Mark’s Vagabonding Blog

***Before you read “A Border Crossing Adventure, Parts 1&2”, let me just say that it’s been a while since I’ve written them and I’ve since regretted some of the ways that I tried to save money on this trip. I now realize it was uncool, and I feel bad about it. But at the time I needed to make a limited amount last a year+ with absolutely no income, and that’s all I thought about. If I had it to do again, I would not have been as frugal (and probably would have enjoyed myself a little more too). But don’t let this stop you from reading them, it’s still a good read, Thank you, Mark***

. . . . Unless you’ve secured other transporation into town, you pretty much need these guys (touts, See part one). I knew from my research that the fair price for a ride into town was 50 baht (they accept Thai baht on the border towns of Cambodia).

So, finally, I spoke to my tout, who I took to be about 23 years old, “Alright, how much?”

“A hundred baht, ” he said. He spoke perfect english.

I said, “Fifty.”

He said something about petrol, and I stuck to 50 baht. After a little back and forth, he finally accepted the 50 baht price, and we climbed aboard his bike.

There’s one other immigration formality a short distance down the road. Three guys underneath a 3-sided wooded shack look at your passport. Apparently some number was missing on my visa, so we had to go back to the office. On the motorcycle, the driver rides with your backpack in front of him, between his legs. I’d read about this so I was okay with it. When we got back to the immigration office, he said that I could leave the backpack on his bike.

“No way,” I said, “the pack stays with me.”

So I took the pack with me, and we went to the station where they had taken my picture, and I handed the lady my passport. She wrote the number on my visa and we got back on the bike. On the way back we didn’t even have to stop at that checkpoint again, they just waved us through.

The ride into town takes about 5-10 minutes, and I was enjoying the scenery of mountains in the near distance. Then my tout broke the mood, and asked me if I smoke. I told him no. Then he said something about marijuana. I said I wasn’t interested. I would hear that question A LOT in the coming days.

Up ahead was a bridge, a toll bridge. Before we approached it, he said, “There’s a toll up ahead, you have to pay it,” as he pointed to the toll sign.

I told him that I was aware of the toll. I’d known about the toll bridge from my research. I also knew that technically, he was supposed to pay the fare, but this is one thing I would let him get away with. But he had something else up his sleeve.

He said, “Do you have any riel?” Riel is the currency of Cambodia. U.S. dollars and Thai baht are also readily accepted in Cambodia as well.

I didn’t have any, so I said, “No.”

He said, “Okay, I’ll pay the toll and you can pay me back later.”

I knew that the fare was 11 baht, but wasn’t sure about riel. However I was pretty sure you could pay the toll in baht, but I just said, “Okay. How much is it?”

He said, “One-thousand two-hundred riel.”

When we arrived at the toll booth, I saw the sign on the glass. It was writen in Khmer (the language of Cambodia), but I could see that the price was 1200 riel, or 11 baht. So I could have just paid the 11 baht myself, which alerted me that there will be a scam coming up involving riel.

After he paid the toll, I told him to take me to Otto’s Guesthouse please. I said it twice so I know he heard me, but he didn’t respond.

We finally came to a town. Shortly after, he stopped at a money changing booth, which is just a lady on the side of the dirt road, with different currencies in a glass case.

He said, “You have to change your money to riel so you can pay me back for the toll.”

I said, “No, I don’t have to. I’ll just pay you eleven baht when we get to Otto’s. I’ll give you sixty-one baht.”

“No, you have to change your money here,” he said.

I said, “No I don’t. And I know that you are supposed to pay the toll, but I agreed to pay anyhow.”

He insisted that I had to change my money to riel. So I said, “Okay, I’ll change eleven baht then.”

He said that I couldn’t, so I said that I’d change $1.00 U.S. He said that I couldn’t change that little amount of money.

I finally said, “Listen, I know I don’t have to change any money. It’s a scam. I’ll give you sixty-one baht when we get to Otto’s. It’s the same thing.”

We were both still sitting on his bike during this. So, frustrated, he cranked the throttle and we left the money changer without making an exchange. The scam is: That’s the first place to change money as you arrive in Cambodia from that crossing, so they make you think you have change your money right away. They give you a horrible exchange rate, and he gets a cut for bringing me there. That’s the seed he tried to plant at the toll booth.

Yeah, I was getting a little scared at this point. I was pissing this guy off from the start, and my life was literally in his back seat. I was in a foreign land, and knew nothing about that town, and I had no idea where Otto’s was. He could have taken me anywhere, and had his cronies beat the hell out me, and take everything I had. But I’d taken my stand against corruption this far, so I might as well go all the way.

As we got a little deeper into town I started looking for any sign of an Otto’s (I’d read about it on the internet). I didn’t see any, but soon enough, we had stopped again. We were at a place called, The River Guesthouse, and it looked like this was the end of our trip.

I said, “What’s this? This isn’t Otto’s.”

It sounded like he said, “This is my guesthouse. We stop here.”

“But I asked you to take me to Otto’s.”

He said, “This is a good guesthouse. Nice rooms. A lot of foreigners stay here.” He pointed at the tourists sitting at the tables.

It did look like an okay place, but that wasn’t the point. So I said, “Okay then take me to the Phumin Hotel (another place I read about on the internet).”

No response.

Then the owner, or whoever, came over and said, “This is a nice place, you’ll like it here. Come look at the rooms.”

“But I told him to take to Otto’s,” I said.

“Otto’s no good, small rooms, no AC. We have big rooms, and AC.”

I said, “That doesn’t matter. I told him to take me to Otto’s, so he should have taken me to Otto’s.” I really started to get frustrated now. “Okay, look,” I continued, “you can give him his commision for bringing me here, and then he can bring me to Otto’s. Or better yet, where’s Otto’s? I’ll walk there.”

No response. So I asked my tout, “Where’s Otto’s?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then where’s the Phumin hotel?”

“I don’t know.”

One of the employees pointed to a map on the wall. “There’s a map,” he said.

I looked at the map but it was no help. His point was that Koh Kong was a big place, and that Otto’s could be far away.

Then the employee said, “I think it’s on an island somewhere.”

I knew they were all fucking with me now, so I went to the tourists to see if any of them knew where Otto’s was. They honestly didn’t, but one girl had a guide book. We looked it up, and there it was. It said, “One welcomed addition to Koh Kong is Otto’s . . . it’s 50 meters from the port.” Now we’re getting somewhere.

Then the girl said, “I think that’s the port right over there,” and pointed right across the dirt road.

I stupidly asked my tout, “Is that the port?”

“I don’t know.”

Well, now I was armed with this new knowledge about Otto’s, so I didn’t need him any more. And it was obvious he wasn’t my friend any longer. So I gave him his 61 baht (good thing I had exact change), and took off on foot to find Otto’s. It was starting to get late too. Darkness was setting in. I better find Otto’s fast. The port had to be around here, why would the girl have thought that that was the port otherwise?

So I headed down the road in the direction we were going since I didn’t notice Otto’s on the way there. About 50 yards away on the other side of the road was a gas station. I went in to ask where Otto’s was, and the Phumin Hotel. The clerks there were all very nice and cheerful and happy. Now this is the Cambodia I’ve heard all about, and hoped to experience. They pointed down the road where I came from and said that it was just down the road a bit. They were glad to practice their english.

“Both places?” I said.

“Yes.”

With a big smile on my face, I said, “Thank you.”

As I started back down the road, relieved, I thought of how funny it was that Otto’s was probably right next d . . . . . “OH SHIT!!! My backpack!!”

I walked all the way to the gas station without my backpack on my back. Asside from the frustration with my tout, and that whole situation, I’m still not used to carrying a backpack. This is the first backpack I’ve ever owned in my life. I only carry it when I move from one place to another. When I’m situated in a hostel or guesthouse, my pack stays in the room, and I wander the streets without it. Plus, I’ve stayed with June so much, I’ve hardly had to carry it.

I ran down that dirt road in Koh Kong, Cambodia, as fast as this weary 40-year old body could run. Memories of my lost wallet flooded my brain. “Oh please, not again.” Then I remembered the tout road with it between his legs on the bike. It was probably still there when I walked away. I’d pissed him off badly, and I was sure he road off with it, laughing all the way home, to see what goodies he had won.

When I reached The River Guesthouse, panting, out of breath, there it was, on the ground. I grabbed it and opened it to see if everything was still in there. As I was looking, the owner of the guesthouse came over.

He said, “Your bag is safe here. We have good security here.”

I said, still panting, “It wasn’t you I was worried about.”

Everything appeared to be in the bag. Relieved, once again, I continued to walk down the road with my backpack on my back to look for Otto’s, a little bit humbled. About 30 yards down the road was a small sign that read, “Otto’s Guesthouse 50 meters,” with an arrow pointing down the side road. Another 30 yards down the main road was the Phumin hotel. I’d also seen the port where the boat leaves from. A boat that I will take to Sihanoukville, Cambodia tomorrow morning.

A boat ride that I will never forget . . . .

***Before you read “A Border Crossing Adventure, Parts 1&2”, let me just say that it’s been a while since I’ve written them and I’ve since regretted some of the ways that I tried to save money on this trip. I now realize it was uncool, and I feel bad about it. But at the time I needed to make a limited amount last a year+ with absolutely no income, and that’s all I thought about. If I had it to do again, I would not have been as frugal (and probably would have enjoyed myself a little more too). But don’t let this stop you from reading them, it’s still a good read, Thank you, Mark***

With only a couple more days left on my Thai visa, it was time to get out of here before they hunted me down and deported me. If you recall from my last post, I was currently in Chanthaburi, Thailand. A brief stop on my way to Cambodia.

On my way out of the River Guesthouse in Chanthaburi, I asked the desk clerk how much a motorcycle taxi to the bus station should cost. He said about 30 baht. So I went out to the motorcycle taxi drivers on the corner and told them I needed a ride to the bus station.

Then I said, “Saamsib baht?” (“thirty baht?”)

One of the drivers said, “Bus station? Twenty baht.” (“Bus station? Twenty baht” . . . oh wait, no translation needed, he said it in english.)

Now that’s what I like to see, an honest motorcycle taxi driver. The other driver there was the one who took me to the station. They take turns.

At the bus station, I boarded the 12:00 noon bus to Trat, or if you prefer, Trad, it doesn’t matter, it’s all phonetics. An hour later, in Trat, I had to find the minibus stand for a ride to Hat Lek, or if you prefer, Had Lek, the border town between Thailand and Cambodia. From my readings I thought it would be directly across the street, but it wasn’t. It was across the street, but about 100 yards to the right. It’s just a very small stand, 3 guys at a table, next to a very small market.

I knew ahead of time that that the price would be between 100-110 baht for the hour long ride. The sign at the stand said 110 baht. I told them I needed a ride to Hat Lek, and one of the guys said, “one hundred and twenty baht.” Oh no, not again, I thought (see previous post). So I pointed to the sign that said 110 baht. Everyone laughed. I paid 110 baht.

The minibus was almost full, which was good, because they don’t leave until it’s full. Two more seats needed to be filled, and within 5 minutes, they were filled. Off to Hat Lak we go. I was the only foreigner on the minibus.

About halfway there I started to get a little nervous. Not because I was the only foreigner on the bus, but because I was about to cross the border into Cambodia. I’d heard these land border crossings can be quite a harrowing experience if you let it. And I was about to let it. They say there are more scams there than at a 3-card monte convention. And I was prepared to take them on. Also, I planned on taking the 4-hour speedboat to Sihanoukville, they day after I crossed, which they also say could be harrowing. And I’m not good with boats. So I had a lot to be nervous about.

The minibus driver dropped off other passengers along the way, until I was the only one left on the bus. Then suddenly, this guy became Rusty Wallace. I guess the life of one white guy and himself isn’t worth cautious driving. But we made it to Hat Lek in one piece. And a nanosecond after I stepped off the bus, I encountered my first scammer. But his scams won’t come until later, he’s just a tout who acts like he’s my best friend, and will help me easily get my visa, and get across the border. But you do need them eventually, because they are your ride into the town of Koh Kong. But first it was time do deal with immagration.

On the Thai side of the border there is no problem at all, everything is straight forward. You go to the immigration booth, they stamp your passport and you’re on your way, with your tout, I mean your best friend, right beside you. You then walk a few yards to the Cambodian immigation station. They hand you the visa application, and you fill it out, all with the help of your new best friend.

“You write your name right there.”

“You mean where it says ‘name’?”

You hand in your completed application, and your passport, along with a passport photo, then the fun begins. It’s time to pay for the visa. A Cambodian visa costs $20 U.S., anytime, anyplace. At certain land border crossings, probably all, the immigration officers will charge you 1000 baht, which is about $25 U.S. That’s a $5 profit which goes directly into their pockets. Five dollars is a lot of money here. And according to Cambodian law, that’s illegal, as it should be. Most travellers either don’t realize this, or they just don’t want the hassle, and they pay the 1000 baht. But if you know me at all, then you know that I won’t stand for that shit. So I was ready to take on Khmer immigration.

I handed over my application, passport, and photo, and true to form, the officer said, “One-thousand baht.”

I took out a U.S $20 bill, and laid it on the table.

“One-thousand baht,” he repeated.

I calmly said, “The price for a Cambodian visa is twenty U.S. dollars.”

“We only take a thousand baht.”

I left my $20 bill on the table, but the wind was blowing other papers around, so he put it underneath my application. I said, “The price is twenty dollars.”

There were 3 guys behind the desk, all wearing white t-shirts. Sitting at a table to the left, and perpendicular, was a man dressed in full uniform. I took him to be the head officer.

Again, White T-shirt said, “One-thousand baht.” He said it kind of robotic like, as if that is the only thing he ever says.

The uniformed officer now had my passport, while White T-shirt and I continued our impasse. And don’t let my hard stance fool you, I was plenty nervous. I’m in freakin’ Cambodia fighting with the immigration officers! And hey, where’s my best friend when I need him? Funny he’s not helping me out here.

Finally White T-shirt handed my $20 bill back to me. Oh oh, I thought, They’re not going to let me in.

Then finally, Uniform spoke. He said sternly, “One-thousand baht.”

I only had one trick up my sleeve, other than holding my ground, or paying the 1000 baht. So I pulled it out.

“Okay, can I have a receipt then please?” I said.

Silence.

Then an Australian guy, not realizing what was going on, paid his 1000 baht to the White T-shirts. As he counted out his baht, he said, “How come you guys don’t accept U.S. dollars?” Of course, his query went unanswered.

The 3 T-Shirts continued their work logging in the applications of those who were issued visas, and now it was just me and Uniform. He glanced at my application.

“This is not complete,” he said. “There’s no address of where you stay in Cambodia.”

It was true, I’d left it blank. So I took the application back to the counter to include an address. Oh, and here’s my best friend, come to help me again. How nice of him. I filled in the spot with the name of one of the guesthouses I had written in my notepad. I think my friend could sense my nervousness now, and smelled blood.

I handed the application back to Uniform. I guess it was acceptable. He was now looking at my passport. He asked about the trip I took to Thailand last year.

He said, “You went to Thailand last year on October eighth, and left on October thirty-first. Then come back to Thailand this year on October eighteenth. Where you go in between, there’s no stamps?” At least that’s what I think he said.

I said, “I went back home, to America. They don’t need to stamp my passport for that.”

Then he looked at my Thai visa which is in my passport. I got it from the Thai consolate in New York before this trip. It has “New York” typed on the visa.

He said, “When you go to America you stay in New York”?

“That’s where I got the visa from,” I said. “The Thai embassy is in New York.” I wanted to add, “dumb ass” but I might not be sitting here right now if I did.

After staring at the visa, and the Thai entry and exit stamps for about 2 minutes, he finally extended his hand to receive the U.S. $20 bill. I gave it to him, he put it in the drawer, and he proceded to stick the Cambodian visa in my passport. Then he stamped the entry stamp on, and handed it back to me.

“Thank you,” I said. I didn’t say it sarcastically or anything, but I did say it like, “Thank you for ultimately doing the right thing.”

There was one more formality at another station, where they do something with your passport, and take your picture on a webcam (they did this on arrival in Thailand too), that went off without a hitch.

Wow, I’m one of the very few people ever to pay the real price, $20 U.S., at a land border crossing into Cambodia from Thailand. Now with my confidence level rising, it was time to deal with my tout . . . .