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Porcelain Beats of Joya

It's About the Journey

CAMBODIA | Saturday, 9 February 2013 | Views [234]

I had gotten quite used to the ‘usual routine’ in Bangkok; doing nothing. I was enjoying trying different dishes at the cheap market next door to Pat’s home, sipping on Thai Iced Teas at the coffee house, reading books and being a general bum. However, 15 days fly by fast and our visas will soon expire. Michael and I had to leave the country.

We use the opportunity to go to Cambodia, killing two birds with one stone, we’d be able to cross the border and see Angkor Wat.

We arrive at the border town of Aranyapratet close to sundown, we were quite unsure what to do realizing as always that we probably should have done some research. Experience told us to stay away from the swarm of ‘helpful’ guys, while instinct told me that there was safety in numbers so we befriended a couple that was in the same bus we were. The four of us agreed to travel to Siam Reap together.

Pawel and Carolina were from G’dansk, Poland. They were on vacation for five weeks, their second time in Asia and were avid scuba divers. They made me think about the pierogis my roommates mother used to make for us. I got hungry.

We cross the border to Poipet, Cambodia. Applying for the visa was a $20 fee, but because we didn’t bring with us “passport photos,” we had to pay an additional $15. I wanted to punch the immigration officer in the face and call Bullshit. I stay silent of course, letting the moment pass and saying goodbye to my precious $15 that was now surely in their pockets. Oh, corruption, we meet again.

On the other side, it felt quite chaotic. Much like the time I crossed the border from Argentina to Bolivia. The road was layered with dust, hundreds of motorcycles were parked everywhere, there was a mad number of people walking around, sitting around, just there. The sun was setting fast, I saw the other tourists being herded together. The four of us somehow found ourselves following a sign that said “free shuttle to terminal.”

It said, “free.”

Honestly, I was completely lost. I had no clue how to get from the border town to Siam Reap. I only knew that it was about 2 hours away. I assumed there would be buses, I assumed wrong. Pawel’s research had told him that there were indeed, buses. So, we try to find these buses.

A local man came up to us, his hair was shaved short, he wore a buttoned-down shirt, nice pants, and looked ‘business enough’ and charmingly tried to negotiate with us to take a cab. We refused, already knowing never to take the first offer when it comes to rides. He keeps on going, we should trust him he says. He’ll find us good prices, he says. Liar, I think. But relief came when a rusted, open-aired, incredibly pathetic looking bus with a sign that claimed “Free Shuttle” pulled up, and the four of us climbed in. Relief disappeared when shaved local man boarded the bus with us and cheerfully went on and on about the good prices he can get for us.

“We are totally getting screwed tonight,” Michael says to me.

“No doubt,” I say back.

We drive for what seems like 20 minutes, I stare out the window mesmerized by the endless rice fields I saw on both sides. And then I realized, there had been absolutely nothing on both sides of the road for a very long time. Nothing but road and rice fields, and then we pull into what looks like a bus terminal, minus any buses. Wonderful.

The entire place was deserted except for several people behind what looked like ticket counters. Local-shaved-head man was still yammering, pretending as if any of us had been listening to him this whole time. Suffice to say, we did not trust this man. We asked at the ticket counters, there were no more buses for the day, and I wondered whether there were any buses to begin with.

Local-shaved-head man took his cue, told us his friends can take us to Siam Reap.

“Come, follow me.”

“Go fuck yourself.” I thought, but what else did we have to do.

Outside several unmarked cars were parked, they were taxis, available and ready to take us to Siam Reap, for the small price of $60. Ridiculous.

We argue with them. They argue with us. We asked them to lower the price. They refused. They got angry. We got angry. We argue some more. Local-shaved-head man stopped being charming.

What a perfect scam! Take some tourists, drive them to the middle of nowhere and give them no choice but to take the price they’re offered if naive tourists wanted to go anywhere that night. It was incredibly smart, I wanted to shake their hands and congratulate them if I hadn’t been feeling like punching them in their faces.

Ah, but they were dealing with Michael and Joya now. Apparently, our Polish friends were just as crazy as we were and we all agree we’d take our chances with walking x number of kilometers to civilization than be scammed by these fools. So we leave and head for the road. Local-shaved-head man now yelling angrily at us.

Lady luck intervenes. A car drives down the road towards that “terminal,” we hail for it to stop and it does. Pawel speaks to the guy and negotiates $30 for the drive to Siam Reap, half of what local-shaved-head man was charging. We agree on a deal, throw our bags in the trunk and climb in. By this point, local-shaved-head man and the others realize what was happening, comes over and starts yelling at our driver.

“Let’s just go!” We tell our driver urgently. “Drive! Go!”

And we do.

Tags: crossing borders, scams

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