Goodbye, SE Asia
It’s time to leave for India and say goodbye to SE Asia. This trip seemed very different from our last visit to the region, largely because we knew what to expect and what to do. We were a lot lazier (read: more relaxed) this time, due to the fact that we had already seen most of the big attractions.
Bali seemed more or less the same as the last time we were there, though perhaps a little bit quieter. This was to be expected, since the place was bombed about a week after we left the last time. If anything, though, the sellers seem to be less aggressive than before, and much more willing to barter, which worked for me.
Bangkok was a welcome relief after China, even though I’m not so keen on the city. In our second trip, the shopping was an excellent balm for my exhaustion and anger, and regardless of how many taxi drivers tried to rip us off or how many guesthouses were completely inept, it was still easy to get around.
Laos was almost perfect. For years, people have been telling us about how great Laos is, how laid-back and easy it is, and they weren’t lying. I left with a deep fondness for the place, and a burning desire to come back and see more (our excuse for being so lazy—leaving us things to see the next time).
Cambodia seemed really different from the last time we were there. I still hate Phnom Penh: all the streets are numbered in a bizarre fashion, so one block will be Street 156 and the next will be Street 187. It’s confusing as hell, especially since everything looks the same. The one thing we found really different from our last visit was the number of people everywhere. On our honeymoon, it was almost creepy in the city at night because it was so quiet. Not so now. There are zillions of people zipping around on motorbikes all the time, and crossing the street is a terrifying experience. Even in Kampot and Battambang, it seemed as if things were improving (or else it’s just my secret hope). And, as always, the Cambodians more than made up for the hellishness of public transport.
Malaysia, again, was a delight. Going to KL is always great, because our friends take such good care of us. It’s almost like being on a free package tour—our accommodation, food and transport was always arranged, and we got entertaining company to boot! Because we have such a good time in KL, we have a lot of the country left to see, which we will hopefully be able to do when our British friends move there. (We are all about visiting our far-flung friends in exotic places. They always know the best food to order.)
I really love SE Asia, but I’m basically crazy for any kind of travel, so I dont know how much my SE Asian adoration really means. I think this area is growing really quickly and I’m so glad we managed to get in before it really explodes (especially in Cambodia, where we seemed to have missed the massive tourist boom in Siem Reap…ha!). I’ll miss it here.
Allison, I know this bus is killing you
When T and I went to buy our bus tickets, we started at our hotel. $15, the man said. Outrageous, we thought! So we trekked all over Battambang for tickets elsewhere. We went to the Phnom Penh Surya Bus Company, on whose dirty buses we had previously traveled. $13, the woman said. Insanity, we thought! So we went back to the hotel and bought the $15 tickets, under the assumption that for $2 extra per person, the buses must be cleaner and nicer than the ones we had already seen.
Ah, the naivete of youth (or near-youth). We arrived at the bus station and were promptly ushered into the waiting room, which was filled with 3 European woman and a Malaysian man. Dozens of Cambodians stood outside, waiting for buses. We waited for about 45 minutes before a man started screaming “Bangkok! Bangkok!” and waving his arms wildly at us.
We went outside to discover that there was a virtual scrum of people trying to get onto the bus, and we were at the end of the line. So much for arriving 45 minutes early. When we handed our bags to the porter and got on the bus, I almost stroked out. The bus was already full, with plastic stools in the aisles. Oh no, I did not pay $15 to sit my big badonk on a plastic stool to the Thai border. The driver pushed past me and started making the locals move. He put T and the Malaysian man in the very back row, in seats that were meant for 5 people but fit six. He pulled someone out of a seat next to a monk and tried to make me sit there, at which point the monk almost stroked out. Instead, the man sitting across the aisle from the monk was put next to him and I went into his seat. Two people in front of me were pulled from their seats and one German (or Spanish?) girl sat in there, and her friend pushed past the Italian girl who was next in line, told her “They’ll find something for you,” and sat down. And so the poor Italian girl was put onto the step at the back of the bus, in front of T and the Malaysian, sitting on the floor.
Now, I know I am prone to exaggeration, but I kid you not: this was the grimiest, filthiest, nastiest bus I have ever seen and I almost cried when I thought about how we paid $4 extra for it. I didnt want to touch ANYTHING. There was an adorable woman sitting diagonally across from me (who offered to share her seat with the Italian) who kept turning to smile at me. I would smile back, and at one point, she reached over and stroked my leg. Have I mentioned I love Cambodians? If it wasn’t for that woman, I done would have lost my damn mind. At one point, I was longing for the GREYHOUND. That is how low we sank on this bus.
Fortunately, it operated as a local bus in the same way as the others, and it wasn’t too long until the Italian girl took the seat of a departing Cambodian (which was good, because I was going to offer her my seat halfway through and I didn’t much fancy sitting on the crusty, disgusting floor). Halfway through, most of the people on the bus got off, including my friend and the man sitting next to me, and T and the Malaysian were able to move forward into human-sized seats.
After about three hours, we made it to the Thai border at Poipet, which was a relief. Having said that, I should add that while this bus was nasty as, it was not nearly as painful and exhausting and wretched as the bus from Siem Reap to Poipet, along the road from hell in the bus without A/C behind the Frenchman who smelled of ripe Camembert. For seven hours.
We managed to get through Cambodian immigration with little hassle and then went to the Thai side, where it was slower than George Bush trying to solve a math problem. It took FOREVER. This is where I started to get seriously stroppy. Eventually, T reached the desk at the front and went through. I reached the desk and the immigration man looked at my passport and looked at me. Looked at the passport again and looked at me. Held the passport up to me and looked quizzically. Yes, dude. Thats me in the passport. That’s me after a shower, with clean clothes on, with makeup and A/C. This is me after 3 hours on Satan’s Own Buslines, in 90 degree heat, having waited for an hour to get to this desk, sweaty and starving and needing to pee. Give me my damn stamp already.
And then we had to wait some more, on the Thai side, with all the whiteys also wanting to go to Bangkok. For another hour. We were given giant tags that said BANGKOK and told to wear them at all times. The good news was that they had clean bathrooms there. The bad news was that when I went to go to the ATM to get us some money, I had given T my tag, and the man in charge yelled “WHERE IS YOUR TAG?! PUT ON YOUR TAG!!” and were I not so exhausted and crabby, I would have strangled him to death and done a little dance over his dead body.
Then the ATM did not work. This is a recurring theme with our American bank account on this trip, and no matter how any calls I make to the bank, they still manage to screw it up at precisely the time when we need money most. I won’t say anything bad about the bank because my uncle works there, but I will say that Hugo, please find another bank to hire you because I really, really am wanting to blow yours up.
Eventually, T managed to get some money from either his English account or our Aussie bank (this is the beauty of living in so many countries, apparently) and I was fed. T also bought some provisions (Pringles and oranges, who would have guessed?) for the road. And then we got onto the Thai bus. The Thai bus was (and always is, after Cambodia) sheer heaven. It was a double decker! With soft, cushy seats! And people who sell food to you ON the bus! On roads that do not primarily consist of potholes!
We got to Bangkok at about 10pm, having left Battambang at 12.30. As usual, there was a glut of taxi drivers standing around the bus, waiting to overcharge us by double digit percentages. We spoke to two, who said they would not take us using the meter. With the third, he tried to say no and I just walked away. I AM IMMUNE TO YOUR SNEAKY TRICKS, THAI TAXI DRIVER! I am also exhausted and grumpy and just looking for someone to kill, so I have no problem if you want to volunteer! My trick worked, as it so often does, and he agreed to the meter.
When we got to the guesthouse, the taxi fare was 71 baht. The driver had originally tried to charge us 200. That alone pissed me off and I was seething. I just wanted to go to bed and watch some CNN and sleep for many hours. We went into the guesthouse to check in. T had called the guesthouse from Cambodia and was told that he needed to email them his credit card details to book the room, because we were checking in so late. Emailing them the info meant that he needed to find their website, email them, wait for a code in response, and then check in, all of which he did. So imagine our surprise when they had the room booked for THE WRONG NIGHT.
And that is when I lost my mind. T had emailed them the correct night, but apparently that was too confusing, so they booked us in for the next night, and now they were full. This is when I started saying “JESUS CHRIST!” in very loud tones and dropping my bags on the floor very loudly. I did not quite achieve Haley rage, but I was not far off. It was almost 11 at night, we had been traveling for nearly 12 hours, and EVERYONE IS EITHER INCOMPENENT OR TRYING TO ROB US!
Probably terrified of my fury, they managed to book us a room down the road and promised us free breakfast and bag storage the next day. Thus, I crossed them off my list of people to kill. T and I went for a wander to find something to eat, but given that it was 11pm, everything was closed except for the street vendors selling chicken satay. I love me some chicken satay, but I wanted to sit down and try to regain my sanity. We passed a pizza place, but they wouldn’t take cards. Then, just as we were about to pass our hotel again, there was a golden retriever, just sleeping in a driveway. It was like a sign from God. I told T I was going to pat it and he couldn’t stop me (at that point, I doubt he would have tried), so I did and peace returned to my heart. We just went back to the hotel for sandwiches for dinner, and we checked our email and went to bed. And, fortunately, no one died, including myself. But we were close, so close.
This is why I love Cambodia
After arriving in Battambang, we took a walk around town for dinner. Again, since we had been on the bus all day, we had eaten a couple of oranges and some Pringles and water. Trust me, bussing your way around SE Asia is the best diet plan of all. We wandered around before accidentally finding a place recommended by our book, which promised the best shakes in Cambodia. For once, Lonely Planet wasn’t a liar. I had an exquisite banana, mango and orange shake that made me grateful that fruit exists—not to mention blenders.
The next morning, we were walking around looking for a place to have brunch (we only eat about 2 meals a day at best) and a man on a bike pulled up. He started telling us about how he took English classes at his school and would we like to come to speak to his students? Before the Grumpy Distrustful Husband could say no, I shouted, “Yes, of course!” Like my friend Wayan in Bali, this man had a kind face (I know what I said about kind faces, but I wasn’t buying anything from him) and I wasn’t going to let T deny me the chance to meet Cambodian kids in a local village. And so we arranged to meet Naranth again at 3pm to go to his village and meet his kids.
Sure enough, at 3pm he was waiting with his motorbike, so we popped on so he could take us to his village. I sat between Narath and T, and asked him a bunch of questions like the good little journo I am (or should be). Narath started the school a couple of years ago, and had only 20 students. Now there are 320, and he turned over the teaching to 12 former students. He runs the school and makes money during the day by working as a moto driver, and about twice a month he finds tourists who are willing to go to the school and make a small donation to help him keep the school afloat. There are very few tourists in Battambang, he says, and most of them don’t want to come to the school, so he finds it very hard to raise the money to keep it all going.
He brought his to his in-laws house first, where we met his wife, his daughter and his niece and he showed us his business plan for the school. Then he took us to his parents’ house, across the street from the school. His parents run a small store out of the front of their house, and his father is unable to work very much because he was shot during the war (I was unclear whether he was shot by the Khmer Rouge or he was Khmer Rouge) and now he has seizures. His parents spoke no English, but his father had just about the sweetest face I have ever seen. In addition, he had both a Red Sox hat and a Boston hat hanging in the back of his house. You see? I was destined to meet these people.
After a while, we went over to the school. Narath brought us to a classroom and told us to each start on one side of the class and ask each student some questions and to answer theirs. The kids were about 13, and more or less asked the same questions: Hello, how are you? What is your name? Where are you from? What is your job? and so on. T had a really long conversation with one girl in the corner while I covered the rest of the room. Then he was called to help teach the class as I spoke to a bunch of students who were gathered in the window. One boy attempted to teach me Khmer, to no avail, and they were all very friendly and cute. Then it was time for another class, and most of the window kids filed in and we started the process again. This time, the new teacher asked me for help with the lesson, and she asked me to define some words for the kids. Have you ever thought about the definition of the word fleshy? Because that was the easiest one. And I have two masters degrees in English.
After the second lesson, Narath brought us into a couple more classes to say hello, and then he took us back to Battambang on his bike. As usual, the people along the road on the way in and out were waving and shouting hello and I thought that if we died on that bike in some freak accident, I would die happy. In Battambang, we gave him $25 for the school (which covers the rent for one month) and told him we would be in touch. If you are interested in contributing to his program, send me an email and I will let you know how to reach him (or to join his Facebook group).
That night, we went to dinner at a local restaurant, about a block from our hotel. I ordered green curry and it was the best decision I have ever made. I never expected to have the best green curry of my life in Cambodia, but I wasn’t complaining. It was a beautiful, creamy curry unlike so many of the watery curries we were served. I would have licked the bowl, but I suspect that T would have left me there in horror and he had the room key. We went back the next night and T tried the green curry and I had the loc lac, which was not nearly as delicious as the curry, but the shake made up for it. I ordered a mango shake that was quite possibly made by God himself. It was so good, I ordered two. I’m not sure what’s up in Battambang, but they have the best fruit shakes on earth.
On our last day in Battambang, we had a little brunch and went to look for some bus tickets. Our hotel was selling them for $15 to Bangkok, but we thought we’d shop around. With no real success, we decided to get a tuktuk to the bamboo train, which is exactly what it sounds like. The bamboo train is a bamboo platform placed on top of two sets of metal wheels that runs along a train track through the rice fields. It was clearly started for the locals to transport goods between villages but somehow the tourists discovered it, and now its quite a popular attraction for foreigners.
It was a very odd experience, zipping through the rice fields with three locals guiding us. Every time we met up with another train, the guys had to dismember our train and take it off the tracks, so the other train could get past. The ride was lovely, past waterholes full of locals bathing and water buffalo crossing the tracks and farmers out in the fields. We got to the next village, stopped for some water with the locals and a quick tour of the brick kilns next door, and then got back on the train to go back where we started. It was interesting, I suppose, but I felt more conspicuously foreign than I had in a while. On the other hand, it was more unusual than seeing yet another wat.
Guts in a blender
Finally, after spending an extra two nights in Phnom Penh in order to recover from my food poisoning of doom, we decided it was time to go to Kampot. Initially, we had planned to go to Kampot and Sihanoukville and split our time between them, but since my stomach decided to rebel, we cut Sihanoukville from the itinerary. And so, once I was able to both eat and walk for more than 25 paces, we went off to the bus station.
On our honeymoon, we ended up taking a VIP bus to Siem Reap. It appears no such bus exists to Kampot, or else we just didn’t find it. Instead, we ended up on a local bus, which stopped about every 15 minutes to drop people off and pick them up. The road, which is a main road, was bumpy at best, but also paved, for which I was excessively grateful. Still, we were up and down the entire time, making me glad I took some drugs before we left to keep me from spontaneously combusting, and that we eat so little when we travel.
Hands down, the best thing about Cambodia is the people. They are the friendliest, sweetest people I have seen on my travels. This is also true on the roads, when people old and young stop what they are doing to wave at the passing traffic. Given that I soak up this attention like a sponge, I love the bus trips, even if they are bumpy. I suspect that I look a lot like the Joker on these rides, with my huge, demented smile practically plastered to the window as we drive along and I wave to the locals. Luckily, the Cambodians don’t seem to mind (I think they even like me).
Halfway through, the bus stopped so we could buy some provisions, and it was immediately swarmed by kids selling things. I stayed in the bus, but still managed to make friends with some of the kids trying to sell through the window. There were a couple of hilarious little girls who would come to the window and hold up their wares, and when I would smile and say no, they would pout and hold it closer. When I would pout back and shake my head, they would laugh and try to sell to someone else. When that person would say no, they would turn to me and exaggerate the pout, waving their soda or water with a cheeky smile. I would say no again, and they would just laugh. Cambodian kids are The Cutest And Sassiest On Earth, I tell you.
We arrived in Kampot in the late afternoon, having bumped our way off the main road to make a stop in Kep. By this time, I was starving, which I took as a good sign. The only way to reward my recovering stomach was to stuff it full of food, which we did almost immediately. We made our way to a restaurant called Riki Tiki Tavi, where I drank a Bloody Mary and we shared a BLT, an Italian meat wrap and some french fries. Apparently, when my stomach is healed, it becomes quite carnivorous.
Unfortunately, when we awoke the next morning, T was sick. We’re not sure if he overate or if he had a residual buildup of illness, but either way, he felt Bad. Even though he was sick, he was much stronger than I was when I was Dying of Food Poisoning, so we just took it easy and walked around town for a while. We stopped at a cafe where I ate some beautiful chicken amok (a Cambodian specialty with vegetables and coconut and goodness from heaven). We also went to a bookstore, where we exchanged a book we bought in Sydney for three new ones.
Kampot is a quiet city that has the potential to become another Hoi An or Luang Prabang, with dozens of lovely French Colonial buildings left unrestored after the civil war. With a little work, it could be absolutely stunning, but even without restoration, it is a sleepy place to recharge.
After two nights in Kampot, it was time to head to Battambang—this time on a bus with windows so filthy that I couldn’t see out. This was unfortunate because it meant I was unable to stare out the windows at the waving masses, and also because I had time to read the new books. One of my special gifts is the fact that I can read very quickly, which came in very handy in school when I had to slog through Tess of the D’Urbervilles or something, but it is a curse when were traveling because it means I tear through books at an unreasonable rate and then need more. So, on the way to Phnom Penh, I finished our counterfeit copy of A Million Little Pieces, giving me time to start I am Charlotte Simmons. To Ts chagrin, I finished both by the time we got to Battambang, which means I am not allowed any new books for a while because I am just too expensive. Bye bye books, hello CNN.
We had about an hour in Phnom Penh, during which time T was confronted by a seriously skeezy looking Aussie dude who thought T was also Australian. Skeez-o-lish promptly asked T for money, giving him a sob story about how he had been going to the Russian Market when the tuktuk driver stole his bags (unlikely) and how he had just been to the tourist police, but the Aussie Embassy wasn’t open and he just needed money to call Australia so someone could wire him money. Sure, pal. More likely, he was in town to perve all over little boys or girls or take advantage of Cambodia’s loose drug laws (or else I was just projecting junkiedom on him because I just finished the rehab book). While T was talking to the creepy Aussie, a woman came up to me and started begging. I tried to say no, but she kept on stroking my arm and eventually asked for my empty water bottle. When I gave it to her, she gave me a big toothless smile and disappeared.
I knew the ride would be entertaining when the driver stood up at the front of the bus to make an announcement. He did his speech first in Khmer, and then in English. To us, the only whiteys on the bus, he said, “Welcome to the bus to Battambang. We will make one stop on the way and the journey will take four hours. Also, I love you. Happy new year.” Dude, I love you too!
On the way to Battambang, the road improved considerably, though we were still making frequent local stops. After our pit stop halfway through, a little boy who had been sitting in the back moved to the seat in front of us with his mother. He had been passing us in the aisles and smiling through the entire ride, but when he moved, he became my new best friend. We started playing peek-a-boo through the seats, and then he just started popping his head up to grin at me. Eventually, he started raising his eyebrows in a rapid manner which cracked me up so much, he decided to try it out on T. He was about seven years old, and he was absolutely adorable. I think his mother told him to leave us alone after a while, but he would still peek through the crack in his seat to wiggle his eyebrows and then disappear. I wanted to take him home with me. Don’t worry–I didn’t.
We arrived in Battambang just in time to see a completely glorious sunset over the city, full of crimson and lilac and blood-orange. It took no time at all for me to decide I loved Battambang.
Monks don’t shake hands with girls
Our bus to Phnom Penh dropped us off in Backpacker Hell, a place full of white people and bright lights and signs for cheap drinks. I felt sick immediately. Typically, the bus left us in a guesthouse that looked like a prison block, where one drunken (stoned?) customer staggered out and told us he wasn’t sure what the place was like, though he had been there all day. Uh, ok. And so, we grabbed Roger and Nadine and started walking. The guesthouse recommended in our Lonely Planet was full, and the tuktuk driver following us around told us everything in the area was full, but that he could take us to another one from our book. Sold.
We tried another guesthouse, which was also booked, and then ended up at a third two blocks away. They had two rooms available: a giant room with two king beds and a single, and a smaller one upstairs. Roger and Nadine told us to take the giant room (a bargain at $8) and they would go upstairs. Five minutes later they were back, saying their room was next to the kitchen, smelled really bad, and had a bunch of cockroaches flying around. They went down the street to find another place and returned to go to dinner with us at a really nasty Chinese restaurant.
It turned out that those roaches were the best thing that happened to us in Phnom Penh. Our room was damp and also really hot at night, so when we awoke in the morning, we walked down the street to the place the Dutch kids were staying, the Relax Guesthouse, which was shining like a friggin’ beacon.
The Relax was only 7 months old and was gleaming with perfect cleanliness. T and I took a $10 room, which had cable TV and A/C, and only mildly chilly cold water ($12 would have bought cable, A/C and hot water, but were cheap, so get used to it). I was in heaven. The cable had so many channels and the A/C was so cool that we decided to stay there all day, recovering from the hellish bus experience.
Fear not…we did go outside for lunch at the Boddhi Tree, a beautiful little restaurant across the street from Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, where the food actually helps you to forget the horrors of the Khmer Rouge (at least for an hour or so). T had loc lac, and I had gazpacho and a grilled eggplant and brie sandwich, and I thought about eating the plate too, the food was so good. After a few hours in the room watching 30 Rock on TV (I love Star World), we went to a local restaurant for dinner. The owner had two little girls running around helping him, and at the end of the meal, I asked about them. They were his daughters, and they were six and two. I told him they were very cute and he looked at me, exhausted, and shook his head. They cause many headaches, he said. Apparently, raising kids is hard! Who knew?
The second day we were in Phnom Penh, we decided to be a little more industrious and do some of the things we didnt do the last time. We did the Killing Fields, Wat Phnom, Tuol Sleng and the museum on our honeymoon, so we decided to try going to the Royal Palace, which was being renovated last time. On the way, we stopped by the French Cultural Centre for lunch, where I had a blue cheese salad…with real blue cheese! Merci, France!
When we neared the palace, there were a bunch of kids selling a variety of goods. We managed to get past most of them, but then we were cornered by a girl about 11 or 12 with no front teeth, selling water. We gave in and bought some water from her, because she was pretty persistent. When T tried to bargain with her, she would yell, “COME ON!” every time he made an offer. We eventually agreed on a price, and when we paid her, she said, “Good luck to you, every time!” Then she looked at T and said, “Good luck to me too—NO TEETH!” Good God, I love the Cambodians.
The Royal Palace was very nice, and predictably, full of monks (monks are ever-present in SE Asia). At one point, T and I sat in the shade outside one small temple on the complex, where two young monks were sitting on a nearby bench. They waved us over to sit with them, so we did. They spoke pretty good English, and started asking us questions—where did we live, were we married or friends, did we have any kids? Then a third monk approached and shook T’s hand. I was kind of shocked when he extended his hand toward me, because monks aren’t allowed to touch women. I didn’t want to be rude, so I went to shake his hand, and he quickly pulled it back and burst into laughter. He didn’t go to run his hand through his nonexistent hair when he withdrew his hand, but it was along the same lines. Crazy monk, playing tricks on the tourist…
As I talked to the crazy monk, T made conversation with the other two. At least one was Vietnamese, and they were studying in Phnom Penh. Suddenly, one looked at T and said, “I want you keep me write.” Of course, I got all excited and thought this monk wanted to be our pen pal (I have always been a dirty sucker for friends abroad). Wrong. When we looked at him, confused, he rephrased. “I want you keep me, pay for my school for one month.” Hmm. This is what is called an awkward moment. As T and I tried to come up with a polite refusal, the crazy monk cracked up again, clapped his hands and yelled “NO!” to his friend. Crazy monk, you are right. They didn’t seem too offended that we said no (you can’t blame them for trying, after all), and we found a way to politely excuse ourselves. T wondered if it was bad karma to say no to paying for a monk’s education, but that’s his problem. I blessed a monk in Laos, so I’m all good, I think.
The long day is over
We awoke on our second morning on Don Khone, thinking we were at least mildly prepared to get down to Phnom Penh. We knew it was a long day and weren’t even sure how far we could go. We bought tickets from Mr Pan the night before, but were informed we could only go as far as Kratie, so we bought tickets to Kratie.
At breakfast, we met Roger and Nadine, a Dutch couple who was going with us to Cambodia, but were allowed to go to Phnom Penh, for some reason. At breakfast, we also met a very sassy American woman in her mid 60s who was traveling through Laos and Vietnam and Cambodia ALONE. Her husband doesn’t like to travel, so every couple years she takes a trip by herself; she’s been to SE Asia, India, Egypt, Indonesia, China and Israel all by herself. When I heard that, she became my hero in life (I can overlook the fact that she liked Mike Huckabee. Or can I?).
At 8 am, the five of us got onto a longboat (the American woman was going to a waterfall) and cruised back past all the little islands and the seagrass and the water buffalo, to the jetty. We were directed up the hill from the jetty, where about a million other Westerners were standing in a big clump. Suddenly, I got a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. What if Cambodian transport hadn’t improved at all in two years?
My fears were soon confirmed when three minivans pulled up and we piled 9 of us into each van (discounting the driver). We all squished in, and we soon became very closely acquainted with Roger and Nadine. They are almost done with uni, but decided to take a year off to travel the world and figure out what to do with their lives. They’ve done China and SE Asia so far, and are considering India and Nepal.
The bus bumped up and down for about a half hour down a dirt road until we reached Lao immigration. Lao immigration at the Cambodian border is a shack that looks a lot like the ones in Maine, for kids to wait for the bus in the winter. We cleared the Lao side, then walked about 500 meters down the dirt road to an identical shack on the other side of the road for Cambodia. T paid extra for us to go to Phnom Penh (we ended up paying an extra $10, just because Mr Pan was too distracted to get us the right tickets, thus, I have put out a hit on him.) And then we sat. And sat. And sat. For about three hours, we sat in an increasingly large group, just waiting around for no apparent reason.
Just when I was about to expire from dehydration, they decided it was time to go, and three minivans appeared from the other side of the border. They tried to fit everyone for Phnom Penh into one van, which clearly wasn’t happening. So then they just started throwing bags on top of buses and putting people in, regardless of where their bags were.
And so there we were again, T and I crammed into the back seat of a slightly larger minivan with an Englishman and an Aussie who kept falling asleep on T’s shoulder. We drove for an hour to Stung Treng, when we abruptly stopped and were ushered into some cafe and told to eat. Only our bus had arrived, and we were a little concerned about our bags, which were on a different van, but suddenly a Cambodian man came staggering over, carrying them and calling, “WHOSE BAGS IS THIS?” About 10 minutes later, the other two busloads of people crawled up, sweating and looking miserable. It turns out our bus just drove across the bridge, but they were all put onto a boat to cross the river, and then told to walk for about a kilometer with their bags in the blistering sun. For once, we chose right.
After an hour at the cafe, we were put onto two new, bigger buses and told we would go to Phnom Penh. There were some single seats by the window, so I claimed one for me, and the one in front for T. Unfortunately, there was an extra Cambodian driver who spent the entire ride sitting in the aisle between T and Roger and Nadine, so my planning didn’t work so well.
The exciting news was that there was a TV on this bus, so we started watching that movie with Jet Li and Aaliyah until we hit the dirt road at Kratie, when it was abruptly turned off. after the dirt road, the driver put on a whole new movie, and funnily enough, it was a Chinese one T and I saw on our flight to Beijing, about Vietnamese gangs and Hong Kong cops. We stopped for a quick break about an hour into the movie and when we got back into the van, the driver put a whole other movie on—another movie with Jet Li and Jason Statham, which we got to watch all the way through.
Apart from the movies, the most entertaining part of the whole trip was the Aussie from our first bus, who is a world champion sleeper. He somehow managed to fall asleep on the dirt road, which is a feat in and of itself, but he then managed to sleep as his head clunked against the window repeatedly. We would be watching the movie, and then CLUNK, and he would sleep right through. I think he should enter a competition or something, because I was getting a concussion just listening to him.
The least entertaining part of the ride was when we were careening down the road at about 70mph and CLUNK. No, not the Aussie’s head…a dog. T says the driver looked upset (I couldn’t see him), and I certainly was, but we kept on trucking down the road at a rapid pace and didn’t even slow down. I’m hoping the dog was completely fine (unlikely), or that he died on the spot. Poor pup.
Finally, 12 hours after we left Don Khone and 6 after leaving Kratie, we arrived in Phnom Penh. I am sorry to report that transport in Cambodia is not even remotely improved from 2005, and if you don’t believe me, just ask my crippled body.
Changes
A few weeks ago, T and I tried to book our tickets to China, going to Shanghai, Chengdu and Yunnan. Then the airlines decided that it was a brilliant idea to stop offering their airpass, which meant we were without flights.
And so, last week, our friend Ali the Wonder Travel Agent had to scramble to find us new flights, to different destinations. The problem with me is that I have an everchanging plan about where I would like to go. Last week, Beijing was looking a lot better than Yunnan. Now we’re going to be in Beijing for Christmas, then Chengdu, and then in Shanghai with our friends.
Today, T got an email from Tabitha saying they are cancelling our housebuilding trip because of lack of interest. WHAT?! Do they not know how interested I am in this trip? I have enough interest to make up for everyone else; sadly, finances are a different story.
So the good news is that we’re still going to China and Cambodia and will now have more time to spend in Laos. The bad news is that it’s going to cost us at least $4.5 million more, and we could have come up with a different itinerary if we had this news earlier. Like say, last week.
Travel is a constant joy.
Where and why: Cambodia
Next, we go down the Mekong into Cambodia. Like Vietnam, Cambodia was another place T wanted to axe from the list. Mostly because he is a cold, heartless bastard, but also because we went there last time.
Fortunately, I tricked encouraged him into going by tempting him with a housebuilding project that we could do for charity (see link for Tabitha Australia at right). It only seemed fair that we do something he likes, since later on, I’m making him go to Ethiopia for six weeks to play with orphans.
So, for about a week, we’re going to be building a house in Sihanoukville for impoverished Cambodian families. I am excited about this because I love Cambodia. I thought the country was lovely, and the people were just amazing. There is no other word. It was my favorite place on our trip the last time and I am always trying to bully T into going back. In turn, T is excited because he can do nerdy cool engineering-style stuff.
I am not so excited because I fear hard work, and even though I am built like a linebacker, I am not very strong. T is freakishly strong, though he is thinner than my thigh. T is not so excited to go because he is worried that I will be arrested for stealing cute children. I have explained to him that if children jump into my backpack, there is nothing I can do! Cambodian children love me!
No, for real. I won’t take any cute children. Not because they aren’t cute, but because I have seen all those movies of people in SE Asian jails. I don’t like the roaches. Also because if I couldn’t ever go back to Cambodia, I think I would wilt and die.
