Due to the apparent incompetency of certain German bureaucrats Sophie had to remain in Chiang Mai and wait for her passport, so on Friday I boarded the night bus, alone again, and headed for Bangkok with the hope of catching the 8am bus to Siem Reap, home of the reportedly mind-blowing Temples of Angkor. My bus was scheduled to arrive in BKK at 5am so I assumed I would have ample time, but when it arrived at 8:30am I was forced to resign myself to the unexpected expense of a night in Bangkok, this time not spent in an utter shithole. I found myself a guest house in the heart of Touristland for 7 USD, went out to find street-cart chicken and rice for .75 USD and, having done so, proceeded to make friends with an Aussie philosophy major, a patron of the same stall, who afterwards joined me for 8.50 USD worth of beers, destroying my daily budget. But sometimes one has to go off budget to make new friends. I wish that were not the case, but there’s just no denying it.
I bought my ticket for a series of buses that would depart at 7:30am, taking me from Bangkok, across the Cambodian border and into Siem Reap. Lonely Planet had advised against doing it this way, advising the savvy traveler to take a bus to the border then find local transport on the other side. They warned that the tourist bus service will make sure you are uncomfortable and late so that you’ll be too tired to refuse their commission-driven guest house recommendations. They further warned that they will overcharge for “helping” with your visa. Both concerns ended up being partially warranted, but my ticket was so inexpensive and convenient that I’d be hard pressed to say I should have done anything differently.
About 5 kilometers from the border we stopped for lunch, at which time I was given a form to fill out for immigration and also given the hard-sell by the travel agent on the terrible problems I would have handling the tedium of the visa process myself. Since he wanted to charge me 40 USD and I was pretty sure the visa would cost 25 USD, I politely refused his help, repeatedly. Strangely bitter, he snatched the form I had already filled out, saying it belonged to him, and skulked off. I was slightly apprehensive approaching the border, but although the immigration officers did make a half-hearted attempt to overcharge me, in the end I got my visa for 25 USD, which made me a little smug in the company of my bus-mates, most of whom had succumbed to the sales pitch. Unfortunately, as LP had predicted, we did not arrive in Siem Reap until 8pm, four hours after the time I’d been promised, but there was no hard-sell on the guest house issue and I quickly found a clean comfortable bed for 5 USD per night.
After an evening walking the streets and yet another street-cart meal, Siem Reap doesn’t seem so different from any number of Asian tourist towns and I find myself wondering if things are starting to blur together for me. The bars and guesthouses are the same; possibly nicer than Nepal, but not maybe not as nice as Thailand. The prostitutes are about the same as in Thailand, although perhaps a little more aggressive, taking any glance as an invitation to run over and rub my arm. The drug dealers are about the same as in Nepal, using almost the same pitch, “Tuk Tuk? Guide? Motorbike?” Then loudly whispered, “Mareeejuana?” But maybe I’m just tired from a long day of riding buses. Ultimately I trust that the temples will be awe inspiring and that the subtle beauty of Cambodia will reveal itself to me slowly over the coming weeks. For now I’m content to have a new sticker in my passport and time to kill within a new set of borders.
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