put together all of my other visas, and they got it to me as soon as they opened up on Monday morning. But it was a rather tense weekend leading up to that, as I kept getting reminders from Guest Services that I literally was incapable of addressing, since I was dealing with a government office, which would therefore not be in operation over the weekend. And, since we’re talking Washington, DC, it wasn’t until Tuesday that I got the visa, since at the time, we were still 14 hours ahead of them. But regardless, everything was sorted out days ago, so I’m clear to disembark without worrying about being frog-marched to the airport; I mean, if I want to check out its semi-abandoned state, I guess I’m free to do so, but why?

So despite everything working out with reasonable efficiency (aside from the fact that I had to prod the visa people to get my documents over to me and to Guest Services), I was kind of miffed about this. I risked getting my trip cut short over this, a place I’d not really been hoping to see in the first place?

In fairness, the buses had repetitions of most of the lower numbers, suggesting that not only were certain ones for specific shore excursions, but there were also some with a different purpose; perhaps these were shuttles into town?

There was only one way to find out; I had to get off the ship – once the authorities had cleared us to come ashore – and look around.

As it happened, those other buses were, in fact, shuttles, but all they did was to take us as far as what looked to be a toll booth (possibly the entry to the ship – I hesitate to say ‘cruise,’ because how many cruise ships would come here? – terminal), undoubtedly with some fee for entrance or exit, which the bus driver apparently did not wish to incur for non-paying customers like us. So, he dropped us off here to walk past the booth and find our own way into town proper.

But there was nothing on the other side of the booth, apart from a T-intersection (with a barbed-wire topped fence on the other side of it – always a good sign you’re in a classy neighborhood), and several dozen three-wheeled taxis.

Now, it’s possible that the town was nearby, within walking distance, even. But since it wasn’t in visible range, I had no idea which way to go. And to be honest, I wouldn’t know where to ask a driver to take me, or what it would cost me (I discovered later that a drive into Ambalantota, a larger town five miles or so to the west, would cost fifty dollars U.S.; I suspect that’s more, mile-for-mile, than I paid any of my drivers in L.A. – and I knew where I was going back then). On the other hand, walking in this ninety-degree sun didn’t appeal to me, either. I decided to head back to the ship, and hope for better luck in Colombo.

So, if you could wish that better luck for me, honey, while you keep an eye on me, I’d appreciate it. After all, I’m going to need it.