Bangkok to Cambodia overland (by kerouac2)

[Deleted]

The first time I went to Cambodia, I took a bus from KSR in Bangkok in spite of having carefully read the instructions for doing the trip independently with less stress and less expense. Both the Lonely Planet guide and the excellent Tales of Asia website claimed that it was a snap and you’d have to be a fool to use the pathetic KSR bus services.

Well, nobody ever told me I wasn’t a fool, and frankly, the “easy” instructions for negotiating transportation at the border were totally terrifying as far as I was concerned. I remember things like

Once you have crossed the border into Cambodia, keep walking straight ahead to the traffic circle. Ignore all of the hawkers tugging at you and the motorcycles circling you. There will be a number of pickup trucks waiting for customers. Make sure that you negotiate the full price to Siem Reap and not just to Sisophon where you will have to change vehicle. You should pay no more than 200 baht, but the most important thing is to leave Poipet by 13:00 because you don’t want to be on the road after dark. There are a few places labeled “hotel” in Sisophon if you get stuck for the night, but they double as brothels and you are unlikely to get much sleep. Etc…

There was also a lot of stuff about getting a seat in the cab for an extra payment, and you wouldn’t regret it once you were on the road…Shit, no way! This was supposed to be easy and cheap? If I was going to die going to Cambodia, I wanted to die with a group of tourists.

So I visited the agencies of Khao San Road, at least four of them, and listened to their explanations about how wonderfully easy it would be, everything taken care of, right up to the door of a hotel in Siem Reap, no stress, no worry. What would the fare be? 500 baht or 400 or 300 or 250… I finally chose the agency asking 300 baht, less for the price than for its apparent reliability.

Rendezvous in front of the agency at 6 a.m. This is standard practice for just about all of the organized trips from KSR. The first hint of dawn isn’t even in the sky yet, but groups of bleary-eyes backpackers begin to congregate in the dark all along the street in front of their agencies. The all night bars serve breakfast to those who can stand to eat anything at that ungodly hour. Otherwise, silent vendors creep around with their bottles of water, rolls of toilet paper, stale biscuits, bags of sliced pineapple, etc. And there are also fantastic fresh and warm crusty baguettes, an “Indochinese” specialty that the Thais have mastered over the years.

Somebody from each agency finally showed up, checked people’s vouchers and said, “yes yes, wait here.” And perhaps 15 minutes later, the first group collectors came through to lead people to their buses – “Phuket!” “Chiang Mai!” “Koh Chang!” I waited patiently, but I was never called. The guy came over after awhile to find out “where are you going again?”

And it turned out that I had been forgotten. Day had broken and I was orphaned on the street. But the person responsible for me went into all sorts of feverish activity, consulting other agencies, taxi drivers, making phone calls and then he said “okay, okay – he will take you to the bus!” “He” was a middle aged Thai with shoulder length hair, giant earrings, rings on every finger and each fingernail painted a different color. Therefore it will not surprise you to know that the rest of him was the Museum of Bad Tattoos. I got into his taxi with my bag and off we went. But where were we going?

[Deleted]

It turned out that we were going to the appropriate bus station for buses to Aranyaprathet, the border town. “Go to our office at the bus station when you arrive in Aranyaprathet, and they will take you to the bus to Siem Reap.” Fine, but it was already rush hour in Bangkok, and it took about an hour for the taxi to get to the gigantic bus station (all of the Bangkok bus stations are gigantic). The taxi driver jumped out of his vehicle and motioned with his multicolored fingers for me to follow him. He practically ran through the crowd into the building, where there were about 150 ticket windows, all written in Thai of course. He chose perhaps #89 without hesitation and bought a ticket for me and then took me out to the bus yards, which clearly had as much room for buses as there were ticket windows inside. He located my bus after interrogating a number of people, and I finally made it onto a bus. Fucking hell, those guidebooks had said that doing all this myself would be so much easier and better than the KSR buses. Here I just got walked through the process by my very helpful but freakish babysitter, and I was already stressed out as possible. The taxi driver instantly abandoned me without so much as a backward glance – his job was finished. I was already two or three hours behind schedule and already thinking about “you don’t want to be on the road after dark.” There wasn’t a rat’s chance in hell that I would reach Poipet by 13:00, which was the latest recommended time to leave the city.

Actually, the bus made quite good time once it got out of Bangkok metropolitan area. I have found all of the Thai main line buses to be extremely efficient, but I absolutely would not let any of my possessions out of my sight for even five seconds (on a night bus to Nong Khai once, my seat companion learned a very severe $2000 lesson about that, but that is another story).

I started relaxing because I love exotic bus rides so much – watching the villages, the bicycles, the oxcarts, the roadside stalls, the rice and chilis drying on mats on the side of the pavement, the people working in the fields, the other ones doing nothing in hammocks in the shade, the children in their immaculate school uniforms, the elaborate golden temples, the billboards, the palm and banana trees – I am never bored for a minute.

And then we were in Aranyaprathet. It was getting close to 14:00. People went storming off the bus. I was a bit slower and already being harassed by bus station lowlife. Some guy had spotted the lone European on the bus and was already shouting at me “You go Cambodia? You go Cambodia?” I ignored him, even though he was all over me the moment I stepped off the bus with my bag. I waved him away and looked for the office that was supposed to be in charge of my continuing arrangements. I finally found the place, and that damned guy was still following me. Anyway the office was closed, but the guy finally made it clear that he was the person in charge of the office and he had been waiting for me specifically all along. Actually, I was quite impressed by the agency in Bangkok. They could have just told me “oh, we’re sorry you missed your bus – here’s your money back” – but they had gone through this quite complicated process to honor their contract with me.

The guy turned me over to his sullen teen assistant with a motorbike and said that he would take me to the border, get me across the border and put me on a bus. I was feeling more confident by now, so I got on the back of the motorbike and off we went. Aranaprathet isn’t quite as close to the border crossing as you think it is, because we went through several kilometers of a semi-rural area before we hit the cluster of border sleaze. There were all manner of vendors, beggars and no man’s land indeterminate population. I obediently followed my teen guide, who took me to the Thai border post, where I found myself in line with a few other Westerners (different queue for Thais and Cambodians).

It was a rather sluggish process, but my guy was still waiting for me when I got out of the air conditioned shack. Cambodia was just a few meters away. There was a big concrete arch of elephants and such, surrounded by trash and dust. The Thai side of the border was totally unappealing, but the Cambodian side was clearly about 5 notches lower on the development and hygiene scale.

No air conditioned shack for the Cambodian passport formalities. They were working on unfolded card tables. That went all right, but then I had to go to the “health” office. I had been dreading this part all along, because the websites and guidebooks were full of the “cholera pill scam.” Basically, this office asks you for your yellow international vaccination booklet, which 90% of the voyagers do not have, since it is not at all obligatory. When you tell them you don’t have one, they claim that you must buy the all important cholera pill for US$10. So some of the books say, “don’t fall for the scam; stand your ground.” But other books say “just fork over the $10 and save time. Throw away the pill, of course – god knows what it is!”

Ha ha, I decided to stand my ground. First they take your passport to the back office, which makes you feel instantly very insecure about your decision. The man in his perfectly crisp and dry uniform (I had rivers of sweat rolling down every centimeter of my body) told me that it just would not be possible without the vaccination certificate. I politely disagreed and said that Cambodia did not require any vaccinations to enter the country. I was told to wait. (You don’t want to be on the road after dark!) I waited. I tried to look around outside to see where my creepy teen was, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. Had I been abandoned with no transportation to Siem Reap? Another man took his turn with me to tell me that without the certificate, the only way that I could avoid the terrible epidemic would be to procure the $10 pill. I said that I had been paying very close attention to the news, and there had been absolutely no mention of an epidemic. Suddenly feeling bold, I went on to say that the Cambodian Embassy in Paris had warned me about the possibility of incorrect information at the border and that they had specifically asked me to contact them immediately and make a report if I encountered any problems. “Please wait.” Oh god, what had I done? I was probably going to be arrested or something now. Why was I so determined to resist paying the $10?

There were three of them in the office, and I saw them discussing my case. Then one of them took my passport and handed it back to me. “Thank you,” I said and walked outside.

I was in Cambodia. No trace of the sullen teen. He had decided to write me off due to the health office delay. Poipet was just dust and mud. The animals pulling carts all looked skinny and sick. The bizarre touch was the ultramodern casinos covered with neon off on the side – definitely not in Thailand and yet not quite in Cambodia. Next door were pathetic shacks, ancient beggars, screaming children, thugs on motorbikes… In the distance, I could see the famous traffic circle where I could supposedly arrange my transportation to Siem Reap (“so easy and stressless”). It was just a whirling dust pit – all of the vegetation was grey from the dust, as were the buildings, the animals and the people. Poipet was quite frankly the most horrible looking place that I have ever seen on this planet, and I was all alone without the slightest idea what to do next, as the afternoon was ending. I didn’t see anything that even remotely looked like a hotel, and going back into Thailand was not an option now that my Cambodian visa had been stamped.

Was I having fun yet?

[bjd]

Was I having fun yet?

Probably not -- but admit that these kinds of events make the best stories years later!

[Deleted]

The riff raff was closing in, and then I saw a building off to the right with the words “travel agency” on it! I went into it and asked “do you have transportation to Siem Reap?” Yes, yes, they did. They would be leaving in a few minutes, they said. It was 200 baht in the back of the pickup truck or 300 inside the cab, back seat. That was what I opted to pay, although I was burning with rage at the sullen teen who had abandoned me, taking whatever was left of the funds that were supposed to pay for the rest of my transportation. However, I particularly remembered that the Tales of Asia site said to ride in the cab if at all possible and that you won’t regret it compared to what the people in back will be going through.

You might think I am being petty, since, well, er, 300 baht corresponded to about US$8.50 back then, but it was the principle of it all, and here I was paying another $8.50 when I shouldn't have to! Damn, life can be so unfair.

Actually, there were two Western backpackers riding in the back with 3 or 4 locals. There were 4 (!) of us in back seat of the cab, which was pretty miserable. Normally 4 would be fine if you are transporting scrawny Cambodians, but I would say that I counted about double, and my three companions were as unhappy with the situation as I was. Two people shared the passenger seat next to the driver.

Finally we were off, which made it all the more obvious that even in the “city” there was no road worthy of the name, just potholes and muddy ruts. It was the end of the rainy season, and the road was just about as bad as it got at any time during the year. This afternoon, it was still sunny, though. I was stupidly thinking “I wonder if there’s any chance that we’ll get to Siem Reap before it gets completely dark?” Oh, stupid naïve fool. The nice easy part of the day was coming to an end, and the difficulties were about to begin.

[bixaorellana]

Sometimes it's useful to obsess about something like $8.50 rather than what's going on around you. You don't say what year this was, but I suspect even 10 years ago that $8.50 would been quite useful.

Re: the confusion, the rides, the border guys ~~ I'm left wondering if Cambodia copies this stuff from Mexico, or vice-versa.

[hwinpp]

Very good read, Jack. Carry on!

Things have changed a lot in some ways but I'll write about that after you've finished.

;D

[Deleted]

Actually, it seemed at first that the road wouldn’t be so bad after all. There were even little patches of asphalt from time to time, dating from…? But this disappeared quite quickly and we bounced along dusty clay ruts. All in all, I was glad to be crammed into the (air conditioned) cab, because we weren’t eating all of the dust. The back of the pickup was another matter. I would turn around from time to time to look at the others who were hunkered down as well as possible on burlap sacks and small crates. The Cambodians wore stoic non-expressions and the Westerners (apparently Americans) were still enjoying it.

Although, as I already mentioned, today was sunny, the rice fields on both sides of the roads were flooded – not irrigation flooded, but heavy rain flooded. And then we hit the first obstacle. We were at the end of a long line of vehicles which crawled forward at a snail’s pace. We were coming up to a river, and there was a bridge… or was there?

The bridge had collapsed. Most of the roadway was gone, and there were just some beams left, just wide enough for the tires, emptiness between. One side was sagging almost into the roiling red clay water. Was this stopping the vehicles? Not at all. They were creeping across, centimeter by centimeter. Finally it was our turn. Common sense dictated to me that we should definitely get out of the vehicle while the driver risked his death, but my Western common sense clearly wasn’t valid in Cambodia, and we were all going to die together. Actually, I was now regretting not riding in the back of the pickup, because those people were likely to survive, while those of us jammed inside the cab had no chance of surviving when we tipped into the water.

The truck started leaning at an angle towards the water, on the left where the beam was sagging. This was getting ridiculous. I was wondering how hard it would be to break the windshield and claw my way out of the river. Which of my fellow passengers would have to be sacrificed so that I could live? Halfway across, left wheels partially in the water as the bridge sagged even more, everybody holding his breath. Even the future survivors in the back had fallen silent as all of the people along the bridge watched to see if we would make it or not.

And finally we reached the other bank. There was another line of vehicles in the opposite direction, waiting for their turn as long as the bridge would last. There was even a road crew trying to put in new pilings that would be ready… when? Next month? My adrenalin flowed back into its little adrenalin cupboard, and my heartbeat began to return to normal. By the time we had crossed three or four more similar bridges, I just left the adrenalin packed away and let fate take over. I did notice once thing, though – we had a damned good driver, because he got us across some bridges that not all of the cars would try. Or maybe “foolhardy” is the word I am looking for.

We arrived in the next city, Sisophon, after an hour or so of terror on the road. Most of the Cambodians were only going that far, so we parked on the big central square with the other pickups and waited as the sun got lower in the sky. I actually got to stretch my legs just a little, but then we got a new set of passengers. Little boys tried to sell 7-Up, peanuts and dried fish, Kleenex and Chiclets. I realized that we were lucky to keep the same vehicle, because most cars and trucks only went between Poipet and Sisophon and people had to change to get on other trucks that plied the Sisophon-Siem Reap route. But our driver was delivering something, which explained the bags and crates in the back of the pickup.

We left the zone of dust and puddles to begin the second part of the trip.

[Deleted]

Often the road was so bad and rutted that the vehicles would drive on shoulders if at all possible, this in spite of the fact that in places like Cambodia as well as much of the rest of Asia, the shoulders have a huge amount of pedestrian traffic, bicycles, little carts, chickens, goats and all manner of other obstacles. Well, they just had to move, because we needed the space.

Finally at one point, all traffic was stopped, because we had arrived at The Biggest Mud Pit in the World. There was no way around it, there was no way through it. Everybody was standing around it and marveling as though it had just been created by a falling meteorite. There were ruts going down into the pit, and in the bottom was a big pool of brown water. Trucks were parked all along the road as the drivers chatted. One car was being pulled out with a cable, and you could see the mud doing its best to suck at the tires. Our driver finally got out of the pickup for the very first time and went to examine the pit himself, all this as dusk was falling out here in the middle of nowhere.

It appeared that people had been waiting for hours, including voyagers like ourselves. Actually, a solution was being found after much deliberation. The vehicles were beginning to swap passengers and cargo on each side of the pit. The cars on each side would just turn around and go back from where they came, taking different people and packages. These seemed like a better solution than spending the night in the jungle.

Our driver had his own plan. He checked the sides of the pit, looking at the angles of descent. He walked barefoot into the mud to see how soft and deep it was. He consulted several of the onlookers and obtained information and opinions. Or at least that’s what it looked like.

He came back to the truck and said “we go now.” He was actually going to try to drive through, even though nobody else had succeeded. Was he INSANE? Shouldn’t we sardines be getting out of the car while he did this? Once again, I could imagine the whole thing tipping over and not only drowning but also choking to death in the mud – this was far worse than a piddling muddy river.

However, I also remembered a mud pit incident in the Masai Mara in Kenya, where the driver explained that the minibus would get more traction with more weight and that we should stay inside. But in that situation, he had also paid a half dozen trapped Pakistani truck drivers to push us at the same time, and we finally spun our way out of the pit, leaving six white-eyed mud statues standing in the road as we drove away. Nobody was being paid to push us this time. Maybe they had all refused. Maybe they knew he was nuts.

The crowd began to grow along the sides of the pit. “Hey everybody, this is going to be good!” Our truck began to creep down into the pit, little by little. We hit the bottom, and he started using all of his four-wheel traction stuff, however that stuff works (?). The wheels were spinning, but we kept moving forward, ever so slightly. He would shift gears and reposition the wheels and gun the engine and spin the wheels some more. And suddenly, I don’t know how, we got traction and crawled out of the hole. There was a big “ahhhh” from the crowd (no applause). The driver got out again to take a look back in the pit, perhaps to savor his triumph, perhaps to already get ideas for the return trip, perhaps to mutter a prayer to the mud gods. In any case, we had left the pit in even far worse shape than before. I don’t know how we managed to get through, but one thing was sure – nobody else was getting through that night. They could go back to their passenger swapping transactions.

We pretty much had the road to ourselves after that, since night had fallen and nobody in his right mind was on the road anymore. Besides the headlights, we had a big spotlight to try to pick out the other big holes in the road ahead of time and avoid them. The driver was obviously perfectly familiar with this road because he was driving damned fast to make up for lost time and clearly knew some of the things to avoid ahead of time.

And then there are the things you can’t avoid, like big metal drums in the middle of the road, and men with rifles.

The driver took this in stride; clearly it was nothing new to him. He conversed with the armed men, who glared at us and shined flashlights at us. Money was paid. The drums were removed, and we drove across a small bridge. It had just been a sort of private road toll, of which there were several more in the ensuing hour, always the same method and welcoming committee.

The night was absolutely pitch black. There was no electricity in that part of the country, and very few houses in any case. I had no idea how much longer this trip was going to last. Sometimes we’d get up to a breakneck 30 or 40 km/h and sometimes we would creep along through ruts or around holes. The actual distance between Poipet and Siem Reap is 140 km, and we had been on the road for about 6 hours already.

We actually let off some passengers somewhere along the way. Actually, it was pretty well organized, because in spite of the lack of landmarks and the total darkness, there were two lanterns set out along the road, and that was the indicator of the place to stop. Unfortunately, it was two people from the back of the pickup and not one of my fellow sardines. They limped off into the dark with a couple of bundles, and the person who had put out the lanterns took them and went back to his hovel.

Actually, the road was slowly getting better and better and I was stunned to see some brief sections of pavement from time to time. We came upon a military checkpoint, which made me feel that our destination was not all that far away. The guidebooks all made a point of saying that the Siem Reap area is totally safe, unlike quite a bit of the countryside, so I felt as though we were now inside some sort of security zone. I don’t know if it was an illusion or not.

It still took more than an hour to arrive, but houses became more numerous, and one or two of them even had generators. Some of you probably can’t imagine how reassuring it is to see an electric light when you feel that you have been in the heart of darkness forever. And, oh joy, we finally arrived on a correctly paved road. Finally, we even saw normal electric lights up ahead. Everything seemed so wonderful, but at that point I would have even found Poipet wonderful compared to what I had just been through.

We entered Siem Reap and drove through clean streets and passed nice houses. Then there were parks, the absolutely stunning Grand Hôtel d’Angkor, restaurants with merry strings of colored lights, music coming out of bars. Even the service station looked great. The time was about 21:30.

The farang were given priority, so we Westerners were dropped off at a guesthouse. It would have had to be the worst guesthouse in the world for me to refuse it, but it actually didn’t look too bad. Everybody laughed when they saw me unfolding myself from the back of the truck cab; it was like a contortionist cabaret act where a man with rubber bones extracts himself from a suitcase. Every bone in my body hurt and I could hardly stand up. My inner voice was saying “Never never never never again! No way! Out of the question! Never never never!” You should have seen the two others, though. They looked like New Guinea mud men, only red instead of grey.

I checked into the hotel, paid something like US$8, and got a huge immaculate air conditioned room with television and refrigerator. I jumped into the shower and stayed there a certain amount of time.

I came out feeling absolutely wonderful and my inner voice said “I wouldn’t mind doing that trip again!”

And thus began my love affair with Cambodia.

[Deleted]

And yes, I have done that trip again. But the road had improved considerably.

HW will update on this, but I think that now the pavement is pretty much perfect, and the trip only takes 2 hours.

[bixaorellana]

Geez-looweez!! I was holding my breath reading parts of that. In other parts, I was frantically trying to suck in more air, imagining being squashed in the back of the cab for all those hours.

Great story, brilliantly told ~~ thank you!

What's amazing about such trips is that even though the sane response is:

May 6, 2010 13:51:33 GMT kerouac2 said:

My inner voice was saying “Never never never never again! No way! Out of the question! Never never never!”

another part of you knows how cool it was to have such an experience. As you said:

May 6, 2010 13:51:33 GMT kerouac2 said:

...my inner voice said “I wouldn’t mind doing that trip again!”

And thus began my love affair with Cambodia.

Can't be totally explained, only experienced, although you beautifully imparted the feeling.

[Deleted]

Wow, what a journey!

I started relaxing because I love exotic bus rides so much – watching the villages, the bicycles, the oxcarts, the roadside stalls, the rice and chilis drying on mats on the side of the pavement, the people working in the fields, the other ones doing nothing in hammocks in the shade, the children in their immaculate school uniforms, the elaborate golden temples, the billboards, the palm and banana trees – I am never bored for a minute.

It would be worth going through all that just to have the above experience.

[hwinpp]

That stretch is now Cambodia's newest road. Completely paved all the way from the outskirts of that infamous shithole called Poipet to Siem Reap. Nice, shiny black tarmac, smooth enough to rollerskate on. A good driver can now do it in 1 1/2 hours.

I did that trip 7 or 8 times while I was living in the northwest but it was never as bad as how Jack described it. Though I completely believe him. I've seen pics of whole trucks disappearing in those mudholes.

On one of those trips I decided to overnight in Poipet out of curiosity. I was going to see my girlfriend in Bangkok (at that time she was still refusing to live in Cambodia). So I started out in the evening after work in a taxi (it must still have been dry season because the trip was uneventful even though we traveled the whole stretch after nightfall). I think we arrived there about 11pm and after checking into one of the guest houses on the main strip I went out to explore a bit. It wasn't nice. The roads in town were crap, the market area smelled, the packs of dogs were fierce and eventually I came accross the red light district. It was depressing. No music, no semblance of gaiety, no bright lights. Just the young hookers in the neon glow and their pimps outside trying to get the customers in. Small little wooden shacks built any which way along a rutted, muddy track going off from behind the market. There weren't even any motorbike taxis around so I had to walk back.

I got the hell out the next morning and have never stayed there again.

[cristina]

This was a great story kerouac.

I confess that I have emotional issues with visiting SEA. I am not afraid to travel to most places by myself, but for whatever reason Asia, specifically Cambodia, Thailand and Viet Nam paralyze me.

I really appreciate all of the posts here and in the Asia branch about everyone's experiences. One day, I will get it up and go.

[Deleted]

Cristina, I was scared shitless the first time I set foot in Southeast Asia -- and that was Singapore, where I was disembarked unexpectedly on my way to New Caledonia. Singapore is perhaps one of the most civilized, innocuous (boring to some) places on earth, but you don't know that for sure the first time. However, it has all of the exotic aromas, heavy tropical air, fabulous food and hyperactive people that one can see in the rest of Asia -- so it might be a good introduction for you to "test the waters" some day.

[Kimby]

Hong Kong and Bangkok might also be good "training cities" for SEA.

Loved your tale, K2, and glad I wasn't there to endure/enjoy it with you.