We’ve all done stupid things from time to time for the dumbest of reasons, right? It was my second week for the second time in Bangkok and I was itching to go somewhere. Thanks to an influx of cash due to a quick photo shoot I had a few options open to me. On the horizon sat Nepal, its sirens call clearly audible but looking at the calendar I knew the time wasn’t right. From a lot closer, however, I could hear another place of unending adventure calling to me, Siem Reap and its nearby Ankor Wat. It took about five minutes of thinking, a bit of scribbling on paper to figure the costs, and ten minutes on the internet researching to arrange everything. Now what, you’re asking yourself, is the stupid thing I did?
Getting to Siem Reap from Bangkok is on the surface pretty simple, buy a bus ticket and get on, right? If you’re smart enough to avoid Khaosan road and its scam buses (expensive tickets, horrible buses, and delays like you wouldn’t believe) it’s clear sailing. If you’re even smarter and decide to get your visa online on the Cambodian government website (at least 3 business days ahead of time to allow for delays in processing) beforehand things are even easier. It’s a simple line, a-b-c, and you’re there.
Well, I decided to disregard all of that and go the independent and relatively unprepared route. I’d heard and read a lot about Poipet, the border crossing between Thailand and Cambodia, and I wanted to wade into it and experience things to the hilt.
How bad could it be you ask yourself? Well, let me tell you.
My eyes came sharply into focus as the alarm from my iPod touch went off beside my head. It had taken months but I had finally changed the tune and ‘Maramba’ was no longer a bane to my existence.
Sitting up in bed I groaned. My head began to ache and my eyes suddenly unfocused. ‘Why oh why did I decide to stay up and watch that movie’ I thought dumbly to myself. Four hours of sleep was nowhere near enough for the ordeal I was about to go through. Around me in the cool dark room comforting sounds of other people sleeping threatened to lure me back into a horizontal position. Then the second alarm I had set for two minutes after the first went off.
It was 5:02am and my train was set to leave at 5:55. Why there are only 3 trains a day from Bangkok’s Hua Lamphong station to Aranyapratet is anyone’s guess but it was either catch the early one or spend a night in the border town, something that every website I had read suggested I not do.
The shower felt good, rousing me from my stupor long enough to check out of the guesthouse, pick up some needed supplies for the trip, and board the train.
Outside it was still dark but around the edges of black it was turning midnight and purple. No one on the train seemed awake and the world had a surreal twist to it. Not quite awake, not asleep. My cheese and ham Danish was washed down with a bit of water and that is the last clear memory I have.
The 6 hours of train passed in the blink of an eye. No matter how hard I tried to stay conscious within minutes I was asleep. People came and went as the train moved between stations. Vendors wandered through the aisle peddling their wares, food, drinks, and the occasional children’s toy. The only relief from the heat was a stiff breeze that pushed its way in the window through the stuffiness. Third class was once again worth every cent I paid for it, 48 baht in this case. A bus from Bangkok to Poipet might have cost me 150 baht but in this case it wasn’t about the money.
The tuk-tuk and taxi drivers were waiting at the station as they always did. I took a deep breath, tossed Alice on my back, and left the sanctuary of the train.
‘And now it begins,’ I said to myself quietly as the first man approached me.
‘You go to border?’ he asked matter of factly. ‘Yes, how much?’ I parried. ‘Sixty baht.’ ’Sixty baht? All the way to border?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Okay. Lead me to your tuk-tuk.’
From my research the ride from Aranyapratet train station to the Poipet crossing cost just that, but bargaining usually started at 100 baht or something. I took my stroke of good luck as a sign of things to come. ‘Lulled into a false sense of security by an ‘honest’ tuk-tuk driver,’ I chuckled to myself, ‘not likely.’
Everything I had ever learned over my years of journeying about scams and the like was running through my head. I trusted him to get me to the border, but that was it. My defenses were set, had been set since I stepped of the train, thanks to the internet and its wealth of knowledge. The stories about Poipet were not pretty and I was ready for anything.
‘Here we are,’ he said pulling up to the side of the road at what looked like about the right place. Before I had even stepped out of the taxi 2 men walked up to me and asked if I had a visa. I looked up at their wolfish smiles and grinned back. ‘One second boys, gotta pay the driver.’ Sixty baht out of my later I turned around and began my ‘wading.’
‘Where is the embassy where I can get my visa?’ I asked hoping for an honest answer. ‘We work for the embassy, let’s go fill out your papers over there,’ he said pointing to a nearby roofed area with chairs and tables. ‘Really, you work for the embassy,’ I asked unsure whether he was being truthful or not.
I mean, how big of a lie was okay in this place? From where I stood there was no big building that I had read about visible so I figured I’d give it a try. After all I could always say ‘no’ and walk away.
‘Will this cost me money’ I checked as I settled into the seat. ‘No, no, but the visa is 1200 baht ($40),’ he assured me. ‘You mean the visa is $20 (600 baht),’ I corrected him. Silence.
I shrugged and began to write my information into the visa form. I knew the price and wasn’t going to pay a cent extra. Besides, the forms he handed me seemed legitimate and it would be a good idea to get them filled out beforehand. There had been a service similar to this in front of the Thai embassy in Laos and so for the time being I went with it.
Then I finished the paperwork. ‘So, where do I get my visa?’ I asked standing up. ‘Give me the forms, your passport, and 1200 baht and we will get the visa,’ he said reaching for my stuff. I pulled back, ‘you mean $20.’ ‘No, the visa is 1200 baht,’ he insisted getting impatient. ‘No, $20. You are a fake travel service, screw you,’ I said turning to walk away. ‘Then give me a little money, 200 baht, for the paper,’ he began to beg. I turned around, ‘no.’ ‘Then give me the paper back!’ he insisted. ‘No,’ I said turning and walking away for good. The rest of what he said was lost in the wind…
‘Embassy worker my arse,’ I laughed. This experience was shaping up to be just like they had described on the internet.
I smiled at a man standing next to a motorcycle, ‘could you show me where the crossing is please.’ ‘Sure, no problem,’ he said with a grin getting up. ‘Man these scams are a pain in the ass, 1200 baht for a visa, hah! It’s $20 and nothing more,’ I joked with him. ‘Well, it actually is 1200 baht,’ the man said with a serious face as we approached a cluster of buildings.
‘Is the embassy over here?’ I asked cautiously. ‘You can get your visa over there,’ the man said deflecting my question and pointing to yet another makeshift roof with tables and chairs set up underneath it. I looked him straight in the eye, ‘nope, that’s not where I get a visa.’
The blatant and bald-faced lies were starting to get underneath my skin.
I strode away from the tout and up to a group of German men standing in front of a food stand. ‘Do you know where the crossing is?’ I was starting to feel like the ugly duckling. ‘No, I am sorry we don’t,’ they said with a shrug.
I shook my head and turned towards the people working behind the coffee shop counter. ‘Do you know where the border is?’ The looked at each other, ‘no, I’m sorry we don’t.’ Another blatant lie. It wasn’t that they didn’t understand my question it was more like they didn’t want to piss off the touts wandering about.
Another Thai man approached me, ‘do you have your visa yet?’ I looked at him, from head to foot and back to head again. ‘Let me guess, you can get me a Cambodian visa for 1200 baht.’ The mans face broke into a smile as he started to say ‘yes’ but before the words were fully formed I stalked by him.
Twenty minutes at the border and I was still lost. After all the lying (I haven’t mentioned the other half dozen guys who walked up to me or tried to direct me somewhere) my patience was at an end.
Ignoring everyone who tried to talk to me I walked up to the closest man wearing a gun. Yes, carrying a gun. He was standing underneath a large umbrella supposedly directing traffic but seemed more intent on staring into space. Now most people would avoid authority figures in a country known for its corruptness but I didn’t care anymore. Besides, I was pretty sure even though they got a cut of the action if someone asked them directly they’d be honest.
He pointed to another man with a gun under another umbrella across the road. The next armed man looked at me with a smile as I asked as cheerfully as I could, ‘where is the border crossing please?’ He pointed down the road and tipped his hat to me.
From where I stood the Thai embassy for emigration was only a stones throw away. I had been led left and right, back and forth, when all I had to do was follow the road that I was originally dropped off at. I shook my head at the whole situation. Then a smile crept on to my own face, just a little farther.
The building was air conditioned and the lines were short. I stepped behind someone standing in the ‘foreign’ passports queue and waited my turn. Thoughts of how something like what I had just gone through could be tolerated, especially at such an important border crossing from Thailand to Cambodia for Siem Reap (Ankor Wat UNESCO site) roiling in my head.
A glance at my passport, some typing, a stamp, and I was through walking in legal limbo between the two countries. My ‘danger sense’ was still tingling. ‘Now for the Cambodia side,’ I said to no one in particular.
A rail thin Cambodian slide up beside me, ‘do you have your visa yet?’ I stopped, looked him over, and replied ‘not yet but where can I get it.’ ‘Just follow me please, I work for the embassy,’ he said guiding me forward. ‘Right….’
‘Could you please fill out the information medical information for immigration…’ he said pointing to a small tent set up next to the road. Inside sat a few other foreigners busily filling out paperwork. I came to a full stop.
‘Does this cost money?’ I asked shortly smelling a rat. ‘No, no, but you have to fill it out before entering Cambodia,’ he replied eying me. ‘I’m sorry if I sound rude but right now I don’t trust anyone…’ I said while allowing him to guide me to the table where a person looking like a doctor sat. Smiling broadly, ‘Oh, don’t worry, this is the Cambodian side not Thailand, and we are honest here.’ ‘Right…’
I was going to ask him about the 100 baht ‘stamp fee’ I was about to be charged, read: bribe money for the lazy cops sitting around the Cambodian embassy, but I figured it would be better to keep my mouth shut. I was a ‘stranger in a strange land’ and standing out was probably not the best of ideas.
Twenty minutes later I was officially in Cambodia and in tow was a German couple I had picked up while going through the immigration process. You see, there are 2 ways to get to Siem Reap these days. One way is a hot and stuffy bus which costs about $10, takes around 3 hours, and leaves when it is full (even though they say departure time is 1pm you could be waiting for much longer). The other way, while more expensive, is the best; hire a taxi. Get a group of three or four people together and ‘bargain’ for a ride. Thus the German couple, who were also really nice people with the same idea in mind.
I say ‘bargain’ because the rates are pretty much fixed. A couple of years ago a bright man organized a cartel, nominally for the safety of tourists, but mainly to fix the prices and pull in more cash. You can get a taxi for about $40 – $45 (they use dollars in Cambodia). So split that 3 or 4 ways and it comes out to a reasonable price. Reasonable being a relative term since it only cost about $3 to get the 5 hours from Bangkok to Poipet.
What irritated me is that just before we three took off in our taxi they switched us into another car, saying it was newer and better, in order to add a fourth to our party. Instead of having the collective bargaining power of four they had cheated all of us of money, in particular the guy who sat in the front and most likely paid the straight flat price of $25. After the ordeal I had just gone through I let it slide. Three or four dollars one way or another wasn’t going to break my bank but I wasn’t going to let it happen again.
I sat back in my seat letting the air conditioning wash over me in gentle waves. ‘God, what a hell Poipet is,’ I said staring out the window at the quickly passing countryside. Sounds of agreement from my carmates answered my statement. ‘But it was worth it,’ I thought to myself. I had beaten one of the most horrendous tourist crossings in Southeast Asia and come out relatively unscathed. For no other reason then to experience it I had subjected myself to unnecessary torture. Maybe next time I would be smarter. Maybe…
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