Nomadism 101: A Daytrip to Cambodia pt. 2

(Scroll Down for Part 1)

Sitting in a Thai greasy spoon can be a dangerous experience. Whenever the cook tosses her mixture of chili and spices onto the wok, a wave of fumes washes over the restaurant. Mr D. coughs loudly, declaring that he's going to have to get some fresh air and a Thai girl sitting across from us looks up, grinning impishly. She's wearing a bright orange shirt and her long ponytail is tossed carelessly over her right shoulder. She laughs silently for a moment, then returns to the food she's sharing with her parents. The wait staff cover their noses with little napkins, waiting for the fumes to pass. The woman sitting at the counter buries her nose in her thin, gray and green striped hoodie and waits wearily. Her hair is damp from the moisture, her makeup is a bit smeared, and she looks like she'd rather be anywhere else.

I take shallow breaths and watch Mr. D leave and begin to have dark fantasies about what's happening with my passport. It's gone for good, I'm sure and now I'll have to go through hell to get a new one...or maybe they're setting up some scheme in which I'll get caught with drugs once I'm across; I'll end up in a Cambodian prison for years, and leave a bearded shell of myself full of HIV and Hep B. Hmmm, maybe I'll just stop thinking.

Forty-five minutes later, my eager guides re-appear, apologizing for the delay and brandishing my passport which contains a brand new Cambodian visa. I follow them towards border control and a little Thai girl appears, holding an umbrella over my head. I half-heartedly try to dodge her, but she is persistent in her quest to keep my skin from getting any darker. We get to Thai border control, I tip her, and she disappears. I stand in line for a few minutes, and once the grumbling woman stamping passports has let me through, I re-emerge into the hot sun and stride towards the Cambodian check point. My guides appear, and walk me across the short bridge that separates the countries.

Children appear around us, begging for change. I look down at the little girl tugging at my pants and try to smile as I shake my head. She's literally dressed in rags and has these desperate, sad eyes. I feel filthy as I look up and try to ignore her. What I really want to do is grab her up in a big bear hug and tell her that it's going to be ok, that I can help her, that I can save her. But I don't, or won't, or can't. I just keep walking.

My guides tell me to wait. They again have disappeared with my passport, but I fight the urge to freak out. I'm completely in their hands, there's not much I can do. They show up with a Cambodian police officer who motions me over to his motorbike, and I hop on, with some reluctance. As we pass his buddies, they shout at him. He yells back gleefully and they laugh loudly. there are really only two options here; they're making fun of the fact that he's got a black man on his bike, or I'm at the wrong end of a bad joke that's going to end me up in Cambodian prison. I've never hoped to be called a nigger more eagerly; it's certainly better than the alternative.

He drops me off at a small building full of foreigners getting their visas approved and tells me to wait outside the building. Cambodia may be a struggling country, but they seem to have tried to make the border crossing look nice. There are several modern looking office buildings covered in blue reflective glass and what looks like a mall. The only visible difference between here and Thailand is that they drive on the right side of the road. The buildings don't distract me long because I've decided I really don't like the idea of a cop hanging on to my passport. It doesn't matter what country I'm in, police always make me nervous; and this one has my passport, and knows that I'd do a lot to get it back to relative safety in my own hands.

Thankfully, he returns quickly with the passport and we're back across the border. I have thirty more days on my visa and I can suddenly breathe again. I realized I'm soaked in sweat. The car ride back seems longer, but I enjoy the sight of the sinking sun peeking through the clouds like a bashful child peering through living room blinds as I fade in and out of sleep.

Continue the journey...

Nomadism 101: A Daytrip to Cambodia pt. 1

Thai law being what it is, a visa issued upon arrival to this fair kingdom is limited to 30 days. If the visa holder in question wishes to supplement said visa, a 15 day extension is available in Bangkok; anything longer must be obtained across the border in Laos, Malaysia, or Cambodia. Mynannmar's right out.
What follows is the tale of my quest to obtain those coveted thirty extra days on my visa.

I wake up this morning expecting to get ready for a quick trip into downtown Bangkok to get a 15 day extension on my visa. It won't be enough, but right now, it's the only thing we have time to do. Expectations are interesting things...my morning continues with my Dad cheerfully popping his head into my room and announcing that I'll be heading to the Cambodian border with a man I'll call Mr. D. A, fellow American. He used to teach here at the college and still lives in the area.

By 8, we're heading to the border. The sun is rising, but the air is thick with haze from all the slash and burning that happens this time of year. But today, this doesn't bug me as much as it usually does, I'm excited; I've always wanted to see Cambodia, even if I'll only get to the border area on this trip. Four towns, fours hours, and a few naps later, we've arrived rather uneventfully at the border. At least in this area of Thailand (and I imagine a good bit of the rest of the country), most people live in towns or small cities. No bamboo villages here. I guess you'd have to travel up to the hill tribe areas to find actual villages, and from what I hear, those are disappearing as well.

But enough of that, I'm at the border. We arrive at the border and spread out around the official buildings is a large market. We drive under a large, pale yellow arch. The large text on the arch proclaims this area to be the "Golden Gate Plaza," and I have to smile a bit.

If you've ever packaged up a box of clothes and American goods to send to Cambodia, and wondered, as you dropped that well-taped box off, what actually happens to the goods, well ask no more. They end up here, in the Border Market. Cambodians, it turns out, don't particularly like hand-me-downs either. They started crossing the border to sell the contents of their packages and buy clothes they liked; and thus the market was born. It now sprawls around border control, and from what I could gather, contains just about anything you'd want to buy.

Mr. D and I park, and head off to border control to get started on obtaining a Cambodia visa for my jaunt across the border. Unfortunately, things have changed since he was last here, and we end up wandering around trying to find the entrance to the crossing. I'd like to note here that as a foreigner especially in Asia, it's a good idea to look like you know what you're doing. Looking lost attracts all the wrong sorts of people.

Rather unsurprisingly then, we're ambushed by two eager looking young men in grey polos sporting a travel company logo. They insist that they can get me over the border and back quickly with minimal hassle, for a small fee. I'm not that excited about the idea, but we are a bit lost, and they do look official, so we let ourselves get herded back to a restaurant where they have set up shop. They ask for my passport, fill out the documentation with a speed that suggests a comforting familiarity and then disappear, reassuring me that they'll be back in about 15 minutes with the visa.

Having your visa disappear in the hands of a stranger, no matter how reputable he looks, is just downright scary. We sit at the restaurant and minutes tick by. I figure that I might as well order some food and ask for a plate of fried vegetables and rice. The waitresses who have been standing around eyeing the customers scurry to work. No one looks very happy in this place. There seems to be an air of resignation that hovers around the wait staff. I look over the counter and watch the cook stir a huge pot of rice.

Continue the journey...