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25 岁的美国人丽莎?居茨科（Lisa Guetzkow）挤在一辆用围巾充当车内门把手的老式俄罗斯吉普车前排座位上，穿越尘土飞扬的边境，从中国前往蒙古国。她要去“跑签证”。如果办得顺利，她就可以在北京再停留三个月，直到她再次穿越中国边境。北 京和其他中国城市对国外年轻人的吸引力如同一战后的巴黎和冷战后的布拉格一样。美元依然强劲，工作机会多，酒吧热闹非凡。25岁的詹姆斯?西弗 （James Schiffer）来自俄勒冈，在中国待了三年，去年返回了美国。他说，在中国教英语不难，如果你有一张白种人的脸，只要你愿意，就能找到工作。  Bob Davis/The Wall Street Journal 丽莎?居茨科（Lisa Guetzkow）在蒙古国边境的一个小镇等待返回中国。 中国的签证专家说，俄罗斯和东欧的模特在边境的麻烦尤其大，因为边防卫兵怀疑她们是妓女。这些模特通常都持有旅游签证，不能承认自己在中国工作，所以很多人都说她们是想回到中国与交往已久的男友团聚。 在亚洲发展的英国男模安迪?帕克（Andy Parker）说，他的一些女同事专门精心打扮，让卫兵感觉她们有著有权有势的中国男友。但一位要求匿名的在北京的波兰模特说，她的经纪公司给出了相反的建议：穿牛仔裤和朴素的上衣，不化妆。她说，要打扮得像个学生。 一个29岁的加利福尼亚人在中国西南地区担任社会学教师，他曾乘坐10小时的巴士前往老挝边境和八个小时的车程前往越南“跑签证”。他说，懒散的老挝人轻而易举就能混过去，但从越南重新进入中国就麻烦了。 他说，有些跑签证的人带着中国旅游指南，如果里面的地图把台湾标注为独立的国家而不是中国的一个省，书就被没收了。他有一次入境时，一名边防卫兵盘问他在哪儿上的大学。他回答说，哈佛。他说那名卫兵要求他回答哈佛的校长是男是女。 这位教师说，当时他猜说是男的，但这名边防卫兵很清楚，德鲁?福斯特（Drew Faust）已经成为哈佛第一任女校长了。他解释说他想的是自己上大学的时候，这才顺利获准回到中国。 有些人为了一劳永逸免去出境跑签证的麻烦而求助签证代理，这些代理声称他们和当地政府有关系，能拿到签证延期或全新签证，费用约为450美元到2,000美元不等。 一个说自己名叫彼得（Peter）的签证代理要求客户和其他外国人入住一间酒店，并把护照和其他文件交给他。然后他带自己的客户去当地一个处理签证事务的警察局，帮他们盖好所需的印章。 在俄勒冈土生土长的西弗在设法获得新签证时是彼得的客户。他说，整个经历让我想到当年在美国和朋友们逃大麻检查时的情景。 电话联系到彼得时，他不愿透露自己的姓，也不愿解释自己的手段。他说，这是我整个生意的核心；怎么能告诉你呢？ 处理签证事务的中国公安部未对“跑签证”的具体问题置评，只是引用了中国的相关规定。 25 岁的美国人居茨科选择去蒙古国跑签证是因为这个国家便宜，而且似乎很浪漫。她放弃了前往边境最便宜的方式，即40美元的通宵巴士，40名乘客睡在潜艇般拥 挤的车厢里，而是选择了55美元的早航班。她的目的地是中国边境城市二连浩特，这个城市的道路两旁装饰着为纪念在附近发现的恐龙化石而雕刻的绿色恐龙雕 像。 边境地区混乱不堪。司机把他们的破车发动起来，用汉语和蒙语大声招揽乘客上车，前往300码（约274米）开外的中国出入境中心，接 着再行驶几英里前往蒙古国出入境中心。旅行博客警告说，有些司机会在两个出入境中心半路停下来，要求外国人支付两倍的钱（通常的收费是50元人民币，合八 美元）才继续往前走，但居茨科顺利抵达了蒙古国出入境中心，她很高兴护照上有了蒙古国的印章。 她原本想在蒙古国的边境城市扎门乌德骑马。但这个破烂不堪的镇子似乎寸草不生──人行道旁的灰尘足有四英寸厚──更别说马了，只有一头口牛在闲逛。她在一棵树枝被蓝色围巾包裹的树前面给自己拍了张照片。 到了该返回二连浩特的时候，她设法说服一个吉普车司机以70元的价格带上她和一个同伴，而不是通常的100元。但在蒙古国的检查站，这个司机改主意了，他又掉头返回扎门乌德。他改口要价180元。 居茨科拒绝了。然后她花了一个小时找愿意以100元载她和同伴的人。立刻就有人传开了，180元就是新标准。 最后，一个女的士司机同意以正常价送他们走，居茨科获得了允许她在中国再待三个月的签证章。她打算下一次跑签证时走高端路线。她计划去韩国，在那儿的一个度假岛停留一段时间。 Expats Dash Out To Renew Papers Lisa Guetzkow, a 25-year-old American, is crossing the dusty border from China to Mongolia crammed into the front seat of an ancient Russian jeep that has a scarf for an inside door handle. She's making a visa run. If it works out, she'll be able to stay another three months in Beijing, until she has to dart across the Chinese border again. Beijing and other Chinese cities are magnets for young expats in the way that Paris was after World War I and Prague was after the Cold War. The dollar is still strong, jobs are plentiful and the bar scene vibrant. 'It's not hard to teach English in China,' says James Schiffer, a 25-year-old Oregonian, who returned home last year after three years in China. 'If you have a white face and a pulse, you can get a job.' Many of the 20-somethings either have tourist or business-meeting visas that are good for a year, but require holders to leave the country every two or three months to be renewed -- a requirement aimed at preventing visitors from settling down and taking jobs without the proper work visa. To get around that, young people make dashes to the border before their visas are set to expire, sometimes spending just enough time to get a foreign stamp in their passport before heading back to China. Russian and Eastern European models have especially tough times on the border, say visa specialists in China, because the guards suspect they may be prostitutes. The models generally have tourist visas and can't admit they are working, so many say they want to get back to China to spend time with long-term boyfriends. Andy Parker, a British male model in Asia, says some of his female colleagues dress to the nines to impress the border guards that they have high-powered and well-connected Chinese boyfriends. But a Polish model in Beijing, who asked that her name not be used, says her agency gives the opposite advice: Dress down in jeans, plain tops and no makeup. 'Look like a student,' she says. One 29-year-old Californian who teaches social studies in southwestern China has taken 10-hour bus rides to the Laotian border and eight-hour trips to Vietnam for visa runs. Laid-back Laos is a snap, he says, but re-entering China from Vietnam can be a hassle. Some visa runners have had their China guidebooks confiscated if the books have maps that mark Taiwan as a separate country rather than a province of China, he says. And during one crossing, a border guard grilled him about what college he attended. 'Harvard,' he answered. Is Harvard's president male or female, he says the guard demanded to know. The teacher says he guessed male but the border guard knew better. Drew Faust had become Harvard's first female president. He explained he was thinking of the years he went to college, an answer that earned him entry back into China. Some try to avoid the hassle of a border run altogether by turning to visa agents who claim they have enough clout with local governments to get visa renewals or fresh visas for fees ranging from about $450 to $2,000. One visa agent, who goes by the name of Peter, requires customers to check into a hotel with other expats and hand over their passports and other paperwork. Later he walks his customers through a local police station that handles visas and gets them the necessary stamps. Mr. Schiffer, the Oregon native, was a customer of Peter's when he sought a new visa. 'Overall the entire experience reminded me of weed runs I would go on with friends back in the States,' he says. Reached by phone, Peter wouldn't give his last name. He also wouldn't explain his techniques. 'That's the whole point of my business,' he said. 'How can I tell you about that?' China's Public Security Bureau, which handles visas, didn't comment on specific questions about visa runs, except to cite Chinese regulations. Ms. Guetzkow, the 25-year-old American, chose Mongolia for her visa run because it was cheap and seemed romantic. She passed up the cheapest way to get to the border -- a $40 overnight bus where 40 passengers sleep in submarine-tight quarters -- in favor of a $55 morning flight. Her destination was Erlian, a Chinese border city, whose main road is decorated with green statues of dinosaurs in honor of dinosaur bones found nearby. The border scene is chaotic. Drivers rev the motors of their beat-up vehicles, shouting in Chinese and Mongol for passengers to board for a 300-yard drive to the Chinese immigration center and then another few miles to the Mongolian equivalent. Travel blogs warn some drivers will stop halfway between the two buildings and extort expats to pay twice the usual 50 yuan fee ($8) to continue, but Ms. Guetzkow made it to the other side with no problem, happy she now had a Mongolian stamp in her passport. She had hoped to ride a horse in the Mongolian city of Zamiin-Uud on the border. But the achingly poor town doesn't appear to have a blade of grass -- the dust next to the sidewalks is four inches thick -- let alone a horse, although a yak wanders by. She settles for a photo of herself in front of a tree whose limbs are wrapped in blue scarves. When it is time for the return trip to Erlian, she manages to convince a jeep driver to take her and a traveling companion for 70 yuan, instead of the usual 100. But at the Mongolian checkpoint, the driver has second thoughts, pulls a U-turn and heads back to Zamiin-Uud. '180 yuan,' he demands. No deal, says Ms. Guetzkow, who then spends an hour looking for someone to take her and her companion for the usual 100. Word had spread instantly that 180 was the new normal. Eventually, a female taxi driver agrees to ferry the pair for the usual price, and Ms. Guetzkow gets the stamp in her visa that entitles her to spend another three months in China. For her next visa run, she's going upscale. She plans to go to South Korea and spend time on a resort island there. |
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