Day 13 - Wednesday, August 17th
Having gone to bed after making sure that my PIN number and debit card did once again work and taking a hot shower (my first in days), I wake up in a blissfully air-conditioned room and make my way down to free breakfast on the terrace next to the fish pond. I only have one day in Bangkok before I want to head to Cambodia, so my goals are simple.
1) wash the sweat, dust, damp, and bus out of my clothes
2) sort out my transport to Cambodia
3) change these godforsaken yen coins into something that doesn't weight 5 kilos and that I can actually exchange for goods or services
As I am staying at The Most Wonderful Hostel Ever, the first two goals are easy. They have a bulletin board with all of the transport information (times, prices, maps, scams to avoid) to Cambodia. Sorted. I will take a 48 baht (less than $1.50) train 6 hours to the border, dodge a myriad of scams, and eventually arrive in Siem Reap. Next on to the laundry. This will remain one of my favorite memories of my trip. The washing machines are on the top of the building, a gorgeous terrace of potted plants and lounge chairs. I have it all to myself in the glorious sunshine. The city sprawls below me. I put my laundry in and proceed to sunbathe while updating my blog and gchatting. My clothes finish, and I hang them to dry. I love doing laundry, and this is the most satisfying laundry I have ever done. I leave my clothes to bake dry in the sun and go off in pursuit of Goal #3. Having tried countless money changers, I head to the Japanese Embassy. After sufficiently confusing the guards, they let me in and send me to the passport/visa window. Ohayo gozaimasu.... so I have a strange problem. I explain the two years in Japan, the jar of coins, the cat import airport trauma in Tokyo that caused me to forget to change my coins, everything. They think I am nuts and give me directions to a bank headquarters. Hello... so I have a strange problem... No dice. In a last ditch effort, I turn to my own government hoping for at least a sympathetic ear and maybe even a Well, that is a ridiculous problem, geez, I don't know what to tell you... hang on, I think my friend is going to Japan next week... They will not even let me in the door. I stand in the sun outside MY OWN EMBASSY talking on a crackling phone line over Bangkok traffic. No dice. At least Japan let me stand in the air-conditioning as I explained my predicament. So, I am left with a several kilo jar of coins worth $70 that I cannot use.... anywhere. I see the storm clouds rolling in and remember my laundry. I rush to the elevated train station and hope against hope I can beat the rain to my laundry. Once again, I arrive at my hostel soaked. I rush up to the roof as a lightening storm rages. The Laundry Fairy of The Most Wonderful Hostel In The World has moved my clothes under the covered half of the rooftop. I fold my deliciously clean laundry and go out for more unidentifiably wonderful food with some French people. They are a bit taken aback by my point-and-eat method, but when I end up with the most delicious meal, they declare their conversion. We have a few beers in the hostel, and I spend hours uploading photos to my blog before going to bed. After all, I have a 5:55 am train to Cambodia to catch.
lovely park in Bangkok; US Embassy Wall - it's massive; one of many fun paintings
Day 14 - Thursday, August 18th
Wake up at some ungodly hour and set off in a taxi to the train station. I arrive in just enough time to grab convenience store breakfast and settle myself just behind the "monks" section in the first carriage. Despite the fact that I am the only person on my bench and am facing a completely empty bench, no one sits within 5 feet of me. Entire Thai families opt to squish onto half a bench so as not to sit next to me. I guess Thailand is really not so different from Japan. I doze on an off through the Thai countryside, waking up as we slow into provincial train stations. We arrive in Aranya Prathet around 1:00 pm. I head outside and negotiate a fair price with a friendly female tuk tuk driver. I have done my research on the scams, and though I hope that I have found the one driver with scruples, I remain vigilant.
She stops in front of a storefront in what is essentially, a strip mall. I do not get out. I smile. I want the official border. She says nothing, and an impeccably dressed man comes out whose fastidious fashion is surpassed only my his English skills. Excuse me, this is the official border with the Kingdom of Cambodia. I smile at him. I want the official border. Yes, this is the official border. I smile more. No, I want the official border. Thank you. He waves us off in search of bigger game in the form of a white couple in a tuk tuk pulling in behind us. She takes me to the official border. In the 30 meter walk to the passport window I am approached by at least 5 people all with a different story about visas and all more than willing to help me get it. I smile a lot, shake me head, and do not break stride. I am officially stamped out of Thailand. I am approached by more helpful people only looking out for my best interests. I smile at them all and make my way through no-man's-land to the Cambodian visa office and realize my mistake. I have forgotten to get a crisp $20 for the visa. This is not to say that it is impossible to get a visa with Thai baht. Absolutely not. But it makes it oh-so-much easier for the Cambodian border officials to overcharge you. I go in armed with a smile and the knowledge that $20 is equal to 600 baht. I fill out the form and hand it over along with my passport. 1000 baht please. No, I'm sorry, the sign says $20. $20 is equal to 600 baht. Big smile. No, you must pay a fee. Oh, I know, I must pay $20 dollars for the visa, so I will pay you 600 baht. It's okay, right? Smile. You don't have a passport photo so you must pay 100 baht fee. Ah, I see, okay, so 600 baht plus 100 baht is 700. I can pay 700. That's fine. Smile. We eventually haggle to 800 baht. It should have been 600, but when they've got your passport, you're bargaining power is significantly diminished. Note to travelers: arrive at Cambodian border with $20, a shiny passport photo (though this is only necessary to avoid ridiculous fees, not actually necessary for the visa), and a big smile. Seriously, persistence and a smile will get you (reasonably) successfully through just about any situation in Southeast Asia, particularly anything involving corrupt government or company officials.
So I finally make it into Cambodia having done reasonably well in avoiding scams. But the last one is the hard one. A single bus company, having paid off some key officials, has taken over a monopoly on the transport of foreigners from the border to Siem Reap. They have scared all the independent buses and taxis out of the immediate area, and instead slot everyone straight onto their free shuttle out to their private bus station where the only option is to pay 3 times the real fee for a bus or taxi. I had read a story online about a guy who just walked the extra couple hundred meters to the independent taxis, offered them a reasonable price and told them that they could find three more people, he would sit in the front, and it all worked out beautifully. I attempt to do this, but as I am only one person and the scary monopoly bus men have an eagle eye out, I get nothing. I should just grab the Franco-British family of three nearby, and all go off together. But after 7 hours on the train and scam after scam, I am just too exhausted to either 1) walk the couple kilometers to the public bus station by myself or 2) try to get a taxi sorted out under the watchful eye of The Monopoly. So I get on the free shuttle and do end up sharing a taxi from the private bus station to Siem Reap with the family except that instead of each paying $7 we each pay $12 and were forced to stop at a souvenir snack shop halfway through. The wife, daughter, and I refuse to get out of the car though they keep insisting they need to clean it. We are having none of it. When we finally arrive in Siem Reap, the driver drops the family off at their guesthouse, and I point mine out across the road. Okay, you get out. No, you take me across the road. I am not crossing a highway with my backpack. Take me across the road. NO, you get out. No, take me across the road. We argue for a bit, and though he is getting angry I am absolutely not going to get out on the opposite side of a dusty highway just to make his life a tiny bit easier after I have just paid $12. No, I am not getting out. He grudgingly takes the 10 seconds to get me across the road to my guesthouse and even before we are out of the car starts asking for a tip. Ummmm, no. No, no, absolutely not. He is angry, but I'll be damned if I am tipping someone who wanted to dump me on the side of a road. He drives off, and I go into the guesthouse. Turns out my room is actually on the other side of the road. Fantastic. The guy walks me over to a hut (slats of wood with several inches between them) with 10 beds in it. But for $2 with free breakfast and a mosquito net, it'll do. I dump my bags, take a cold shower, and wonder what on earth possessed me to come to this hideous country. I sort my stuff out and make a plan for tomorrow. Though it would be so easy to stay tucked in a papasan chair with wifi until the end of time, I decide to suck it up and walk downtown. I am harassed endlessly to get a massage, tuk-tuk, moto, dinner, anything. I finally arrive downtown and have a bit of a wander through the night market though the constant salemanship is more than I can deal with so I leave. I get a hot bowl of noodle soup to restore my spirits and then head around the corner to Pub Street for a $.50 beer. It is only tourists, more white people than I have seen I was in the States, and music coming from every direction. I make it halfway through a beer, give in my splitting headache, and start the walk home. I am determined to get a reasonable price for a ride home and eventually haggle my way into quite the deal which turns out to be an even better deal as when I get out and attempt to pay, the driver smiles and says free for you! as he drives off. I grin, possibly for the first time in this never ending day, walk across the street to my shared hut, and fall asleep.
some respect for the monks; goodbye Thailand; hello Cambodia
Day 15 - Friday, August 19th
I get up early and discover clusters of red welts on my left knee and elbow. Thankfully they are not itchy, but I head straight across the street to the restaurant for breakfast because if I'm going to have bedbugs, you can bet I am going to have that free breakfast as well. I arrange for a tuk-tuk driver through the guesthouse and set off for Angkor Wat. It is stunning. Imagining the empire that it must have taken to create that kind of temple in mind-blowing. I take my time wandering the hallways and looking at the countless bas reliefs. I take photos, but they can't even begin to capture the majesty. I meet my driver on the other side and we set off for another temple, and then another, and another. In one forgotten corner of a temple an elderly female monk offers me three lit incense sticks and motions for me to hold them and bow three times. Then she ties a bit of red yarn on my wrist. Despite my weariness of the endless stream of people looking to separate me from my money, I feel nothing happy to leave her a donation for the maintenance of her Buddha. We get to Ta Prom (a.k.a. The Tomb Raider Temple), and about 3 photos in, my camera battery dies. Big time tourist fail. But, I resolve to come back tomorrow by bike and take this chance to really enjoy exploring the ruins without the distraction. The trees are the stars of Ta Prom as they flow over walls and thrust aside massive blocks of stone with complete disregard for the ruins of human civilization. I really want to watch Tomb Raider now.
We finish the day at Angkor Thom, a city that was a massive metropolis when London was a mere village, or so my Lonely Planet tells me. I get back to the guesthouse and meet a group of foreigners, most of them volunteering in a nearby village school, one just traveling. They've known each other for awhile, but we all go out for some pretty great Mexican food and the night carrys on.... and on. We end the night at the top of a skate ramp on the top of a bar as light creeps into the sky. Though it is a good time, I find myself wishing I were sitting on the top of a skate ramp on the top of a bar in the middle of Cambodia with my Ishikawa people. I can see now how spoiled I was to meet so many incredible people all at the same time.
Angkor Wat
Day 16 - Saturday, August 20th
Instead of going home and going to bed, I realize that this is the perfect chance for me to get that coveted Angkor Wat sunrise photo and set off for the guesthouse to get a bicycle. I hop on, realize the seat is broken and ask for a different one. The guy pops the seat off and swaps it with another one. I set off to the gate to buy my ticket. I get all the way there (5 kilometers) only to find out that I am not at the MAIN gate, and that the main gate is the only one that sells tickets. So, 5 kilometers back, 5 kilometers to the main entrance. By this time I have realized that this bicycle seat is ALSO broken, and it is causing me quite severe pain as the center pole and springs attempt to reach through the non-existent seat cushion and fuse with my bones. It is also after sunrise, but there is no turning back now. I get a reasonable early morning picture of Angkor Wat and head off to Ta Prom (Tomb Raider Temple) to start the photo shoot where my camera died yesterday. The Bicycle of Death is causing me such pain that I have to stop every couple kilometers to take a few deep breaths and forge on. Eventually, I just can't make it any further and abandon the BoD by the side of the road and proceed to walk the last couple kilometers to the entrance of Ta Prom.
It is just as spectacular as I remember it yesterday, and I set about taking pictures. About halfway through, I get stuck in the middle of a Korean tour group, and no matter which damp dark doorway I go through, I always come out back in the middle of them. After a night of no sleep and 25+ kilometers on the BoD, it was like some sort of Escherian hell. When I finally manage to escape down a small passageway that led into the reconstruction site, I make a beeline for the gate and begin the long, hot walk back to the BoD. Stubbornly (stupidly?), I refuse to pay a tuk-tuk driver to take me, but I am eventually rewarded when one of them takes pity on me and drives me the last kilometer for free. And so begins the journey back. It is indescribable. I am spurred on by fury that anyone would ever rent this bike to a guest and recite my rant over and over in my head to drown out the pain. An eternity later, I arrive at my guesthouse and go straight to return the bike, get free breakfast, and give someone a piece of my mind. I am nearing tears from the pain. And I am 20 minutes late for free breakfast. At this point I am too exhausted to effectively argue my point and angrily drink the free peace offering coffee before going back to my hut/dormitory and collapsing on a my mattress.
Several hours later I wake up and wish I had put up more of a fight about breakfast and am frustrated that no one seems to even notice that I did not pay for the bicycle out of protest. I shower and head downtown for an afternoon/evening of treating myself. I get 2 foot massages, 1 regular massage, 1 regrettable manicure, and a restorative combination of noodle soup + mango shake. In total I spend $15. I also go to Artisans d'Angkor, a sort of mini artists compound where traditional Cambodian crafts (many of which were nearly killed off by the Khmer Rouge) are produced and sold. I wander around the studios and then into the gift shop. There it is. The Most Beautiful Scarf in the World is sitting on a table in a far corner. I look away. I look at everything else in the shop. Twice. Thrice. I touch the scarf. I look at everything else in the shop, particularly focusing on the small and reasonably priced section. I go back to the scarf. I unfold it. It rustles as I settle it onto my shoulders. I put it back. I walk around the shop. Repeat several more times. I suck it up and buy the scarf. It is raw silk the color of goldenrod with inner threads of scarlet poking through. I walk out of the store with a spring in my step and not a shred of buyer's remorse.
On the recommendation of a friend, I book a boat ticket to Battambang for the next morning and am packed and in bed by midnight.
