Atlantica - 01.09.2007, Blaðsíða 28

26 a t l a n t i c a
Confessions of a Drug
smuggler’s Passenger
on the fly
Vietnam feels like utter chaos—but
organized chaos, because people
know what to do within it. Still, the
anarchy can sometimes spin out of
control and take on a bizarre and even
sinister color.
Two years ago I was traveling with
my best friend around Southeast Asia.
The journey had been relatively easy
until we reached a remote town on
the border between Laos and Vietnam.
We had planned to cross into Vietnam
aboard a local bus, but when we
arrived at the station it was difficult to
arrange anything because of this man
who kept interrupting by offering us a
lift in his own private mini-bus.
We were skeptical at first about the
whole arrangement but eventually we
agreed to accept his offer since none
of the scheduled buses appeared to
be leaving until much later in the day.
Six other foreign tourists were also
going along for the ride in the mini-
bus, which was filled to the roof with
rice bags and other things like toilet
seats and cans of Red Bull.
At first we weren’t suspicious of
his cargo; we just assumed that the
driver was using the trip to ship goods
to Vietnam and simultaneously earn
some extra cash from tourists. But just
as we were about to leave, a dodgy-
looking man suddenly appeared and
handed our driver a metal briefcase.
After an hour on the road—during
which more goods were squeezed into
the mini-bus—we reached the border.
The atmosphere at the border control
station was eerie and ominous and the
air was filled with the horrible howls of
trucks loaded with dogs.
Upon returning to the vehicle from
passport control, we saw that our bus
was being inspected by some of the
guards, which made our driver, who
hadn’t been very chatty or friendly thus
far, really agitated. In fact, in a stroke of
panic he took a little girl, the daughter
of an Australian couple traveling with
us, and put her in the front seat on top
of the briefcase. We all looked at each
other and had no idea what was going
on. The guards continued to poke the
rice bags with long sticks, not paying
much attention to the girl.
Suddenly a big commotion broke
out. One of the guards had opened
a bag in the back of the mini-bus,
gently tasted its contents and shouted
something to the others. Our driver took
a hefty wad of cash from the briefcase
and walked off with the higher-ranking
officials. He returned with a grim look
on his face, presumably after handing
over a bribe.
Soon it dawned on us that this trip
had in all likelihood been arranged by
criminals who were smuggling drugs
to Vietnam and using us as a pretext
for the journey across the border.
When an American companion of ours
confessed to us that he had seen a gun
passed to the driver with the briefcase,
we got scared. A few stories were also
exchanged regarding the fate awaiting
tourists in this part of the world who
were caught with drugs. Life in prison.
Executions. We were terrified.
We drove for another half hour
through the forest in the pouring rain
and darkness. All of a sudden our driver
slowed down and asked us to pay
for our trip immediately. In an angry
voice he made all kinds of excuses for
the urgent payment, like he needed
money for gas. The Australian woman
traveling with us told us to refuse to
pay, reckoning that if we handed our
money over immediately he could
charge us again later on or possibly
leave us stranded somewhere.
My friend squeezed my arm and I
could see in her eyes how frightened
she was. I just looked out the window
praying we would escape alive. After
a long debate with the driver, the
Australian woman managed to talk
him out of leaving us there. God only
knows what would have happened to
us if this lady hadn’t been so brave. I
found her guts astonishing, especially
considering we were driving with
a drug dealer who was most likely
armed.
We finally reached our destination
late in the evening and the Australian
woman once again took charge and
negotiated a deal for us at a nice hotel.
Although this little group had just met
that same day we spent the evening
together discussing our nail-biting
journey.
We’ll probably never know for sure
what was in the bags and briefcases
on the mini-bus, let alone what would
have happened if we had paid the
driver when he insisted. We really
didn’t care. We were just glad to be
somewhere safe. a
il
lu
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tr
a
ti
o
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b
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l
il
ja
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What was supposed to be a quiet mini-bus journey across the border between
Laos and Vietnam turned into a late-night ride of horror for student
Melkorka Óskarsdóttir. As told to Sveinn H. Gudmarsson.