Cambodia was a (generally) altogether different experience from Thailand. Decidedly less developed, with also less money but more problems, but as a traveler more enjoyable and enlightening. I will warn you this post is long, yet it’s because Cambodia is one of those places were the chasm between first and third world is on full display—a living lesson of the consequences that a few bad political policies, bad decisions, and bad men (and women) can have on so many. There was (and is) a lot to be learned.
As soon as the window opened for bus tickets to the border, we were on them. The bus ride, being an official, government-run operation, was much smoother than anything else we had experienced in Thailand. With a normal-size luggage compartment and comfortable seats, we were able to get in a much needed snooze on that sunny morning as we headed to the border.
We arrived at the bus stop, which was about 1.5 km away from the actual border crossing station. A woman in a tuk-tuk only charged us an extra 20 BHT to make the last 1.5 km trip, and so we obliged, following behind an Irish couple who had also made the bus ride to the border—the four of us would sort of band together until we made it safely to Siem Reap. Along the way, we saw stalls advertising for “express” visa services, all of which were scams, obviously. In the end, the tuk-tuk ride was worth it because, even when we got to the border station, the line was still about a 45-minute wait. However, soon after, a couple of tour buses unloaded and the line behind us became a few hours wait—walking would have put us behind them. We get through the crossing without incident—we read that visas were $10 plus a $2 “fee” which is exactly what we paid in US dollars. The Cambodian riel is of so little value that most places take US dollars, most prices are in dollars, and the ATMS dispense dollars. Our Irish friends said they thought they got a little jipped by the exchange rate from pounds, but luckily we had no problems. They took our finger prints and we were through. The other side of the border was a bit hectic and so we just decided to jump in line for a bus that was headed to Siem Reap—or at least we thought it was. We were approached by a dude who introduced himself and said he worked for the border station at Poipet and offered to help us because apparently we were in the wrong line. Now, had we done some preparation beforehand and read Lonely Planet, we would have known that most of the transport in Poipet is a huge scam business and that if we had walked 1 km to the actual bus station we could have caught a bus to Siem Reap. However, we didn’t know that at the time and followed the guy to a nearby station where we saw our Irish friends who were waiting for a pre-arranged taxi. Apparently, the driver wasn’t there and wasn’t answering his phone, so the four of us decided to haggle for our own taxi to Siem Reap. The Irish couple already had a hotel booked in the city, so we figured we would follow them there and then find accommodation once we got there. The four of us paid $18 for a 1.5 hour taxi ride and so split between 4 people it was actually pretty cheap.
Now, despite being a “scam,” the Cambodians haven’t quite figured out how to follow through with their nefarious schemes the same way the Thai have. We paid in advance, which is Step 1, and drove to Siem Reap. Before we left, the Irish couple gave the driver the name of their hotel and he said he would take us there. However, once we got to Siem Reap, the guy pulled off to a side street where a tuk-tuk, and I’m sure a business associate of his, was waiting. Step 2. Having been fed up with this kind of behavior we decided to play hardball with the guy, and the four of us refused to get out of the car. The Irish couple was insisting that the guy promised to take us to the hotel and that we were not taking a tuk-tuk. See, the Cambodian guy hadn’t figured out that to finish the scam, or Step 3, you have to remove the luggage—so it sat safely in the trunk and we sat safely in the car and had the upper hand. John eventually had to raise his voice at the guy and say that he was taking us to our promised destination, and eventually the guy caved and drove us there. Luckily, we had no more problems with transport in Cambodia until we did another land crossing into Vietnam 2 weeks later (FYI land border crossings in Southeast Asia are not for the faint of heart or for those pressed for time).
We arrived in the heart of Siem Reap at the Irish couple’s accommodation called Mandalay Inn. They said it had been recommended to them by someone else, so we decided to see if they had any rooms available—luckily they did (and at really cheap prices--$12 per night with aircon!) because the place and the staff turned out to be really nice. We lugged up our bags to our room and took much needed showers and naps after our journey—we hadn’t had either since we left Khao Sok! It was here that I discovered the shoes that I purchased in Hong Kong were missing from the top of my bag. Not a huge loss, I’ll admit, as they were not broken in yet and were giving me blisters. But still, principle of the matter. I’m pretty sure Buddhism, and in fact general human decency, frowns upon stealing—unless, of course, you work on Wall Street, but I digress.
After a much needed shower and nap, we decided to take a walk around and book our tour to Angkor Wat for the next day, which is why anyone comes to Siem Reap. We were able to book our own bicycles for the next day, which we chose instead of a tuk-tuk because a) they were cheaper, b) we could go at our own pace and c) we were pretty weary of trusting other human beings at that point. We had dinner that night at the hotel which was delicious!
The next morning we were up early (as in still dark) because we wanted to get to Angkor Wat before sunrise—as apparently everyone else in Siem Reap did. The morning was actually pleasant, slightly chilly in the breeze of the bikes, but apparently wicked cold for Cambodians. As we biked along in our t-shirts and shorts, we passed a Cambodian guy on his bike wearing one of those puffy winter jackets! We made the short 20 minute ride to the entry of the park and got our tickets, parked our bikes, and made our way into the park right up to the main temple—where there was already a huge crowd of people, cameras out and ready to get that picture. We had to walk around a bit to find a good spot, but were able to snap some pics of the nice sunrise—and indeed it was nice, despite the crowd. As soon as it got light out we noticed that most people were still hanging out in front of the temple, so we decided to venture inside to break away from the crowd and get a head start. This was the best decision we made all day! In the early morning light the temple was beautiful and quiet, and we were able to walk around in relative peace. This also means we got a head start on each of the other major temple sites that we would visit that day, because Angkor Wat is actually a huge area and with our bikes we could get around easily!
The next site was Ta Prohm, which was very Indiana-Jones like in that the temple complex had trees and vines growing over it. Luckily, we also beat the crowd here and were able to spend a nice hour walking around and enjoying the place. By the time we got back to the car park, it was full!
We decided to stop for an early lunch because we were hungry and the area had several restaurants to choose from. Two girls were competing with each other, shoving their menus at us and inviting us to eat at their establishment. We ended up just choosing one and sat down for a nice brunch of banana pancakes and fried rice!
After lunch we headed to Angkor Thom, which is a huge temple complex and quite a climb to the top. Many people climb up here to watch the sunset, but we knew we didn’t want to stay that long. It gave nice views from the top.
We headed back to some of the smaller temples near Angkor, like Bayon, which had huge sculptures of faces and was really cool.
We headed to the next Wat, which was quite tall and allowed you to climb to the top. During the day we had played a game in which we guessed the women who would get turned away because of inappropriate dress. In Angkor Wat and in Cambodia/ Southeast Asia in general, most women dress quite conservatively—especially at holy sites where they cover their knees and shoulders. Well, many tourists decide to ignore this piece of information/cultural sensitivity and don their spaghetti straps and short shorts (and recently have been trying to snap pictures of themselves semi nude . . .) and then are actually surprised when they get turned away from some places. Luckily, I read about all this in advance, which is why I wore a t-shirt and a wrap skirt that I bought at the market the day before to keep me cool in the sun, yet conservative. The next place had two guards at the front whose job it was to turn away people who were not dressed properly. Proper planning—that’s all it takes (as we discovered in Thailand).
To cap off the day we headed back to Angkor Wat to see it in the bright sun and also to climb to the top, which was closed off when we went earlier that morning. We got some nice pictures and enjoyed the ornate carvings of the building before deciding that we were temple-d out and biked back (precariously, as there were A LOT more cars on the road than there had been in the morning) to Mandalay Inn.
The next day was dedicated to relaxing and PLANNING, because lord knows we learned our lesson from Thailand. Planning became a bit more difficult, however, due to the fact that my computer was now an expensive piece of metal until I got back to the US, so we had to share John’s. It was worth the sacrifice on his part, because I was able to make bookings and do research on how to get from one place to another painlessly in Cambodia—with free WiFi. I would just like to point out that the internet situation in developing countries was miles better than most places in Australia and New Zealand. Don’t get me wrong, they both had a lot going for them, but internet wasn’t one of them.
We decided to take a break from our trusty hotel that night for dinner and ventured out into a popular area of town. I did research about a restaurant that had good food and also a free Cambodian dance show. We decided to check it out and got there just in time to get a table as the place was filling up. We ordered a traditional Cambodian dish called “Amok,” which is mince beef, pork, or fish that is mixed with spices and cooked in a banana leaf. It was very tasty and soon we were able to enjoy traditional Cambodian dancing with our meal. The show was actually very fun—they had all different kinds of dancing and costumes—both boys and girls.
The next morning, we put our trust in the hotel to arrange a bus from Siem Reap to the town of Battambang. Many people decide to take a boat ride down the Tonle Sap River all the way to Phnom Penh, but we heard Battambang, which lies to the West so you circumvent around the lake, is a worthy stop on the way, so we planned for one day. Luckily, we had much better luck with the Cambodian buses—as there were a few private companies but they all competed against one another and so were a bit more keen to satisfy their customers! We had booked a hotel in advance in the city, which advertised a free tuk-tuk ride from the bus stop. Sure enough, upon pulling up, there were scores of drivers competing to take the travelers to their desired destinations, with several holding up signs of some of the major hotels in the area, including ours. We found a guy holding a sign for our hotel and he assured us the ride would be free. He helped us with our bags as we made our way to his tuk-tuk, which he called “The Bat Mobile”, and indeed, he had decorated it in a Batman theme.
He took us directly to our hotel and helped us check in. I suspect that this particular guy had developed a strategy for gaining business, especially with Western tourists, as he was 1) associated with a hotel that had decent reviews online 2) approached us after check in with the offer to be our tuk-tuk driver to the tourists sites around the city. He has a map showing the major locations and distances, and was upfront about the cost to visit each one. He had figured out that seeming trustworthy gave you more business and being proactive but not pushy meant people were more likely to want your business. Since we only had a day, we agreed to his offer and planned our route and got a total price and planned to meet up after we had some lunch. We tried the hotel restaurant on the roof, but the woman who was running the restaurant seemed to go out of her way to be unhelpful. There were two people sitting at tables eating, but when we asked if they had a lunch menu, she just stared at us. We were finally able to ask this other girl as she walked by, but upon looking at the jacked-up charges, we decided to look elsewhere. We found a place just down the road with a nice guy, where we ordered fried rice—I got chicken and John got pork. This seems like trivial information, but trust me, it’s very much important. I will just foreshadow that in Cambodia, electricity is a bit of a luxury in a lot of places and so proper refrigeration is not always easy to come by, with most people using a huge chuck of ice inside of a box as their only means. We would learn this later, much to our detriment.
After lunch, our Bat mobile picked us up and took us to our first destination—a temple at the top of a hill, which also contained the more unfortunate sight of a killing cave, used to murder people during the Pol Pot regime. The cave had an opening at the top, where people were usually bashed in the head before pushed into the cave below—and many survived the initial fall only to slowly, painfully die of their injuries. They still had a makeshift ossuary inside, manned by a monk who took donations for a red bracelet, much like the ones you see in Kabala, with the money going to the maintenance of the cave and the remains. John and I each bought one. I wore mine until, months later, after we returned home, it fell off after normal wear and tear reduced it to a precarious thin string. I kept the string.
After the killing cave, we walked over to the temple perched on top of the hill. It was really beautiful, and found ourselves in the company of some young Monks who had come to visit the temple from Battambang. Two of them spoke pretty good English and were keen to practice with us; we were keen to practice back. They talked about their life in Cambodia, and we talked about our lives traveling and in America. Eventually we would get a picture with our spontaneous friends, being careful not to touch them myself as it’s against the Buddhist code to touch women—even to shake hands.
We took the stairs down the hill instead of riding back down, where we passed by some monkeys hanging out in the trees. One of them really liked John.
Maybe a little too much, though. After this picture the monkey decided that his leg looked appetizing and opened its mouth to take a bite—but luckily John escaped before he was able to chow down. Thank goodness—I really didn’t want to have to take him to the hospital for rabies!
Our final stop of the day was the main reason for stopping in Battambang—the semi-famous bamboo train called “norry” by the locals—admittedly a tourist attraction that allows you to travel down a rickety, old train track left by the French through the rice paddies of rural Cambodia. We’d heard that the train had been constantly in the state of almost closing for repairs for many years. The truth is it could use it, but apart from being a tourist attraction, it’s also a lifeline used to shuttle goods and foodstuffs and people to the communities that live along the tracks, the closure of which would surely spell the end for this community and force them to relocate.
It’s highly touted in the Lonely Planet as a great tourist attraction, and I suppose it is, but while some tourists may have had our experience, it seems most tourists don’t really recognize the potential socio-economic situation of the whole thing.
We started off the bamboo train like everyone else—excited about this rustic adventure. We paid our $10 to the Tourist Police man who seemed to be in charge of the area and loaded on to our flat piece of wood on wheels onto the dilapidated tracks. We set off, the sun shining and the wind blowing, as we sped through the countryside.
Our driver took our picture.
Every time we crossed someone coming the other way, we got off, quickly took apart the contraption, let the other cart pass, then put it back together on the track. Their solution to that particular problem was quite ingenious.
Eventually, we reached a small—you couldn’t even call it a village—but a small cluster of dilapidated “houses” along the train tracks a few kilometers away. This was much of the infrastructure of rural Cambodia in general—very few average houses had electricity or running water or even indoor plumbing. Ramshackle huts and houses of decaying wood with hammocks hung underneath where the unemployed lounged during the day was quite the norm. If you were lucky to have a business along one of the dirt roads, you saw people waiting, passing the time, and hoping for a customer.
In the small village, some of the drivers and their families have set up stalls selling drinks, snacks, and various souvenirs. We stopped at the stall of our driver, where we got out and sat down at a nearby table. We ordered two beers at $2 each. The children made us cool grasshopper hair ornaments made from woven grass, the youngest children played naked in the dirt, while the driver cracked a beer and had a smoke while relaxing in a nearby hammock.
We were sitting there nursing our beers when the driver’s nephew approached us. He was young, maybe 10 years old. He asked us a few questions about our time in Cambodia before arriving at his true reason for talking to us and asked us point blank if we had tipped his uncle. We were a bit taken aback, but put in such an awkward position, John reached into his wallet and handed the driver another $2. We didn’t have much money on us, by design, but I suppose from the Cambodian point of view it doesn’t really seem that way. Comparatively, we were rich.
We sat there for another while, accepting the grass-woven jewelry from the young girls (and secretly, guiltily hoping that they didn’t ask for money for those.) Pretty soon we noticed a lot of the tourists heading back, and even though we originally wanted to wait and ride back in the sunset, we decided it would be better to do the same and follow them back. As we put the bamboo platform back on the track, the young nephew approached us again and asked if we would give his uncle a good tip. John politely pointed out that we did give him a tip and we got on the platform to leave. It didn’t end there.
The entire ride back the driver regaled us with a story about how the police that run the bamboo train are corrupt. They keep almost all the money for themselves and pay very little to the drivers who actually do the work.
“But that’s okay”, he said, “Because you are going to give good tip.”
He literally kept repeating this phrase the entire way back to the start. John and I just sat there, in awkward silence, slightly worrying about what would happen at the end of the ride yet waiting anxiously for the end so that we could escape what had turned into an extremely uncomfortable situation—though not a meaningless one, and perhaps one that was important to see.
The truth is that the driver’s story was probably correct, if not a simplified version of what is probably a more complex socio-economic situation. While the communities rely on this train track for their livelihood, it’s also possible that any of the monetary profit that comes from the tourists on the train (who pay significantly more than locals) doesn’t support their livelihood at all, and so hustling foreigners for money is their (unsuccessful) attempt at trying to better their situation, or take advantage of it. I can’t blame them.
Corruption is rife in Cambodia, especially among people in power and people like the police. We read that many policemen in Siem Reap, since they make such little money, moonlight as impromptu tour guides for foreigners who visit Angkor Wat—charging trumped up prices for their services.
Human Rights Watch just released a report about the political situation in Cambodia, especially about Hun Sen, the prime minister of Cambodia, who has been in power for 30 years. A previous military commander in the Khmer Rouge, Sen runs a regime under the guise of democracy, but his practices are not that far removed from those of Pol Pot, using intimidation, coercion, and violence to suppress any political opposition; Unwilling to recognize free and fair elections, refusing the basic human rights to his citizens guaranteed in the Cambodian Constitution, committing illegal land-grabs that leave individuals and communities without any means to earn a living and instead profiting the cronies who are under his thumb.
While I didn’t appreciate the subtle harassment, I didn’t doubt the truth of what the driver said, which is why when we walked away the minute we got back to the starting area, I had an overwhelming sense of guilt—especially as I caught a look at the expression on the drive’s face as we rushed away—one of disappointment and probably disgust. I understood why he would feel and act that way and there was a huge part of me that wanted to help, but the other part of me said, “What could you actually do? If you gave him the money would that make anything better? Would he spend it on clothes or food for his family? Or would he use it to buy beer and cigarettes to help ease the frustration of being unable to support a family while his children continued to play naked in the dirt and his nephew continued to practice hustling foreigners for money?” I was slightly jaded, which, when comparing the experience of his life to mine, I had no right to be. However, I did feel as if I walked into a situation that, because carefully manipulated, was also beyond my control or influence.
We walked back to our tuk-tuk driver, who was hanging out under a rough wooden shelter playing a sort of gambling card game with his friends, while the policemen lounged around and looked on.
I later read other blog posts about people who had negative experiences in the village. Some noted the irony and tragedy of the people who pay the $10 for the experience, record the ride with their $500 camera, but balk at the proposition of giving out an extra few bucks to someone who $10 means exponentially more. However, they mostly lamented the fact that this “authentic” and fun experience was marred by the locals begging for money, trying to take advantage of Westerners. I personally found this attitude to be wholly illustrative of #firstworldproblems and equally as troubling.
In travel, I often found myself confronted with situations that challenged my ethnocentrism and also my sometimes unacknowledged place of privilege. The fact that this privilege was shown starkly on display was an uncomfortable lesson indeed. That is not to say that taking advantage or trying to take advantage of people is an okay way to take a living, but I would never dare judge the other man for his actions.
I didn’t lament the fact that these people tried to hustle us for money; I lamented the fact that they felt they had to.
Our tuk-tuk driver took us back to our hotel without any other instances. I know this probably makes me a huge hypocrite, but we tipped him an extra few dollars on top of the price, mostly because he actually did a very good job and was honest and not pushy. That’s how we justified it, anyway.
That night we ventured to a restaurant that had really good reviews on Trip Advisor that was just a short walk away from our hotel called Nary Kitchen. We were one of the few people to dine but the food was actually delicious, traditional Cambodian fare and at one point the owner came out and talked to us for a while. He was curious to hear about our travels, our experiences in Cambodia and beyond, and to get information from the point of view of a tourist. The restaurant even had a cooking school, which we would have loved to do but didn’t have the time.
We headed back to our accommodation and had just started to fall asleep when it happened. It started with a mild ache in my stomach, over time becoming something more pronounced as the nausea began to rise. Soon, lying down was no longer comfortable and I stumbled to the bathroom to await the inevitable.
Here is my biggest piece of advice when traveling anywhere in Southeast Asia—DON’T EAT THE CHICKEN.
Just don’t—no matter where you are or however sanitary it seems. I had only had that small bout of food poisoning once in Melbourne, but by God this was way worse than that. The entire night was spent with restless periods of trying to sleep, interjected by long intervals of running to the bathroom and succumbing to the assault that was wreaking havoc on my stomach. Needless to say it was a long night.
I woke up the next morning decidedly non-rested and miserable, but we had no time for that. We had to catch a bus to Phnom Penh! Now, as I said the roads in Cambodia are for the most part not paved and the buses are old and generally lack suspension—so you can image my joy of having a 5-hour hot and dusty bus ride along a rocky and dirty road to our destination all the while feeling like death.
Halfway in between cities, we stopped at a Cambodian version of a road-side station where there were some snacks and drinks on offer. Even if I had been hungry, I would have lost my appetite at the sight of roast crickets and insects being scooped into a bag like popcorn, but luckily I wasn’t hungry.
We arrived at the bus station in the center of Phnom Penh where we were able to walk to our next accommodation since it was so close to downtown. The hostel came highly rated and it didn’t disappoint as it became our base in Phnom Penh for the next few days. For a very fair fee the owner was able to organize our visas to Vietnam, where we would be heading after Cambodia (and where you can’t get them at the border). He also had different tours available to the various sites around the city, such as the Choeung Ek killing fields and Tuol Sleng Prison. The first night we walked to the famous night markets, but didn’t find much of anything that we wanted to purchase and for dinner, since I was feeling better after 24 hours, headed to a special restaurant in Phnom Penh called Friends. It was a restaurant established by a local non-profit with the goal of getting Cambodian at-risk teens off the streets and training them, teaching them skills, and giving them work—mainly in hospitality. The restaurant has a great reputation not only for the cause, but also for the food. The prices are closer to Western ones to give the children a fair wage and we were happy to pay for delicious (salmonella-free) food while donating to a worthy organization. Indeed, it was a great meal—I had spaghetti since it was simple for my bruised and battered stomach.
The next day we relaxed a little, doing some more planning for Vietnam, and in the afternoon ventured to the markets and the area around the Waterfront and Royal Palace (which was still closed to visitors due to the mourning period for the death of the previous King not being over yet). The markets were interesting. Snake on a stick, anyone?
That night we headed to a traditional Cambodian barbecue place where you can cook your own meat and vegetables on a super-hot dome-like plate. I originally told John to get just two orders of the beef with vegetables, but he decided to go with the chef’s recommendation of beef and chicken . . . he should have listened to me. I stuck with the beef, while John cooked most of the chicken for himself. It was really good—they had really delicious dipping sauce, but I’m telling you . . . BEWARE OF THE CHICKEN.
By the next morning, of course, John had come down with his own bout of food poisoning. So, with him incapacitated, but myself on the mend, I decided to venture out into Phnom Penh on my own for the day. In the lobby I found a group of three girls from Indonesia who were also staying in the hostel. They too were headed out for a tour of the killing fields and prison and were in the process of negotiating with the tuk-tuk driver. These girls played hardball. I figured it would be safe to go with a group so I offered to join in to bring down the price per person. In the end we got the whole tuk-tuk for like 8 hours for $3 a piece, or $12 total.
The first stop of the day was the Choeung Ek killing fields just outside the center of the city. At the ticket booth you can also purchase an audio guide in English to aid you in your walking tour of the area.
As you follow the path marked with numbers so you know which track to play, the audio guide tells the story of this place with excruciating, heartbreaking detail. You arrive at the first sight, where people were unloaded from trucks, confused, usually having just come from Tuol Sleng prison or being rounded up from their homes, and being told they were being transferred. Their crime? Being a professional, an intellectual, a religious minority, an ethnic minority, wearing glasses, having soft hands, the list goes on. . . Survivors shared their testimonies. They showed you the pits where people were summarily executed and thrown into mass graves—but not through guns shots or anything so quick—they wanted to save the bullets. Instead they used farm tools, clubs, sharpened bamboo sticks, and machetes. Nearby, stood a Chankiri tree, which was used to bash in the heads of babies and young children before they were thrown into the pits and covered with lye to remove the smell. Eventually, even some of the perpetrators would be condemned to the same fate. The exact number who were killed through policy-prescribed genocide, disease, and famine through forced labor on collective farms is estimated between 1.5 and 3 million—we will probably never know the real number.
The horror of it all is incomprehensible. The famous war photographer James Nachtwey expressed a similar sentiment when witnessing the genocide in Rwanda of the 1990s. How one human being can do that to another, how so much hate and fear can manifest in such a violent fashion is just . . beyond understanding. Yet much like his pictures, this memorial was a testimony to the worst of humanity, but also a warning—that these events should’t be forgotten and should never happen again.
It can’t really be put into words, a place like that. My musings and a few pictures could never do it justice. You stand there in front of what is now a grassy and empty pit, knowing that another human being stood where you stood and knowing their fate. It’s like something out of your worst nightmare, but for millions it was their reality.
One of the most disheartening things to listen to, for me, wasn’t just the testimony of the man who had witnessed, and survived, these unspeakable crimes—it was the inaction and, hence, complicity of the international community that allowed them to occur and their support for the Khmer Rouge regime even after they fled following the Vietnamese invasion of Cambodia in 1979. Pol Pot, the mastermind and head of the Khmer Rouge regime, died in exile—having never faced a trial. The other military leaders who are still alive, many of them in their 80s and 90s, are just now having their trial for their war crimes.
It was a heavy day, and Tuol Sleng prison didn’t make it any easier. This was a former school that was turned into a prison where people were tortured, forced to make false confessions, and murdered during the regime. Documentation still exists of the thousands upon thousands of people who came through the prison—the display included photos of men, women, and children. In some of the class rooms stood the rusting iron beds and the implements that were used to torture people while they were tied down. On the wall was an exact picture of the room the way it was discovered when the prison was liberated—including the bodies and the blood.
Just unfathomable.
It was with a heavy heart and mind that we made our way back to the hostel that late afternoon. The driver offered to stop at a shooting range nearby that would allow you to shoot off rocket lunchers and AK-47s (for a price), but needless to say I didn’t quite feel the desire to be shooting off semi-automatic weaponry after a day of such gruesome and soul-crushing violence (nor do I feel such a desire on any normal day, in fact.) Luckily, my travel companions also declined so we headed back to the hostel.
I ate dinner by myself that night, at the waterfront in Phnom Penh while John still recovered in the room. We had another long bus ride the following day to Sihanoukville in Southern Cambodia. I was told it was a good place to get away from the more “touristy” areas of Cambodia, if there is such a thing. The bus ride was decent and it dropped us off at the bus depot just outside of town like we knew it would. I had made a booking at the far end of the beach, away from the busier city center, at some basic bungalows. Luckily the drivers helped us organize a tuk-tuk and we were on our way. The place was called Strawberry Bungalows and it was collection of basic wood shelters, but they had electricity (that would occasionally go out), hot water, private bathrooms, and internet. So, you couldn’t ask for more for the price. There was a decent restaurant on site and they were just about 300 feet from the ocean. We enjoyed a relaxing two days on a beach that was actually clean with nice water and little to no trash that washed up. While relaxing on the beach you could purchase fresh fruit or a foot message from the locals who wandered the beach selling their services. One day I grabbed a foot massage from a girl, much to the chagrin of another girl who had apparently been scouting me for business and hung around after and kept asking me if I wanted another one (I didn’t). We also enjoyed some sailing, some nice sunsets, and the infamous Happy Pizza of Sihanoukville, which came with its own “special” blend of “basil” on top (if you catch my drift.) The pizza was tasty, but we didn’t really get the “happiness” after eating it. It was a short but pleasant stay in Sihanoukville and the next day we were off to our last major destination of Cambodia, the island of Koh Rong.
Koh Rong is touted as what Thailand was 20 years ago before it was ruined by tourists. So, keen to experience this we booked 2 nights on the island. There are a few corners that have bungalows and guest houses, varying by fanciness and price, and we chose one that looked decent but didn’t charge out the wazoo for the experience. It was called Palm Beach Bungalows and it was run by a South African guy and his Cambodian Wife? Girlfriend? Wasn’t sure, but either way they gave pretty good service. We had a snafu trying to get there as apparently the departure boat to the island changed times, but the guy forgot to send John and I the e-mail informing us as such. So, when we arrived at the pick-up place at this hostel in town and no one showed, we began to get worried. We frantically tried to contact the resort, all the while believing that once again we were getting scammed when we contacted one woman and she sent us a tuk-tuk to take us to lunch while we waited, when I was finally able to make contact with the owner, who apologized for having left us out of the e-mail and confirmed the changed departure time. During the ordeal, a random foreign guy came up to me and excused himself only to tell me that I was beautiful—so there’s that?
We finally got on the boat out to the island, which was about a 2 hour trip. The boat makes one trip a day, dropping people off on the island and then brining people back to the mainland. The resort itself was simple, but clean bungalows on a nice stretch of beach. Being a remote island, we only got power from 6 pm to 10 pm and there was no real hot water to speak of, but it was rustic. Rustic enough to have water buffalos on the property that would occasionally step on the water pipes that connect to the bungalows, leave some without running water—we were fortunate to avoid that misfortune of going to bed hot and sweaty.
However, we were treated to the sounds of the feral island dogs barking at night. Apparently the owner was going through a small spat with the locals trying to get rid of them. The bungalows themselves were the old staff housing for the workers who built a multi-million dollar resort on the island about 1 mile off the coast called Song Saa Private Island. Got a cool $1,500 per night you are just itching to burn? You can stay at that resort then. Granted it’s 5-stars and an all-included price, but John and I were happy to stick with out $20/night bungalow.
We arrived on the island late enough on the first day that we didn’t have much time for exploring so we just walked around the property and a bit beyond. It was quiet and undeveloped, which was a nice change. Dinner that night was a beach barbeque offered by the bungalows for a set price, which was actually delicious and filling. They had an open air gazebo-type thing with a bar where people could enjoy their food listening to the sounds of the ocean (and the dogs and water buffalos). We talked with the owner and the barman for a while and they were very nice. It was a cold shower that night, but after all the traveling during the day and the warmth of the evening it was kind of pleasant (though also kind of cold).
The next morning we planned to explore the island with a small group of people. We could follow a path through the middle of the island and ended up on the other side at a great beach. It was an all-day trip, so a group of 6 of us set off on the trail. It was certainly an interesting walk. There was another couple with us and another 2 girls traveling together. The two girls mentioned how they tried to do the walk the day before but saw a creepy guy sitting in the bushes so they turned back. That morning, all we saw were cows, but once we got to the center of the island we could hear music coming from a shack. There is a ring road that goes around the island that currently serves no purpose but was put there by previous developers before protests and the government stopped the development. The fate of the island has been in limbo ever since, with real estate companies wanting to turn the island into the next Phuket while the locals are trying to stop it. Anyways, apparently those creepy guys live in a shack along said road in the middle of the island and pass the time by singing karaoke all day. It was a very amusing sight and we just gave them a little wave as our group walked by. It was indeed only a couple hours walk to the other side and we got there by lunch time, where we were able to grab some food on a beautiful dock. There were some bungalows on that side of the island as well, but I had read in reviews that they were plagued by sand fleas so we decided not to stay there. The beach was also very nice, with the water super clear so we could do some swimming/snorkeling. There wasn’t much to see in the way of coral or animals, but it was nice to cool off from the heat.
We made it back to our resort by late afternoon, in time to relax and enjoy a cool shower once the cold water came on. We decided to partake one again in the beach barbeque because it was so delicious. Earlier in the day we watched a young kid fish for squid using nothing but a simple line and hook—impressive! There was also an Asian couple who had just arrived on the island and were wading in the water collecting sea shells. John saw them grab a type of conch shell and noted that the animal inside was quite dangerous as it had a poisonous barb! They didn’t seem to mind. Nor did they seem to mind eating it! John found them later that night cooking their conch shell on the barbeque. John and the Cambodian woman warned them that eating it would make them sick but they either disagreed, didn’t understand, or didn’t care. John and I enjoyed our poisonous-animal-free dinner and went to bed early (some of the other people departing the next day wanted to stay up and drink and party but that wasn’t our scene.) We caught the boat at 10:00 a.m. the next morning and didn’t see the Asian couple, though. We figured at some point in the day they would end up holed up in their bathroom regretting their decision.
Our last night in Cambodia was at the town called Kampot, about 1.5 hours from the border of Vietnam, which was our next destination. As we have learned, however, land border crossings in South East Asia are never easy and this was no exception. It started when we caught a taxi on the mainland of Sihanoukville to Kampot, arranged by the South African owner of the bungalows. It was a set price of $20, which wasn’t bad considering the distance of about 100 km. Our driver was waiting for us and off we went. As we got into the city of Kampot, I showed our driver on the map where our accommodation was located—a short 3 km down a street along the river. However, once the driver got into the center of town he stopped at a big parking lot where tuk-tuks were waiting. It was Siem Reap all over again and once again we refused to get out of the car until our driver took us where he said he would. He claimed to not understand what we were saying, but I knew better and remained firm. Some of the tuk-tuk drivers came up to our window and offered to take us to our hostels, but I refused them on principle, saying we paid to be taken to our hotel and that’s what would happen. Luckily, I had service and a bit of credit on my cell phone from the snafu of trying to get to Koh Rong, so I was able to call the resort and get in touch with the owner and explained to him the situation. He was really nice and sympathetic and said he would have his wife/girlfriend? call the cab company and tell the driver to take us to the hotel (since we pre-booked, they were able to track which driver and car we had.) Sure enough, about 10 minutes later, the cab driver got a phone call, got back in the cab, and drove us the 5 min! to our destination. I realize it would have been quicker and simpler to just take the tuk-tuk, but at this point I was tired of shady business practices and wanted to make a point. I get that they were trying to help their tuk-tuk driver friends make money and that it’s not an easy gig working a low-wage job in a developing country. I had empathy for the broader reality of the situation. It was like the bamboo train driver. But at some point you can’t allow yourself to be taken advantage of out of pity, and for long-term survival they have got to use better and more honest business practices if they want the kind of cash that tourists can provide. So we got to the hotel, paid the man, and walked away without saying a word. If only that were the end of the adventures :P
We had the evening to relax at the next bungalow-like resort, which had great reviews, and indeed the owner was super nice and they made great food in the kitchen and had wi-fi for us to plan our escape from Cambodia We also met a really nice older couple with whom we talked about our Cambodian adventures. I was a bit dismayed because almost all the companies touted by the hotel all had iffy (or no) reviews online. Ultimately, the owner suggested one of his friend’s companies and assured me they were trustworthy (uh huh) and so I bit the bullet and booked with them for a van ride to the border the next day. It was only a 1.5 hour drive, so I figured what could go wrong? Famous last words.
The next morning we caught our van at 9:00. Well, when we got there we had to pay upfront (though it was only $5) but there was some chaos as to who was going where and in what van (which never bodes well). Finally we were seated in the correct van and headed off to the next town, where we dropped off some passengers and picked up two new ones, so far so good. We got about half way and we stopped again at this small road-side stall and told to exit the van. Uh oh. The driver assured us that another bus would be coming soon to take us to the boarder. So we waited and waited. An hour later it was almost noon and John and I were starting to get antsy because once we crossed the border we had to find another bus to the town of Can Tho, which was another 5 hours away and which was where we were booked to stay that night. I looked at some sort of schedule on the wall on this bus depot and if it was to be believed then the next “bus” wouldn’t come until 1:45, which was just not acceptable. The dude from the company peaced off for a bit and when he came back John and I asked him directly when the next bus would come and he just said “soon, soon” and suggested we have something to eat at the stall . . . yeah, buddy, I know your game. So, we decided to take matters into our own hands. We were 45 min away from the border and there was a huge group of tuk-tuks down the street. I walked down that way and found a driver and haggled out a decent price ($13) to take us to the border then and there, no side trips or stops. He agreed, we told the bus company dude that we were leaving (and he seemed a bit dismayed even though he already had our money) and got our stuff and walked away.
It took about an hour by tuk-tuk to get to the border, and on the way we passed by what seemed like the company van we had abandoned going the other direction. By our estimates, the people who stayed behind would have waited another hour for the van to come, after which it was almost another hour to the border. So by using a tuk-tuk, we beat them by at least an hour and a half to the border. Our driver took us straight to the border as promised, so we gave him $15 instead of $13 for his honesty. There were some moto drivers (people who drive passenger mopeds) waiting and offering to drive us to the Vietnam border control station, which they claimed was 5 km away, but which we knew was a lie because A) I read about the border crossing in Lonely Planet and B) You could literally see the gates for the entry to Vietnam a close 800 meters away. So we walked through the no man’s land to the gates to the border entry for Vietnam and went through a relatively painless process as we had pre-organized our Visas in Phnom Penh. Once we got through, however, we had to find our way to the Ha Tien Bus Depot and the only real way to do that was with the moto drivers. We asked them point blank to take us to the bus station and they agreed for a price of $3 each. The ride was relatively short, but slightly harrowing holding on to both the back of someone while they held on to our bags while we zoomed through the streets. At first, they stopped at a small roadside station claiming it was the bus station, but there was only one company and they claimed they had no direct buses to Can Tho, which was a major station on the Mekong Delta, so we called their bluff and demanded to be taken to the main bus depot, which I had read had several bus companies to choose from. They must have been trying to get a commission because the drivers tried to insist that this was the bus depot and it wasn’t until I burned the last of my credit calling the number for our accommodation that night that they relented. They drove the extra 1 km away to the actual bus station and then had the gall to try and up the price for the ride since they had to take us “further.” We flatly said “no” and that we would pay them the original price as we were very clear from the beginning where we wanted to go. We paid them and walked away into the bus depot. There were a few bus companies operating and we asked about a bus to Can Tho and a few men tried to lure us to a certain window. Our nerves were a bit on edge at this point, after having been on the receiving end of attempted scams and so we were reluctant to believe this guy was any different. It turned into a bit of a discussion because the guy didn’t understand why we didn’t want to buy tickets from him and we explained that we were tired of being tricked. “Everyone just wants to trick us to get more money!” I said. “I’m tired of asking for people to be honest and decent and just getting lies in return. We just want to enjoy Vietnam, that’s all! We are tired of being tricked!”
I assume he knew exactly what I was talking about and understood the culture, so he tried to rectify the situation. He promised us that the bus would go directly to the bus station in Can Tho, and even asked me what I thought was a fair price (as there were none listed on the schedule). I told him what the Lonely Planet guide had said as the fare for the trip ($8 per person) and he agreed and said we wouldn’t have to pay him until we got to Can Tho. I figured this was a good arrangement so we agreed and caught the last 2:45 bus to Can Tho (which we would not have made if we had waited on that stupid van company.) The ride was about 5 hours in a small mini-bus, which was fine except for the fact that it didn’t make any regular rest stops. For a good 2 hours I had to go to the bathroom so badly I was tempted to use an empty bottle on the bus. It was the most uncomfortable 2 hours ever and when we finally stopped 4 hours in at a basic side-of-the-road public restroom, I had never been so happy to see a hole in the ground in my life. We rocked up to the bus station in Can Tho, as promised, around 8 o’clock and paid the driver. The host of our accommodation (homestay) that night was there to greet us. We had made it!
Cambodia still has a lot of problems, and trying to get in and out of the country are the least of which, but it also has a lot going for it. It’s a beautiful country, with a young but resilient population, many of whom are just trying to build a better life for themselves, despite living under the thumb of an incompetent and corrupt bureaucracy. They haven’t had it easy, living under the colonial French rule, then becoming a side-casualty of the Vietnam War, then dominated by a despotic and despicable ruler under Pol Pot, before trying to rebuild and assert their own influence sandwiched between their more dominant and developed neighbors. I left with good feelings toward Cambodia and a very keen sense of the importance of good governance and the disastrous consequences when it’s lacking. We would have a similar experience in Vietnam, which we too enjoyed very much. And so, the more fundamental lesson I was learning was, for all of America’s problems and its criticisms, which it rightly deserves, these experiences still make you feel very lucky for having grown up in such a country where the basic protections of democracy are more thoroughly enjoyed.
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