A Barrage of Questions - Chicago, IL - July 24, 2013

I'm home safely in the United States, but it wasn't easy, and for awhile, I wasn't sure if immigration wanted to let me return.

I knew the flights, themselves, wouldn't be a picnic. The actual flying time was 25 hours, but with layovers, I was on the road more than 30. That's the price one pays for a 10,000 mile journey, so I'm not complaining.

While flying home, I anticipated a lengthy encounter with immigration and that's exactly what I got. It makes sense. After all, I was gone almost two months wandering around Southeast Asia, an area known for drug production.

My first glimpse of what was in store for me back in America started in Hanoi, when the airline wanted to know how long I'd stay in Bangkok and to prove I had a return ticket. When I left Bangkok, the woman at the check-in desk frowned as she looked at my passport. She then asked me to write out my home address, which I assume was meant to test me because I think she had the information on her monitor.

The real fun occurred in Chicago. The airport has a new computer system designed to speed up the immigration process. A passenger scans his passport and, if everything checks out, moves into an expedited line. When I scanned my passport and printed my receipt, a large "x" covered my picture. I knew then there would be no speedy line for me.

The clerk in passport control asked me a host of questions. She seemed particularly intrigued by why I had spent so much time in Southeast Asia and covered so much ground.

After finishing the friendly interrogation, I moved over to customs. Normally, I'm waved through without any questions or even a glance at my backpack. Not this time.

I was sent alone to an area with a table and an interrogator. He was excellent. Had I been hiding something I'm sure he would have tripped me up. He would have made Perry Mason proud.

The gentleman seemed to purposely want to be confrontational and rattle me because he asked a series of rapid-fire questions in an annoyed manner like he didn't believe a word I was saying and couldn't stand to be in my presence - "What's your job?" ... "What do you teach?" ... "What's the name of your school?" ... "Why did you travel for so long with just a backpack? You've got to have more luggage." ... "Why would you want to go to Southeast Asia?" ... "What did you think of Vietnam?"

Of course, he asked me multiple times if I was carrying drugs. At one point, I said I didn't use drugs, to which he replied, "That doesn't mean you aren't transporting them."

Throughout the interview, he asked questions more than once in a different way. At one point, he studied my passport and asked me where I had obtained my Vietnamese visa. The information was printed on the visa, but I think he wanted to see if I could recall the information.

"So you paid $100 for the visa?" he asked in an offhand manner, to which I replied, "No, I paid $60." I'm sure he knew how much I paid but, again, wanted to rattle me.

Then, he asked me to tell him some places I'd visited in Thailand. I listed several and said I then crossed over into Laos.

He cut me off. "You took that two-day party boat." Actually, I did take a two-day boat down the Mekong River to Luang Prabang, but I disagreed with his characterization of the ride.

"It wasn't a party boat," I said. "It was much too hot to be drinking on the river."

That annoyed him a little bit. "Plenty of young people get loaded," he said. I wasn't going to argue because he held my fate in his hands.

After what seemed like 20 minutes of questions, he opened my pack. I expected him to methodically check everything, but he just pulled out a couple of items and entered some information into a computer. I guess the real test was the interview.

Even though the experience was a bit intimidating, I wasn't at all annoyed. Had the situation been reversed, I might have done the same thing with a backpacker who spent almost two months in Southeast Asia.

I cleared customs, but I wasn't done yet with the intense scrutiny. Next, I had to go through the check point to take my remaining flight from Chicago to Atlanta. The agent scanned my bag. Afterward, another agent walked up and, in a very polite manner, asked if the bag belonged to me.

I said yes. "Something doesn't look right," he said.

The agent examined my pack and pulled out several items, including four masks I'd bought. "We'd like to rescan your bag and scan the masks separately."

Again, I wasn't at all offended and thanked him for his vigilance. "Most people complain," he said. "It's nice to get a compliment." I'm all for anything that makes flying safer.

The rescan seemed to satisfy their concerns, but the agent performed one final test. He swabbed two of my masks with some kind of strip and ran the strips through a machine. I'm not sure if he was checking for bomb residue or drug residue, but I passed the test.

There's nothing I'd rather do than travel, but I must admit I get a thrill out of the return trip, knowing that I'll be arriving in a familiar place where I understand the culture, the legal system, and can call someone if I have a problem.

The flight landed late in Atlanta at almost 1 a.m., but my Uncle Ben and Aunt Cinda were waiting outside the terminal with smiles on their faces. Aside from the familial connection, they are two of my favorite people in the world because they are extremely interesting, generous, and great hosts.

When I finally dropped my exhausted body into the back seat, Cinda handed me a goodie bag with water and snacks. She'd thought of everything. For the first time in nearly two months, I could completely let my guard down and allow someone else to take over.

Now, I'm back in Dalton and my trip has officially ended. It was a great summer. There were lots of high points and only one low - my getting sick toward the end of my time in Cambodia. At one point as my fever continued to rise, I seriously considered skipping Vietnam and heading back to Bangkok for treatment. Fortunately, it didn't come to that because I thoroughly enjoyed my two plus weeks in Vietnam.

People have already asked me what was my favorite country. I'd have to put Cambodia and Vietnam on about the same level. The people in Cambodia are some of the friendliest, most welcoming I've ever met, especially considering the hardships they've endured over the last 60 years, but the Vietnamese are also quite friendly, and it's hard to beat the food and scenery.

Even though I've got to head back to work, I hope that my blog might inspire someone to check out a foreign locale. I promise you won't be disappointed. As I often tell people, if a traveler encounters good things, like witnessing the sunrise at Angkor Wat, or hardships, like losing a passport for several hours, it still provides some entertaining stories.

Thanks for all of your e-mails and good wishes during my almost two-month journey. A few kind words go a long way when a traveler is thousands of miles from home.

It's nice to be back.

Tense Moments in Bangkok - July 22, 2013

Everything had gone so smoothly on my trip, until yesterday.

Earlier in the day, I had a bad omen with my passport. When checking in for my flight from Hanoi to Bangkok, something about my passport bothered the clerk, so much so that she called over a supervisor.

Afterward, the clerk asked me how long I planned to spend in Thailand and then wanted to see proof I had purchased a return flight to America. Hmm.....When I showed her my flight confirmation, she was satisfied and printed my boarding pass.

The one hour, twenty minute flight was great. If you ever have a chance to take Qatar, do it. The plane was spacious, the attendants well trained and professional, and even though it was such a short flight, we still got fed.

Immigration in Bangkok was a breeze and soon I was checking into a hotel. As in my countries, the receptionist asked to make a copy of my passport. I set it on the counter. While she was filling out some paper work, an American man and his wife walked up and began talking to me. A few minutes later they left for dinner.

After paying for the room, I asked for my passport back. The woman said, "You never gave it to me."Fear welled up inside me.

Most of the year my passport sits in a drawer collecting dust, but when I'm abroad, it's my most important possession. No passport meant no flight home.

The receptionist said she felt the American accidentally picked it up because, at the time, he was also checking in and put his valuables in a safety deposit box. She just didn't seem overly concerned, which made me angrier and angrier. "Something like a passport disappearing off the counter can't happen," I said.

She did a cursory search around the desk and said she was sorry, which set me off even more, especially since she insinuated it was my fault for talking to the American, even though I had set the passport on her desk, trusting I'd get it back.

For about an hour, I sat and waited for the American to return from dinner. Visions of spending days filing police reports and begging the American embassy to issue me a temporary passport filled my head.
While enduring the tense hour, a man walked up to me, who said he travels to Bangkok often. He wished me luck, but he said scams are common in the city and that my passport was probably gone.

That didn't help, and it infuriated me off even more that the attendant still didn't seem overly concerned. I had to take a walk.

When I returned, she held up my passport, saying the American had accidentally put it into the safety deposit box, not realizing his mistake. I felt like jumping for joy. This morning, I ran into him, and he said, actually, she had put the passports into the box.

I apologized to the clerk for getting upset, and she finally acknowledged she had made a mistake not immediately securing my passport.

I'm always so careful with my passport. I learned a valuable lesson that I never should let my guard down with such an important document, even if the hotel clerk is three feet away.

With the relief of getting my passport returned, my spirits were high, meaning I had a terrific final night. Central Bangkok reminds me a lot of Times Square back in the 1980s - bright lights, excitement, great food, people from all over the world, and a lot of seedy characters and illicit activities. Let me put it to you this way. Today, two different prostitutes at 7 a.m. were already pestering me to pay for their services.

Tonight, around 3 a.m., I begin my flight home. I'll let you know when I return to America. As always, I'll be in touch, but it might be a couple of days because of the jet lag.