Last year after some lengthy research, Sly learned that if he wanted to stay in Chiang Mai past his 30 days visa exemption, and he did, he would have to file a printed-out receipt for a TM30 and take it up to Immi. He understood TM30 was an online system reporting the whereabouts of visitors to Thailand. The TM30 made him feel like an idiot, for not knowing what the TM30 was. When folks like Sly learned of its existence, they saw it as a vaguely threatening bureaucracy that could derail holiday plans.
It fell on the property owners to enter their tenants into the TM30 system, was how the story went. They went onto the TM30 website, registered them there, took a screenshot of the receipt, printed it out, gave it to their tenants to take to immigration. Easy swords. Trouble was, Sly was in a cheap Airbnb, he’d never actually met the landlady. He’d communicated with her through the app, the conversation being yes, yes, thank you, no, yes, smiley face, yay face. Not the language to navigate the TM30. he didn’t expect the landlady to speak English, he was in Thailand, he just figured getting a TM30 would be tricky. Regardless, he set to it and mailed the landlady through the Airbnb app asking for a TM30 form. The reply came back fast the next morning , “ wat TM30?? sorry ( sad face ).
Bless her. He decided a route to cut her out of it. He would book a room for a night at a proper hotel and get them to do the documentation. He turned up to the hotel and there were families swimming in the pool behind palm trees, a bright reception desk. The manager greeted him, he was very clean and well-groomed and he wore a white shirt. He moved around the computer and printer and telephone behind the desk like a bureau-sprite and before he knew it, Sly had the TM30. He didn’t need to stay at the hotel any longer, the pool was crawling with young families, it wasn’t his scene, he strolled back to the Airbnb.
And it worked out. He took the documents to Immi. with a passport photo, cash, etc., he was granted a 30 day extension.
Fast forward to now, when Sly was polishing off his pad Thai at Santitham Breakfast . The tangy of the noodles, the crunch of peanuts swept a wave of energy through. He looked down at his one pair of shoes. He only had one pair of shoes. When you lived out of a suitcase, it seemed burdensome to carry anything extra. He bought canvas sneakers from the market shoe stalls, no more than 500 baht,
Sly walked back to the Hotel he’d booked for one night last year to repeat the TM30 deal. The manager at the hotel recognized him, he was busier this time, the tourists in Chiang Mai had shot up. The pool was there and it had families swimming in it. The manager printed off the documents, had Sly check them for mistakes. His passport number matched, there were no wrong spellings of his name. The manager handed him his room key and wished him a nice stay.
He tucked the TM30 document under his arm and walked out of the hotel. Sly had never much cared for hotels and tourists, preferring Airbnbs in residential neighbourhoods, quieter places.
He went to immigration the next day. He took a Grab car to Central mall early, around 8am, took the steps up to the 2nd floor car park. There were about 30 people in the queue already, it opened at 9am.
A tourist drove a scooter across the empty 2nd floor to drop off his buddy, the policeman blew his whistle, no scooters allowed. His buddy joined the Immi. queue and his buddy pushed his scooter back out the entrance. A group of Chinese tourists were at the front of the queue, every now and then, another one would appear, drift across the car park and join them at the front. There was an Australian lady, friendly, talking really loud to the people next to here in the queue. She was telling them all about her trip so far and what she’d done. At 5 minutes to 9, the immigration officers came out and handed us a carded number, I was number 10. They let all the people from yesterday go in first. long story short I should not have worn my skull tshirt, I should have shaved, the officer declined my application as the TM30 said I had only stayed one night at the hotel and had already checked out, so to speak. Got away with it last time, not this time.
A tall pastry looking man was howling through his phone outside, in Slavic, wailing torment about an immigration difficulty, marching up and down the car park, tall on skinny guy.
Sly moped around his room for a few days after the TM30 incident. It had put him into a mild depression. It had rained that night too and the floors were sticky. His football team had lost on the weekend. Plaque was building up behind his teeth. The rent was reasonable, there was certainly that, but the fridge was old and noisy, the button on the kettle was on the blink, the occasional line of ants marched through, the bathroom sink pipe leaked when the tap was on. the internet was fast, though. He thought he had been clever staying at a nearby hotel for a night but the plan had failed.
