Goodbye to Cambodia and a few friends

I’m alone again, I left my three friends and Cambodia behind, and this bus I’ve been riding for ten hours should have landed in Bangkok nearly three hours ago.

I said goodbye to my three friends before boarding this bus, and I’ve had plenty of time to reminiss about our short, but busy, time together- hot bus rides and hours of sweating while the bus was delayed, lot’s of ladyboys, birthdays and beers on the beach, diving certifications, temple visits, and Cambodian BBQs.

In Cambodia I saw Angkor Wat at sunrise, experienced complete frustration and hopelessness with the poverty, got drunk on Cambodian whisky and convinced a tuk-tuk driver to let me drive his manual motorbike (I’ve never even driven an automatic before).
Siem Riep, where I spent all my allotted “Cambodian time”, was dry and dusty and I took two showers a day to get the dirt, sweat, and brown rivers the two created together behind my knees and along my hair-line off my skin.

My spirit was depleted by the relentless vendors and kids selling worthless goods who swarmed me and pleaded with me to make an overpriced purchase. It was sad because I could never give enough. No matter what I bought (and I bought far too many coconuts and scarves) it wasn’t enough. They were happy to bleed me dry.

I enjoyed traveling with Rami, Mael and Soel Ki and will regret their absence, but I’m ready to make a move into the sailing adventure awaiting me back in Thailand. And returning to Thailand even thought this bus ride is never-ending feels like a vacation back into the familiar.

I would have liked more time in Cambodia to better understand the country and it’s people, to continue conversations with monks, old ladies and tuk-tuk drivers; to work for a bit in an orphanage and meditate in a temple. But I danced with locals, ate Cambodian cuisine and made the most of my short time there – I’m even walking away with a souvenir: dozens of flea bites all over my legs.

Now it’s creeping on 7:00p.m., the sun has set, and the road into Bangkok is congested with Friday night traffic, meaning the trip won’t be over anytime soon.

I’m hoping to catch a night bus in Bangkok heading to Phuket because Kevin is expecting me Saturday, tomorrow, in the morning to help with the final provisioning so we can check out of Thailand Monday and set sail at dawn on Tuesday. I have no idea if, where or when a bus will be leaving and I’m not thrilled to preform my search alone after dark.

I’m consoled by the thought that if I don’t make it to Phuket by morning then Kevin will understand. He’s been around SE Asia long enough to know how unreliable buses can be.

I have to laugh though, because the man who sold me this bus ticket guaranteed I would arrive in Bangkok by 4p.m. and said I would have no problem finding a night bus to Phuket. I hope he is at least 50 percent accurate.

WWJD?

Today I met a Cambodian monk named Sel. He is 24, enjoys studying English, and aspires to be a tuk-tuk driver. He dreams of driving foreigners around will cost him a lifestyle change and about $1500, a sum he will spend years earning in a rice field and probably never achieve. (According to him, but sadly I’ve learned even monks can’t be trusted because I’m a dollar sign to him and not a friend.)

Sel is the second youngest of nine children, not an unusually high number, left home at 15 to join a temple and had little formal education before studying Buddhism among fellow monks.
We talked for nearly two hours in the halls of Angkor Wat, the biggest temple in Siem Riep and considered the 8th wonder in the world, and at the end of our conversation I wrote him a long letter, which he read aloud to me, to practice his English. I hoped this gift would deter him from asking me for money, but it didn’t.

As I excused myself to rejoin my friends, who were waiting for me at the entrance, he asked for money to help him with his education.

I gave him some money (they only want American money here) and desperately maneuvered my way back through the Angkor Wat corridors until I could find an exit.

Was the conversation cheapened my his request for money?

I still gained considerable insight to life as a monk and as a Cambodian, and the reality of the situation is that his existence is dependent on handouts.

During the 15 minutes it took me to find Remi, Mael and Soel Ki I was thinking about the acronym WWJD, which stood for “What Would Jesus Do,” that we used to wear on bracelets when I was a kid.
I can’t give all my money to each person who asks me, but I gave two hours of my time and an English lesson. I hope Jesus is proud.

Getting to Cambodia

Almost twelve hours on a bus (the trip should have taken 7-8hrs and cost half of what we paid) that sold us into the hands of a corrupt system that makes the trip especially difficult and uncomfortable so when you land at your destination you collapse into a taxi and allow them to take you to a hotel of their choice. Everyone along the way is working with one-another, receiving commissions and mining as much money from you as possible. It was a soul draining experience to be ripped off so badly and blatantly. At every turn were people manipulating and taking advantage.

At every stop we were swarmed by children selling worthless good or demanding money, who would follow me around, grabbing me and staring at me with practiced frowns.
It was one of the worst days in all my months of traveling. When we arrived in our overpriced hotel I was furious and frustrated. I showered but the day’s dirt and my anger wouldn’t wash away.

If I’d been alone I would have fought the system and had a go at getting places alone- no package deals, no “helpful” taxi drivers and no travel agents, but I was with the group and we made a consensual decision. We didn’t know better options until we had paid and committed to the scams.

Through this ordeal I’ve been reminded that this is SE Asia and everyone is in it for themselves. A travel agent will lie about an arrival time to get you to buy a bus ticket and a tuk-tuk (motorbike pulling a cart) driver will promise you sights that don’t exists just so you pay to take a tour.

My patience is tested daily, and learning the trick of the trade is an intolerably high learning curve.

I have to accept that I will always spend more than I think I should and remember that no one is responsible for me, except me, whether I’m among friends or strangers.