Thailand 22: October 21, 2002

Consular work remains a challenge. Interviewing Thais all morning and working with often confused and angry Americans all afternoon.

All persons wishing to receive a non-immigrant visa need to fill out an application form (the application fee is about to go up to $100 a shot) which asks for some personal information. The application must be filled out in English, which leads to some interesting responses. Best jobs: Air hostage and Underling. Best reason for travel to the U.S.: "to take care of my lover." I continue to use my expanding Thai vocabulary to loosen things up during interviews. My new line is to ask women who will supervise their husbands should the women travel to the U.S.. Yes, it's a laugh riot at window 10 -- except when dealing with peeved AmCits. Last week, I refused a young woman a visa to the U.S. as she didn't have a job, didn't speak English and planned to visit her grandmother (who lived alone and had a full-time job) for 6 months. The proposed visit sounded pretty permanent to me. Anyway, the grandmother's American friend, who came along the interview, had a cow, yelling and screaming for a good 10 minutes. At the end, completely exasperated, she spewed forth the absolute worst epithet she could think of, calling me "just a goddam bureaucrat."

American citizen services lurches from the mundane (notarizations) to the horrifying (reviewing e-mails from a 68 year old pedophile to his sisters and son bragging about his conquests). Today, I made my first call to the family of an American who had just passed away. I gave them the first notice of the death and they broke down on the phone. One of our most important responsibilities is to work with the families of the recently deceased to get their loved ones' and their possessions back to the States. When a person dies in Thailand, we can arrange for the body to be sent home in a coffin or, after cremation, in an urn. When someone is cremated, we take them to the post office to send them home. The other day, I spent 10 minutes pondering how to fill out the customs form in such a situation. Is it "Mr. X"? "ashes"? There's no guide. I settled on "human remains."

Liz and I continue to rocket our way into the firmament of Thai high-society, this time gracing the pages of "Thai Tattler." Some have compared us to the Hilton sisters, except for the fact that we're not sisters and I, in fact, am not a woman. Nevertheless, the press continues to hound us, despite refering to us in the last picture as Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Nightengale. Liz was pleased.

I visted South Korea last week for a work conference (Liz was supposed to go to Vietnam that weekend, but it fell through). Korea is a fascinating place. After a couple of days of meetings, we went on a tour of the DMZ. Its 35 miles from Seoul to the border and for much of that route barbed wire runs along the road periodically interspersed with manned guardtowers and pillboxes. The highways are laced with tank traps and the South Koreans have planted explosives on many of the bridges primed to explode should the North invade -- its like a road system designed by Leggo. At the DMZ, we were given a tour of Pan Mun Jon and the military base and Camp Boniface by a two-star general. As on of the terms of the 1953 armistice, both South Korea and North Korea were allowed to maintain one village in the DMZ. The South Korean village is a real rice farming village with 230 famers attracted by a lack of taxes and exemption from the military service. The North Koreans constructed a huge "village" out of cement and painted on windows and other fake details. It is a completely uninhabited Potemkin village, except for work crews that occasionally raise and lower the 30 meter flag atop a 600 foot flag pole, that the North Koreans erected to overshadow South Korea's 200 foot pole. The North Koreans also have built huge signs with phrases such as "Our General is the Best General" and pump out constant propaganda and martial music from huge speakers all along the border. Similarly, at Pan Mun Jon, the South Koreans recently built an attractive, modern steel and glass building to host proposed future North-South family reunions. Not to be outdone, the North Koreans built a hideous, poured concrete building, a couple of feet taller. Of course, its only about 3 meters deep, large enough to house a few North Korean border guards who scope out all visitors with binoculars. We went into the meeting room, used occasionally for conferences between North Korean and UN military representatives. It straddles the border and once in the building you are permitted to walk over to the North Korean "side." There are microphones in the room that are kept live at all times, allowing both sides to hear anything that happens in that room. The U.S. military base is named after an Army Captain hacked to death by North Korean soldiers when he led a work team into the DMZ to cut down a tree (as permitted under the armistice) that obstructed sight lines. The next day, the U.S. sent in a team to take down the team, backed by infantry, a patrol of B-52s and an aircraft carrier group in a mission referred to as "Operation Paul Bunyan." Periodically, the North Koreans will attempt some sort of provocation, such as kidnapping one of the South Korean villagers, which keeps the U.S. troops on their toes, literally. Soldiers at the most forward positions always sleep with their boots on for a quick response. The unit has built a small par 3 golf hole, that Sports Illustrated recently referred to as the most dangerous golf hole on earth as it is surrounded by live mine fields on three sides.

I enjoyed Seoul. First, it actually has seasons and in October the leaves were changing colors and I could actually wear a long-sleeved shirt comfortably. Unlike Bangkok, it is built on several hills which lends the city some nice perspective, or would if the haze ever cleared up. U.S. diplomats largely live on the grounds of a huge military base in ranch-style houses that look like they would be at home in 1950s Arlington. It takes the "foreign" out of the foreign service, but does provide security and convenience. Seoul has several beautiful palaces which unfortunately are missing much of their art and statuary, which currently reside in private collections throughout Japan as a result of Japan's invasions of the Korean Peninsula in the 17th and 20th centuries. Despite the frequent vocal and sometimes violent protests in front of the U.S. Embassy, the Japanese remain less popular than we do in South Korea. Interestingly, South Korean culture has adopted much of Japanese pop culture, though few South Koreans seem to like the Japanese. Similar to what we face around the world. I encountered two sterotypes of South Korean society, that seemed after a superficial visit, to be valid. First, in walking around Seoul in the evening, you encounter several well-dressed men and women staggering home, held up by friends after visiting the bars. I'm not saying South Korea is a nation of drunks, but you just don't see that in Thailand, or in the U.S. for that matter. Second, my flight back to Bangkok was packed with Korean honeymooners dressed in matching outfits. Not one or two, but a plane full of newlyweds wearing the same clothes. It may be cute in Korea, but my guess is it singles them out as huge rubes, waiting to be taken advantage of, when they arrive in their holiday destination.

Liz and I have been lucky to make many new friends in our tour in Bangkok. One of the primary benfits of the foreign service is meeting people from around the world. Of course, as these friends move in and out of our lives and travel around the globe, sometimes they come into harms way. Last week, we lost a good friend, Annika Linden, who died in the bomb attack in Bali. Annika and her fiance Mark had lived in Bangkok for several years after moving to Asia from the UK. Annika was a successful businesswoman, a great cook, a remarkable and prodigious photographer, and a world-class belcher. Her social planning skills nearly rivalled those of Liz and she always had time for her friends. With her gone, the sun shines a little less brightly.