Border Crossing into Cambodia

I soon tired of the video entertainment on the bus bound for Phnom Penh and concentrated on trying to learn a few Khmer phrases which might come in handy for the next week. As we neared the border, the bus conductor (whom I will call Thuy) went around collecting everyone's passport, photo and $20 cash for the Cambodian visa. Although I already had my E-Visa (as told here) he still requested me to hand it over. A couple of hours later, Thuy went around trying to return the passports to their rightful owners. This basically involved flipping open each one, walking up and down the aisle searching for the matching mug, at times calling out the names when his facial scanning abilities proved inadequate. Now, repeat this process fifty times.
I casually opened mine and found a Cambodian entry card attached to my E-visa, all filled up by hand. People seated nearby also commented that Thuy had filled out their Cambodian visa application forms by hand. So apparently that's how a bus conductor occupies himself on this six hour intercity route - by painstakingly copying personal info from each passport onto the application forms and entry cards. As if getting yelled at by inconsiderate Irish girls wasn't bad enough. My seatmate Froso, who possessed a very striking Greek passport whose pages were replete with images from ancient times, complained that her application form was nowhere in sight. Thuy sheepishly admitted that he ran out of them, but would take care of the problem at the border. This process struck me as placing an unduly huge burden on the conductor. After all, providing the forms was itself an unexpected service - couldn't he have handed them around, with each traveller responsible for ensuring they were correctly filled out? Was Thuy part of some joint Khmer/Vietnamese government intelligence force responsible for first-line terrorist screening? Or perhaps the Benevolent Bus Conductors Association set up by the bus companies to ensure happy travels and minimal hassle to overland tourists? Alas, we probably shall never know.

The bus entered Cambodian territory, the passengers disembarked and collected their bags, and lined up at Vietnamese immigration to formally exit the country. Based on Thuy's instructions, we waited for him past the customs area and handed over our passports once more, which he meticulously stacks face up and delivers to one of the the immigration officers. At this point we were in a crowded, humid makeshift waiting area along with other tourists and passengers of countless other buses, all impatiently standing around and eager to enter Cambodia. Minutes passed, and as passports were processed by immigration, bus conductors yelled out their respective passengers' names and one by one those called filed out of the building. Given that the Vietnamese language has no less than six tones, some tourists could barely make out their own names and hesitated to come forward, leaving the bus conductor to resort to the more rudimentary facial recognition search pattern. Although I found this to be quite comical, unfortunately I was one of the last ones called, just when there were only 20 or so of us left in the once packed hall, thus the novelty had worn off and I was left cursing the heat, my hunger, and the damned inefficiency of the whole thing.


Outside, once Thuy had ascertained that each of the passengers had finished exiting Vietnam, we were back on the bus - for all of two minutes! The bus deposited us right outside the Cambodian border and told to disembark once more. As each of us walked past the border guard, we handed him our passports and walked on to - where? Not towards the Cambodian immigation hall, but rather, back on the bus!!! At this point, I'm thinking, "This is rather bizarre. Where are we driving to??". The bus continued on the main road, where the surreal sight of numerous casinos greeted us. Not quite as grandiose as Las Vegas, but still mystifying given that Cambodia is generally an impoverished country. Later my suspicions were confirmed that these casinos catered to Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, Korean, and other visitors from nearby countries where gambling is not permitted. Quite perversely, Cambodians themselves are not allowed to gamble at these casinos which are present in most border towns. Quite worried about the fate of our passports and puzzled that no one else seemed to be, I turned to Bun and asked "Where exactly are we going?". He replied, "Going to have lunch, of course. No one knows how long it would take immigration to finish. Don't worry about it", his voice indicating vast experience with such matters.

That's it! Lunch, of course!! We had just spent hours on a bus, it was hot and way past noon, time for some chow. Our passports? Who cares that they were taken from us and their return somewhat nebulous?! So, the bus continued for a few kilometers past the casinos and parked outside one of the small roadside food stalls. The roadside cafeteria, though somewhat ramshackle and unispiring in appearance, offered seemingly tasty, hygienic and really cheap food, around $2 for an entree with rice, so pretty soon I was digging in and forgot the fact that I was travelling undocumented, but most tourists opted for "safe" American fare like cans of Pringles potato chips (no kidding!)...ummm, at least get some local brands of chips and snacks. My bottle of Angkor beer helped in beating the heat and made the wait somewhat more pleasant inside the fan-cooled cafeteria. After another hour or so of sitting around, all of us tourists were told to board the buses to continue on to Phnom Penh. Oh, and the passports - where exactly were they?! No one seemed to know, and our bus pulled out of the parking lot and idled on the roadside, waiting, waiting...for what?! For Godot? But this time, unlike in the play, Godot does arrive, in the form of Thuy, who had been conspicuously missing at the cafeteria and now scrambled onboard the bus carefully balancing a stack of fifty passports with both hands! Everyone cheered and applauded, and the first smile came from the perenially harassed Thuy's tired face that day. The bus' engine roared, and off we were! I entertained myself by musing about potential comedic situations that would occur in the event the wrong stack of passports was delivered to the wrong bus, but (un)fortunately no such thing happened.

Joyride in Ho Chi Minh City

That is what is called in HCMC (aka Saigon) as a cyclo, a non-motorized form of transport that used to be popular but has now been supplanted by the four million motorbikes roaring throughout the city. Scores of cyclo drivers still hang around Ben Thanh market and try to get tourists to go on a leisurely tour around town. I had successfully resisted their overtures (as well as those of the dogged female merchants inside the market who constantly grabbed at my arm as I passed within shouting distance of their stalls), and thought I would leave Saigon without having experienced a cyclo ride. Little did I know that Bun had arranged for cyclos to ferry us to the bus terminal for the long bus ride to Phnom Penh, thus as I stepped out of the hotel to my surprise a horde of drivers rushed forward to grab my luggage and usher me to their cyclo.

So off we were on a joyride! Even though each cyclo only holds one person, given the excess weight both on my frame and the accompanying baggage, I was worried that my gaunt driver would run out of gas (bad intended pun) before we reached the bus terminal about ten minutes away. He didn't seem to mind though, and started pedalling our cyclo right smack into crazy Saigon traffic. So we drifted along the streets at a glacial pace, giving plenty of time to contemplate everyday life taking place before our eyes. My amazement at the lack of vehicles in front of us sometimes gave way to sympathy for the motorbike drivers impatiently waiting to overtake our cyclo on their way to urgent business in this rapidly developing commercial heart of Vietnam. There were panic-filled moments as well especially when our throwback means of transport would attempt a left hand turn (how does one signal?) despite an oncoming rush of far bigger mechanical beasts, and I would suddenly become conscious of the absence of any steel or aluminum protective barriers around my body. As would be expected, my driver remained stoic and his expression unchanging all throughout this somewhat exhilarating experience, and I have to admit, just as I was getting the hang of it and learning to suppress the urge to scream "Look out!", we had reached the bus terminal. Alas, the joyride proved to be all too brief.

Given that all my body parts remained intact, I felt compelled to give a small tip to Stoic Gaunt Driver for his deft maneuvering amidst all that chaotic traffic. I reached inside my pocket and blindly grabbed one of the remaining Vietnamese dong (US$=16,500 dong) currency bills in my possession. I took out the note, flashed my best smile and offered it to Stoic Gaunt Driver. He took one look at my hand, his expression turned into one of disgust, then he gave a hearty laugh, turned to the other drivers and made some comments to them while pointing to my outstretched palm. I looked down and was aghast to see that I was holding a 500 dong (US$0.03) note, pretty much close to worthless and worthy of derision even for cyclo drivers. (In fairness to me, they're pretty hard to tell apart - lame excuse). Chastened by the group of drivers laughing in my face, I simply retreated and went in search of the bus to Phnom Penh. Notwithstanding my major faux pas, I totally enjoyed the experience and Stoic Gaunt Driver proving not to be that stoic after all.

Mouse Loves Rice

The seven hour early morning bus ride from Ho Chi Minh City to Phnom Penh got derailed as soon as it started. At one of the pickup points, four female backpackers in their 20s jumped in with their heavy packs, and one of them asked the driver, "Can we wait for my boyfriend? He's getting money at the bank". The driver of course didn't understand much English and gestured frantically to indicate that, "No, you stupid tourist, we can't wait for your boyfriend who is at the bank because we're on a busy road and have to keep moving or else the police will give me a ticket". Thus, the bus rolled along for about a mile or so, all the while the girls were screaming over and over, "Stop the bus! Stop the bus!", much to the amusement of passengers sitting in front (among them yours truly).

In truth, I was amused by their heavy accent whose origin was yet-to-be-determined more than anything else. Things got ugly though, as the girls starting hurling invectives at the poor driver - suffice it to say the English-speaking tourists onboard all cringed in horror and everyone speculated as to where exactly these stupid bitches were from. At last glimpses were caught of their passports and the word "Irish" became a dirty word for the rest of the bus ride. And yes, the (bleeping) Irish boyfriend eventually caught up to the bus.

Sitting near the front of the bus has its perks, watching the onboard entertainment being one of them. (Another is disembarking first. Can't think of anything else). Things didn't start out promising. A couple of songs from Disney movies - one from Mulan (ugh), the other from Lion King perhaps. Just when I was about to concentrate on my Khmer phrase book, the next song caught my attention - a cartoon video accompanied by a simple catchy ballad with lyrics of dubious grammatical accuracy, and the chorus led off by the immortal line, "I love you, loving you, even as the mouse loves the rice". I wasn't the only one who got a kick out of it, as the other passengers seated nearby roared in laughter. Isn't this the perfect pick up line?! ;-D Don't smirk, but the song is quite addictive - check out the Mandarin, Cantonese, Japanese, Khmer, Vietnamese, and Korean versions, and a huge hit in Asia. Most bizarre of all is the video of a family vacation in Utah with the song playing in the background, with the Dad singing in Lao no less!! And for the younger party-going set, a rousing club remix. Or for mellow types, enjoy this acoustic guitar rendition, and an "unplugged" set by an aspiring singer. Ah, these rice lovers!

Sadly, it all went down the drain after "Mouse Loves Rice". The rest of the videos were of a chubby Tina Turner look-alike singing Thai or Vietnamese pop songs accompanied by an ensemble of dancers, but it was gibberish to me. After a couple hours of this tortuous wailing, the passengers clamored for the TV to be turned off and the driver, sensing unrest brewing, had mercy on us and did so promptly.