Bad judgment in Cambodia

Ever judge a book by its cover?

I have.

It was 8 am, the morning of our departure from Laos, when we slid down the river bank and climbed unsteadily on board a little wooden motorboat. After a couple stops at the surrounding islands, we enjoyed a breezy ride back to the mainland, the sun rising slowly through the ancient trees scattered along the edges of the Mekong. These were the first and last peaceful moments of the day.

At the port in Ban Nakasang our driver navigated between the packed shoreline, gently bumping other boats out of the way. We walked through the little port town, buzzing with life, and stopped in a dusty parking lot where we waited with the other Westerners en route to Cambodia.

When a small Lao man began barking orders for everyone to hand over their passports for a Cambodian visa, unlike the rest of the sheep, we opted to pass through immigration on our own. Tossing my passport into a plastic bag carried by someone I'd never met before didn't exactly give me warm fuzzies.

No one had any idea what was going until about an hour later when we were led up the road to a lonely parking lot where we piled on to a big bus.
Fifteen minutes later we arrived at the border. Out of 60 tourists, only 8 of us (me, Aran, 4 hippie French guys and a couple from Germany) went through immigration on our own, the rest simply got out and walked over into Cambodia.

Let the overcharging begin!

First it was $2 each, to get stamped out of Laos. One guy told the immigration officials they were bastards while Aran tried a lighter approach, shaking his head like a disappointed parent, telling them it was a shame what they were doing. Either way we didn't have much option as they had the stamp we needed. 

Now I'm sure some of you are thinking...what's a few bucks here and there? And while I don't mind giving a local artisan a fair price for their goods, I do have a beef with government officials overcharging. Considering how many people cross the border daily, the dollars would add up. And I'm pretty sure these immigration guys aren't exactly sharing the wealth with their fellow citizens.

Barely a few steps into Cambodia we were intercepted by the "health check" guy who corralled us over to the quarantine tent, where we would no doubt be charged to get our temperature taken. Well I was ready for them! "I have my immunizations", I proclaimed, wielding my bright, yellow fever card and waving it in the air as proof. That managed to work and we moved on.

As we approached the Immigration hut, a conversation came reeling back through my mind. We were enjoying coffee shakes and huge chocolate chip cookies, rewards, following a kayak mishap in Vang Vieng, Laos, that left me dizzy and stitched up, when a big burly English man sat down with us. During our sugar high, he regaled us with tales of his travels - having visited Laos over 15 times he had lots of advice and stories, including one which involved crossing the Laos-Cambodia border. He told us how he had argued with the immigration officers over $5USD and when they threatened him with jail, he called their bluff, refusing to move unless he paid the correct price. I remember thinking, this guys is nutso! Jail? In Cambodia? Thanks, but I'll just pay the extra five bucks. Not exactly the "real" Cambodian experience I'm after. In the end they let him through without the extra charge.

So when the immigration officers calmly indicated the visa cost $25USD each we acted surprised and confuddled!

"Hmm", Aran muses and looks at me. "I thought the cost for each visa was twenty dollars, eh Renee?"

"Hmm", I reply. "Yes, Aran I thought so too. Mr. Immigration man, are you sure that's correct? Was there a recent increase?".

Their explanation was that the extra $5 was for the stamps we need in our passport.

"Wow!" Aran exclaims, "that is one expensive stamp...more expensive than the ink they're using back in Laos. Are you sure some of that isn't helping pay for that huge gold watch you're wearing?".

Unprepared to risk incarceration, we left it at that and paid $25USD each. Welcome to Cambodia.

 

Then the real fun began!

For two and a half hours we sat in the blazing sun, as a steady stream of tourists crossed the border to join us. Lots of tourists and no buses.

When a bus eventually pulled up, everyone got up and got their packs on, slowly calculating that this bus would hold, at most, 60 people and there had to be at least 150 of us.

A crowd gathered around the bus asking the only guy who seemed to be in charge, where the bus was going and who was supposed to get on it.

"All people with white ticket!", he yells. And the uniform response from the group was, "We ALL have a white ticket!!".

Cue chaos.

Aran and I sought out the "boss man", who was stuffing his face, probably for free, in one of the restaurants where he left loads of tourists for a few hours. He had his money and was completely disinterested in figuring out a solution.

The smart people were loading their bags and grabbing a seat. Just as Aran got our packs crammed into the undercarriage, it was announced that this bus was destined for Phnom Penh - not where we were going. A blessing in any case as there were no seats left.

By this point I was losing my mind. Ready to lash out at any one in this obvious scam. Overwhelmed at the disorganization, when organization is what I thrive on. And perplexed at how something so simple could be so messed up.

Lucky for us, a minivan arrived to take people to smaller towns like Ban Lung, where only a handful of people, including us, were headed. Ban Lung was the closest destination. Those going to bigger cities like Phnom Penh, Sihanoukville or Siem Reap had at least a 10-12 hour bus ride ahead of them and it was already 2pm. Likely their driver would stop in some random town, claiming it was too late to drive, but not to worry because his buddy has a guesthouse, leaving the passengers no choice but to pay an exorbitant amount for a room, while forfeiting the money already pre-paid for accomodation elsewhere.

I thought for sure we'd be off when all the Ban Lung-bound people had found our van, instead we sat for another hour watching the frustration and confusion mount, all while the engine was running.

Several people continued to fight for a seat as we left. The only big bus had bags and suitcases loaded in the aisles, and people were sitting on top of the piles. There was simply no more room and no more vehicles. When a guy in our van starting joking and laughing at those stranded, I was out of patience and I lost it! "Really!? You're laughing? Pretty funny when others are stuck and you're set. Could you be more of an ass?". Aran sat frozen and praying no one assumed we were together, while I coaxed my heart rate back to normal.

An hour and a half later we pulled over at the side of the highway at some major junction where - you guessed it! - we were dumped once again. Nothing around but a restaurant. I dragged my bag under the shade of tree, determined not to buy anything. Our driver points to his watch and says, "you wait, one hour", and then he was gone.

While we waited Aran and I sat under the tree, eating creameos (yes, creameos not oreos) and plotting our escape from this corrupt country, unprepared to travel like this for the 3 weeks we had planned.

A couple of hours later, a bus pulled over on the other side of the highway and sure enough, a little Cambodian man starts waving wildly at us. To my surprise this was indeed our final ride to Ban Lung.

At the end of the day, a trip that should have taken 4 hours took the better part of 10.

I was still cooling down a couple days later when we visited Crater Lake. Surrounded by dense forests, I found a sense of peace as we swam with giggling, laughing Cambodian teenage girls, who had jumped in, life jackets on, fully clothed.

This wasn’t the Cambodia that crossed me. This was Cambodia winning me back.

And as the days passed, I often thought back to this experience and how I let it shape my image of the country as a whole before I got a chance to know Cambodia a bit better. Before spotting the endangered Irrawaddy dolphins, before the haunting history lessons of the Khmer Rouge, before waving hello at farmers working their fields as I rode horseback through their village, before the temples of Angkor left us awestruck...

Imagine what you can miss by judging too quickly.

Traveled in Thailand

Two more sleeps in Bangkok and then we say goodbye to Southeast Asia. I had hoped to blog more in the last couple of months. Usually with all that traveling there's some obstacle that makes for a good story, but here in Southeast Asia it's been pretty easy.

And in Thailand, its been too easy in fact.

Back in Malawi, we met a couple who told us after Africa and India, Southeast Asia would be a breeze, especially Thailand.

And they had the perfect term for it.

Traveled.

They said, "you don't travel in Thailand, you get traveled".

At the time we laughed about it but it is so true.

We don't have to think here. It's all done for us. "Wrapped up in a nice, neat little package", as Homer would say.

The Thais know you're
thirsty before you do

To catch a bus in Africa, meant dealing with 30 touts yelling and pulling you in different directions, all while accusing each other of being liars, to the point you weren't sure where you'd end up or if a bus was even coming. In India, we spent full days in the reservation office planning our train travel, pushing and elbowing our way to the ticket window multiple times, only to have to box out the locals, like I was back in the key during high school basketball, as they pushed their orders and yelled over your shoulder!

But here, you're practically hand-held as the Thais shuttle you through your trip. Everyone is arranging everything for you. They know where you're going before you do. 

As we walked into a bus station, a little Thai lady walks up to us, points and exclaims, "Chiang Mai!". Aran and I look at each other like, "how the hell did she know that?!?".

The tourist trail is fairly well established here. It's "traveled".

Sometimes it works out nicely for us though. We bought a ride from Chiang Mai to Chiang Rai from the enthusiastic and pushy staff at our guesthouse, and it included a stop at the White Temple. We asked if there was a direct bus, to which they replied, "No! Mini bus is better. You like White Temple, very beautiful!". And I've gotta say, they were right. It was the best temple we have ever seen and was a really awesome surprise. It was during this trip through the country that I noticed huge road signs with u-turn arrows on them, along with the name of a town that's back the other way, you know, in case you missed it. They even turn you around when you're lost!

The thrill of overcoming the challenge of getting somewhere is gone. It's been replaced with the challenge of finding some places off the beaten path; with the task of trying to convince an assertive local that, in fact, you do not want to go where everyone else is going to do what they're doing, that yes, you do want to travel with locals.

And so, oftentimes, we find ourselves on the boring, tourist bus with all the other falangs.

Foreigners.

And while we have met some truly fantastic people, we've also encountered some that make my blood boil.

You know who I mean. I'm sure you've seen them.

They are everywhere in Southeast Asia, demanding the same comforts of the Western world but at third world prices, which are actually closer to 1/5 or 1/10 of the Western world price, and complaining that no one speaks English. I feel like saying, "hey, pal, how's your Thai these days?".

I mean really, did you travel all this way to hear everyone speak English? Did you travel here to eat burgers and pizza?

Ok, I get that the language barrier is challenging, but how 'bout a little understanding and patience?

And yes, after 2 and a half months in Africa, I was indeed craving some cheese.

But to come on vacation and expect basically HOME for 1/5 of the price, I have to wonder, why did they bother?

Because of all this, we end up traveled, by English speaking guides, on a first world bus to first world accommodation, in order to keep the tourists happy, and spending their tourist pound, euro, or dollar.

I know I'm sounding quite critical here but I've been thinking about all this in reflection of others, but also, in myself.

When we first began our journey, it was easy to fall into the disgraceful place where you're appalled that a local is trying to overcharge you. Asking the tourist price, not the local price.

You negotiate hard and then walk away realizing you just haggled over 50 cents, about 1/2 of what most people are living off on a daily basis.

For someone who endorses fair trade products back home, I found myself going against this very principle! So what if I'm being asked for more because I'm a foreigner? Shouldn't I? I've heard the excuse, "I'm just a backpacker", or, "I don't have a job". But the simple fact that you bought a plane ticket to get here already suggests you have more money than most of these people will see in their lifetime. And if you're on such a tight budget maybe you shoudn't be buying that beer Lao t-shirt.

Every tourist who celebrates getting something beautiful and handmade for super cheap is basically celebrating the continued abuse of someone, somewhere. Maybe not the person who they bought from, but someone in a factory slaving over that garment or purse, and likely in deplorable conditions, for less than a dollar a day. Not much to cheer about is there?

And so this is what I think about as the Thais do the travel thinking for me. How to overcome the bigger, systemic challenges of tourism. And I'll keep thinking about it, long after our trip is over because hopefully it'll make me a better traveler and a better person.

It's not just where you travel, or how cheap you did it. It's who you are and who you impact along the way that matters.

"As a person acts in life,

so he becomes"