Wonderful Mad Amazing Cambodia
I spent this afternoon sitting on the second floor balcony bar of the Foreign Correspondent's Club of Cambodia, a beautiful, colonial era building the color of varnished bamboo, with high, raftered ceilings and whirring ceiling fans, a U-shaped dark wood bar and a sumptuous view of the confluence of a couple rivers, as well as the flapping of UN flags, the hellicoptor-sounds of street construction below, and the parade of "tuk-tuks", construction trucks, and scooters. Some call it akin to the bar in Casablanca which is astute. A good place to drink iced coffee and pretend I'm a correspondent of some caliber and lose myself, as people find it easy to do here in the tropics, in nothing less than staring off into space.
The bar-restaurant-journalist meeting place opened in 1993 when Phnom Penh, as the country's capital, was solely under the jurisdiction of UN troops, its infrastructure was in terrific disepair from years of decimation inflicted by the Khmer Rouge and the occupation of so many foreign troops inspired an unprecedented surge in the industry of vice, culinary excess, drugs, guns, sex, etc. In short, a far edgier tourism industry came to flower during the 90s, but one, I've heard, decidedly more anarchic than it is today. I like to think the dizzying city I'm entranced with today, a place where bustling colonial streets, meringue-yellow walls stained by the ashes of cooking fires, sit side by side bumpy unpaved dirt roads that are heaped with rubbish, is the product of countless sensibilities as well as untold sufferings. That in truth, there is little commentary to be offered except to say this place is exciting, even if not as exciting as it was ten years ago.
Sitting there today, wasting time, I also forced myself to remember things: the red, dirt roads spiraling out through green barren flattnesses on the outskirts of Siam Reap, the sugar palm huts, the villages on stilts, the monkeys playing on the road on the way to the temple ruins of Angkor, the lack of gas stations obviated by countless peddler huts on the sides of roads where gas is kept handy inside old bottles of Johnny Walker. Yesterday I was greeted by the regular afternoon constitutional of the elephant Samdo, who is the guardian of a famous wat here in Phnom Pehnh. Our last night in Siam Reap we spent inside a former farm house building turned bar-restaurant that, inside was essentially a maze of alternating platforms and Escher-like staircases but the highlight was the live alligator pit below. They were alseep though when I gazed on them.
We've been in Cambodia now for over a week and it is dazzling and captivating and maddening in every sense. We have stayed here longer than planned and would have liked to stay even longer.
Befitting the raucous, complex character of this country, just getting here in the first place proved to be one of the biggest adventures we've had. And it wasn't necessarily the most pleasant either but certainly absurd enough and surreal enough to warrant a few guffaws. In short, we spent 16 hours traveling consistently to make it from the island of Ko Chang, Thailand to the infamous border town of Poipet, Cambodia. One boat, two mini-buses and a rather decrepit minivan taxi were all involved in the venture. Metaphorically it was like we were tansported from some idyllic, San Diego-like beach resort to a lawless Wild West town at high noon where an eerie, humid silence reigned that seemed the very prelude to a shoot-out.
The journey from the mainland of Thailand to the Thai border town of Aranyapra Thet was straightforward enough, if somewhat hot and cramped in the capacity-filled minibus where Finnish, German and French were all being spoken. Once there in the rather unspectacular border town it was like a series of bureaucratic initiations were set in progress that we either had to conquer or else humorously concede defeat. First of all, we had to avert our first scam when a woman told us she could get us a Cambodian visa expedited for a fee. But because we weren't doing the usual package tours that come out of Bangkok and were, in our modest way, trying to make the overland crossing on our own terms, we knew she was ripping us off by at least 3 dollars or so.
Next we had to deal with Poipet, one of the most maligned, dusty, unappealing towns we had heard of in the whole Southeast Asian region. The heat, of course, was appalling, at least by my terms. Our first rite of passage was making it through the market that stood at the crossroads of the two countries. And then there was a walkway, after the painless Thai immigration queue where children tried to shade you with umbrellas for a small fee. Others, it was warned, could rob you in a second. And then, with brave faces on, it was time to deal with the Visa officials at Cambodian immigration. As predicted, they told us the visas would cost ten dollars more than they should. We told them, no, they should be 20 U.S. dollars but they wanted us to pay the inflated rate of 33 U.S. dollars BUT also only in Thai currency. Seeming bored and tired, they insisted the visas cost 1000 Baht and not 20 dollars, that in fact U.S. currency was not accepted by Cambodian immigration.
Somewhere, of course, between the alley of beggar children and the Cambodian immigration, I had lost a thousand Baht (Thai currency) and only discovered it then as they demanded the fee from me. So I walked down to the currency exchange right near where we were dealing with the Cambodian officials only to find another VISA processing center, also OFFICIAL with a giant, clearly-stated sign that read: VISAS: $20.00. I showed Tim, and a rather irate German couple we were with. And thus began a series of incensed arguments with the Visa officials who wouldn't budge. Upon being interrogated about the sign, they only said, or at least our corrupt guide explained for us, "Its an old sign! Needs to be changed."
So we payed the thousand Baht and got our visas within minutes. Next we had to walk past the slew of casinos the town of Poipet is also known for. Finally, we made it to another official office where we had to fill out departure forms. We decided to tell the officer there about the visa guys and he told us that they always trick people and there's nothing to be done. This whole time a rather defensive guide had been with us, the very guide who had led us to the corrupt visa official station and was now arranging us a cab for a rather good fee. We had meanwhile convinced the German couple to split the cab with us, because although a little more expensive than the bus, it was guaranteed to be faster, more air-conditioned, and certainly more comfortable than the tourist buses which would take 12 hours to make it to Siam Reap, the main destination for people crossing into Cambodia at Poipet.
Then we walked into the town of Poipet proper expecting to just jump in the cab and make our way to Siam Reap. The town proper, beyond the casinos and the border crossing stations, was made of dust and piles of mud and broken-down buildings and countless men, with dust masks on, lingering on their scooters and children running around almost naked, begging. But it was also, like I said, eerily silent. At least until we made it into the scarily bureacratic clutches of the infamous Poipet "taxi mafia"!!!!
To be continued. Maybe.
No comments:
Post a Comment