Cunning Cambodians and Ridiculous Roads

• Djchurch's Profile
• About this blog
• Entry from Poipet

Trip Start Jul 25, 2006 Previous
Entry Trip End Ongoing Next
Entry

  Poipet, Cambodia
Tuesday, July 29, 2008

An early morning start (something we truly suck at), managed to get us to the bus station in time to head for the border. A couple of tickets, an ice coffee, and we were off. After an uneventful few hours, we arrived at the border. The bus dropped us off, and we were besieged by tuk-tuk drivers who wanted to take us the last kilometre or two to the border. The scams and gouging by tuk tuk/rickshaw/jumbo drivers are well known the world over. Suffice to say, with few exceptions, any price quoted to you from a tuk tuk driver tends to be a randomly picked number based on your appearance, your nationality, and how many generations of children's university education the tuk tuk driver hopes to pay for with your fare.

After negotiating a slightly less outrageous price, we set off towards the border. About the half way mark, there is a Cambodian embassy about a kilometre from the actual border. Apparently a common scam is that tuk-tuk drivers take unsuspecting travellers there, telling them they must get their visa here before continuing to the border. The truth is that you can get a visa on arrival for $20 (or you are supposed to, more to follow) while this embassy charges around $35-40 to issue one and gives a commission to the tuk-tuk driver for diverting you there. I was aware of this scam, and tried to insist the driver continue to the border when he pulled into the embassy. Fortunately I looked up, and lo and behold, there was a young man holding a sign with my name on it.

I admit signs with my name on them are a pleasant novelty for me. I've never lived a life style where people waited for me in places with placards with my name. When it happens, there is a little existential thrill - I do exist, and this person is waiting for me. When I arrived in Delhi, there was a little Indian man standing at arrivals waiting for me. I had arranged for the hotel to send a pick up as I was arriving in the evening and did not feel like fighting with rickshaw wallas at the airport while trying to digest all the new sights and smells of India. While you usually pay a bit extra for the service, often it is not a lot more, and worth the effort.

When Danayi and I were contemplating how to get to Siem Riep, our destination in Cambodia, we had decided to bus ourselves to the border, and then take a chartered taxi to our destination. This was expensive, costing around $50 to arrange a taxi through the guesthouse we wanted to stay at in Siem Riep. However, we knew there was a taxi mafia that ruled in the Cambodia border town of Poipet, and that they would try to get much more from you than even this high price, and could be quite aggressive about it. There were many buses advertised in the KoaSan road area in Bangkok for buses to Siem Riep. Everything, EVERYTHING, we read said to avoid them at all costs. Reports ranged from buses diverting to more remote border crossings to ensure a late night arrival where you were forced into taking a room in the guesthouse where the bus driver stopped, he having been paid for his actions, to buses being arrested and confiscated due to the driver trying to smuggle contraband into the country. Despite being the main land border crossing from Thailand for tourists heading to Siem Riep (home of Angkor Wat) the road was one of the worst in Southeast Asia, rumoured to have been kept this way as a result of a payoff from a well known regional airline that until recently had exclusive rights to fly into Siem Riep from Bangkok. With the opening of the town to other airlines, there were reports that the road was being tarmaced and improved, but was still very rough. Ultimately, it seemed prearranging a taxi was the best, if more expensive, option.

The little man turned out not to be our taxi driver, but a guy most likely paid by our taxi driver, to cross into Thailand and wait for us. He told our tuk-tuk to turn around and head to the border. Once there, we walked to the Thai immigration office, and were quickly stamped out of the country. Our guide wanted for us on the other side. There seems an unwritten law in land border crossing in any developing countries I've been that children, old women, and touts are ignored by the customs guards and can cross back and forth with impunity. Hitching up our bags we headed for the Cambodian immigration booth.

Now I like most people. Even the ones I dislike, I tend to find entertaining, and don't mind them as a result. I advocate cultural sensitivity and awareness of language difficulties and cultural differences in interacting with people of other cultures and countries. I'd like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.

But sometimes an asshole is an asshole no matter what flag he's waving or language he's spouting bullshit in.

And the Cambodian border officials at the Poipet crossing are some of the biggest assholes I've ever met in 12 years of traveling.

The border guard that shook his rifle and threatened my British friends, Matt and Lisa, and I at that out of the way border crossing into Burma in northern Thailand? He was simply stressed; possibly worried his opium warlord boss might disapprove of a bunch of farangs stumbling into his poppy fields. I'm sure behind the rifle and the yelling, he was a nice guy. The border officials in Burundi who laughed at my attempts to get out of the country without paying a late departure fine and a little something extra for them? Nice guys, jovial behind their mercenary manoeuvring for my money. The two guys in Malawi who tried to mug Danayi and I when we were walking back home with our chicken and chips? I'm sure they were decent chaps who would have been ashamed of themselves once they sobered up the next day.

The Cambodian border officials in Poipet? Assholes, pure and simple.

When we walked up to the visa post, a young Cambodian jumped up and ran over to us, offering to get our paperwork and help. This is another common scam where a helpful local offers to assist you in your paperwork, and then demands an extortionate fee for his services. Having never come across a visa application I couldn't handle yet, I shrugged him off and walked up and got the papers myself.

In reading about this particular border crossing, I had come across information that indicated that travellers to this border were often the victims of corrupt officials, demanding bribes and even denying access and visas to some who didn't comply with their demands. I was determined not to be taken for a ride. I had hidden away almost all my remaining Thai baht, and had $20 exactly (the official cost of the visa) in my wallet to show the guards. Paperwork in hand, we headed to the window to get our visas.

Our official was a little Cambodian man around 30 years old. He was short, ugly, and had a huge mole on his cheek with a long hair growing out of it. He wore his drab green uniform and stiff, medal strewn hat hoping it would convince people that he was more than his dwarfven stature. I stepped up to the kiosk, smiled brightly (and while people might argue my attractiveness, most agree I had a BIG shiny smile), and passed my paper work, passport, and crisp twenty American dollar bill across the counter. He looked at me with eyes as dark as gecko feces, and said "1000 Baht."

I was aware that this was a common ploy, a thousand baht being equivalent at the time to about $33 American. I had prepared for it afterall. I opened my wallet, showed him the emptiness, and said "I'm sorry, I have no baht. We spent it all coming here. But I have $20, which is the cost of the visa. Here it is." And I smiled and nodded once again to the money, paper and passport in my hands sitting six inches from him.

He said "1000 baht." I repeated myself.

He said, "$25 dollars."

At this point, I stretched my smile even wider (It was beginning to hurt, I was smiling so hard). I said, "I'm sorry. I have only $20 dollars. We were told that the visa was $20 dollars, and I see that on the large sign here it says $20 dollars. We are good people, and we don't want to do anything wrong or illegal to get us or anyone else into trouble, so we have $20 for the visa. It is here." Another smile and nod towards the bundle on the counter.

He stared at me, and said "$20 and 200 baht each."

At this point, Danayi lost it. Danayi is a gentle soul, and usually one of patience and grace. She has not, however, had as much experience in developing countries as I have, and therefore has a corresponding lower tolerance to the seeming incompetence and avarice you can occasionally come across. She had said nothing to this point, content to let me lead on this occasion, but this little mouse turd of a man had finally cut the last strand of tolerance she had left. The short diatribe that followed, while true and heartfelt, was the very definition of what not to do at these types of border crossings. I believe it invoked her status as an American citizen, and a knowing of her rights, and might have included the phrase "You are not allowed to do this." In her defence, my attempts so far had not worked any better.

The little man stood back, a hateful black gleam in his eyes, and looked away saying nothing. I calmed Danayi down, and assured her I would handle it. I decided to invoke a strategy that had worked well all through Africa and south Asia for me. I would smile, shrug my shoulders, play dumb, and say as little as possible and hope my annoying, cheerful, idiotic presence would irritate them enough to finally wave me through and do what was needed to get rid of me. I planted myself in front of the window so no one else could get by, put our passports, paperwork, and money on the counter, and began and smiling and nodding at the official. This went on for almost five minutes.

I have to give it to the little Cambodian Napoleon, he was good. I was maybe two feet away from his face, beaming my brightest smile, and occasionally tapping my fingers on the pile of paper. I might as well not have existed for all the attention he gave me. His dead eyes and utterly passive face stared past me like I transparent. Not a flicker of recognition indicated he was even aware of my existence. His mole hair wafted gently in the breeze from the fan. I cranked my smile even higher, reaching a point of cheerfulness that makes most sane people start to feel uncomfortable being around.

Nothing. I was an ant, a flea, not even worthy of his disdain.

Finally with the line building behind me, and Danayi fuming, I gave in. I had about 150 baht on me, and dug it out, thinking he would accept it as any bribe was better than no bribe. But he had won, and his way of punishing me for my impertinence was to not even acknowledge me or the extra money until Danayi and I had gone through every pocket, and all of our bags to find the extra baht for his graft money. Coins and bills spilled on the counter, and finally, slowly with a completely ambivalent expression of one who could care less if you live or die, he handed back our passports with our visas.

Assholes, everyone one of them.

After finally making it through customs, and explaining to our 'guide' why we couldn't tip him because we had to pay all our left over baht for bribe money, we found our taxi driver waiting. Our ride was an old beat up Toyota with one side hanging a good eight inches or more lower than the other. We threw our bags into the boot, slumped into the back, and headed off into Cambodia.

The ride was rough and dusty. The road was being improved in places, but the vast amount of it was like bumping along a massive cheese grater. The car juddered along, while in the flat fields beside us, women and men toiled behind buffalos dragging wooden ploughs in much the same way that things have been done for hundreds of years. I tried as best I could to lighten the situation and create a bit of excitement about entering into Cambodia. I talked about the reputation of Poipet - a repugnant hole that consists of casinos for Thais, organized crime, and corrupt officials. I stressed how much better I was sure the rest of the country would be. It was to no avail. Danayi was 'fine' and any man who has ever dated a woman knows 'fine' is the exact opposite of the meaning when used by a clearly upset woman. "Fine' has always been an early warning sign to start ducking and apologizing fast. I think I once had 'fine' explained to me as "fucked up, insecure (or irrational), neurotic, and emotional'. Finally, despite being constantly thrown around the backseat by the bumps, she drifted off.

A nap, some distance, and a change of scenery, and Danayi seemed in a better mood and ready to start fresh with the country. We eventually reached Siem Riep, and checked into our hotel. My Ankor Wat adventures were about to begin.

Print this entry Share Poipet hotels

Previous Entry Next Entry