Author: TravelGal

At first glance, not as easy, or quick, as one would expect… However, never ones to shy away from difficulties, we were intent to get to our destination no matter what.

All in its turn, though. Out of purely exotic inclinations, and with the recent 11-hour airplane confinement still fresh in our memories, we decided on the ground means of transportation to Cambodia. Having visited four different travel agents of varying caliber and trustworthiness along Khao San Road, we left enriched with a variety of offers, ranging from 400 to 1,700 local monetary units per capita (excluding the actual visa costs). The agencies agreed only on one aspect – the duration of the journey – assessing it at 7 hours on the road.

In reality, both, the price and the duration, turned out to be pure fiction and bullshit: regardless of how much you pay at the beginning of the trip, by the end of it the price at least triples. We chose the budget option for 400, and in the end parted with 1,700 in local cash anyway. Although, the price for those who coughed up 1,700 at the beginning most probably increased exponentially as well. Time on the road also seemed to stretch proportionally to the price, and compared to the initially announced, almost doubled.

The ground transportation to Cambodia is done by bus. It leaves Bangkok at 7 in the morning, and according to all travel agents arrives in Siem Reap (the “cultural capital” of Cambodia – more on it later) at 4 in the afternoon, which in reality is closer to 8-9 in the evening. A mini-van, booked by several local travel agencies, collects tourists from nearby hotels, packs them inside together with luggage (the total absence of anything even remotely resembling a trunk or a luggage compartment in the van seriously complicates the process), and sets off on dusty Thai roads in the direction of the Cambodian border. Our 10-seater van accommodated a lucky number of 13 motley passengers of varied origins. Since 2 seats were taken solidly by backpacks and suitcases, the driver had to share his seat with two skinny Chinese girls, who seemed to be quite happy hugging the gear shift. The average age of the passengers ranged between 18 and 25, so the two of us represented the mature age group of backpackers. This set us thinking about the years running by, and similar philosophical concepts…

Although, come to think of that, at the time when the rest of the world set off on their adventures, hitchhiking through various exotic destinations, travel wasn’t quite on our agenda due to absence of money, as well as (at least for me) acceptable passports, visas, etc. Which made us start exploring the world and various styles of travel at respectable middle age. Probably for the best. What do I remember, for example, about my first ever trip to the United States on a school exchange program at a tender age of 16? Practically nothing. While now the possibilities, desire, and vocabulary allow to thoroughly document the impressions, in a feat to fight the memory loss and senility that are already on their way.

OK, back to the road. On Thai territory, the terrain was flat as a pancake, and lacked in any sights or impressions. The impressions started upon reaching the coveted Cambodian border. We came prepared and did our homework, finding all visa requirements and formalities for entering the country. Citizens of most countries (to my surprise, holders of Russian passports included) are let in on a point of entry visa obtained at the border. Our motley bus crew included Canadians, Israelis, Germans, English, French, and to add to the truly international flavor – the Russian me. Cambodian visas were stamped in our passports in a wooden shack in the middle of an empty field near the border. A smiley girl, busily frying noodles on a portable gas stove with one hand, simultaneously doubled up as the visa official, and diligently filled in the names and other details in our passports with the other hand. Closer to the border the cost of the Cambodian visa increased from the initially announced 1,000 Thai Baht to 1,200. Tourists who did not happen to have a passport photo with them (of which there was a majority – only the two of us and a serious-looking German teenager, whose home country’s bureaucracy could give any Cambodian border officials ten points forward) were quickly photographed right there in the shack for a handy price of 30 Euros (!). Long live commercial initiative! After that, putting the wallet back in the pocket was not even worth the effort, as the contents were demanded on a permanent basis.

Our motley crew had colorful stickers with numbers put on our clothing, based on which we were further sorted into various buses depending on our final destination. Right before the border, we were uploaded from the bus, and introduced to the Cambodian representative of the tour company. A chain-smoking middle-aged guy with a smile plastered across his face, wearing a wrinkled suit and sandals over mismatched socks, introduced himself as Jim, and led our organized crowd forward in a cloud of cigarette smoke. The “no-man’s land” between Thailand and Cambodia stretches for around half a mile (about a kilometer), and due to the change from a Thai mini-van to the Cambodian one, was walked by us on foot. Having received a “departure” stamp in our passports from Thailand, we move on in an organized formation to “enter” Cambodia. With our suitcases and backpacks we veered among carts filled with vegetables and live chickens, trying to avoid mopeds carrying families of five all talking simultaneously on their cell phones, and other local exotics. The new country was getting more visible by the minute: the colors were getting greyer, the roads dustier, and the people more serious.

The Cambodian border was not exactly closed, but was not within easy reach either. A couple hundred people’ queue was snaking in front of it, filling up all available space. Seeing our sour faces, our guide immediately announced that for a handy price of 200 Thai Baht a head to be paid to the immigrations officer, the latter would escort us through the VIP corridor, and personally stamp our passports in the best possible way without the need of our physical presence. This immediately struck nostalgic notes in my memory, reminding me of the wild 80-s and 90-s in my home country… Our further stay in Cambodia continuously supported this de ja vue…

Having distributed to us our passports (appropriately stamped, as promised) on a bus stop on the Cambodian side of the border, our guide put us in a regular city bus. After a 15-minute ride the bus unloaded us at an inter-city bus depot, the total chaos of which painfully reminded me my childhood summer trips to the Black Sea, and bus stations and markets of Yevpatoria on the Crimean peninsula. There we were once again offered to part with some cash in exchange for a possibility of upgrading our further travels from a “regular” bus to a mini-van, and even to a VIP taxi. We proudly refused, and were very efficiently sorted by our colorful stickers into buses, on which we continued our journey.

During the following 6 (!!!) hours, we forcefully enjoyed first the DVD with The Best Of Cambodian pop hits, and then a Kung-Fu film in Chinese with Cambodian subtitles, that was first shown from the middle till the end, and then from the beginning to the middle. We picked up the bus driver’s grandma with a basket full of laundry in one roadside village, and dropped her off in the next one. There we picked a couple other relatives with several boxes of canned food and gave them a lift to their destination. We also stopped in the middle of the fields at a cafe that obviously belonged to yet another relative of our bus driver, and waited there for an hour, while the driver was enjoying a late afternoon meal. As a result, we reached our destination only by 8 in the evening, tired, but happy that the journey was finally over.

What is Cambodia, and what happened next, is the topic for the next chapter.

After almost 18 hours in transit, we finally made it to Thailand.  Can’t say the trip was quick, or especially comfortable, but the connection works…  First, there was a flight from Munich to Frankfurt, which is a joke in itself, as the total flying time barely reaches 30 minutes.  Gives you a deceitful feeling that walking could have been faster…
Then a couple of hours in transit in an airport full of crying toddlers, the highest concentration of which was alarmingly right at the gate to the flight boarding for Bangkok.  This looked wrong – I was dreading 11 hours crammed into an airplane seat as a grown-up in wonderful company.  The idea of spending the same amount of time in the same space with a crying baby on my lap would be absolutely horrifying.  The Mommies and harassed-looking Dads waiting to board the plane did not seem to mind. It’s not like they had a choice, anyway…

Another surprising thing was an unusually high number of names on the waiting list – over 20!  A family with the last name of Hoffman left an especially lasting impression – a stressed-out Dad, a fidgety Mom, and three offsprings aged between 2 and 7.  All three cranky, whiny, and in particularly shitty predispositions towards everything and everybody around.  The family’s name was called up 3 times, but consistently remained on the waiting list.  Judging by the fact that they were not spotted anywhere on the place after take-off, they must have spent the night in Frankfurt.

11 hours in coach, in the very front row behind the partitioning separating it from business, with no possibility to stretch out our legs, were far from humane.  Why aren’t we the children of billionaires?…  Nevertheless, the plane diligently delivered us to Bangkok overnight, and unloaded there into the lunchtime of the following day.  Our destination was warm and sunny, and did not look scary at all.  Huge, brand-spanking new, and very well organized airport, fast baggage service, taxis lined up at arrivals to pick up dazed and disoriented tourists, friendly-looking and smiling people – all in nice contrast to many places I had dubious pleasure to visit.  Despite my initially gloomy premonitions about Asia, there were no immediate scamming or mugging attempts either.

Considering my virgin status in regards to the continent, and the desire to have at least a rough plan of action for the beginning of the trip we booked a hotel for two nights in Bangkok in advance.  By local standards (which were not especially high: the ultimate majority of visitors stay in hostels, or simply drink the nights away in clubs and bars), our lodgings were quite fancy and boasted a shower and toilet en suite, functioning Internet connection, and clean bedding.  I was sure luxury won’t last throughout the whole trip, but it was nice to have some at the beginning, to ease the pain of diving into the unknown.  Getting a bit ahead of myself, these expectations did not prove true either.

We were not planning to stay long in Bangkok, but according to all guidebooks it was worth seeing at least once.  Considering the fact that the plane brought us right there, we decided to take a look. Having arrived at lunchtime, and made it to the hotel by early afternoon, we spent the evening walking around the neighborhood, trying to adjust to the weather and get into the holiday mode.  The hotel was located in an old part of Bangkok near Khao San Road, famous for its buzzing night life, rave discos, shops full of fake Versaces and Pradas, and other attractions of similar sort.  All of the above was present, as promised, plus some extras: a live break-dance show, performed in the middle of the street by a group of skinny and seemingly boneless teenagers.  We were sitting in a small bar with a band playing good rock-n-roll and blues, and the teenagers were performing bone-breaking pirouettes right outside it on their heads, hands, and God knows what else to rock-n-roll, which only added to the surrealistic atmosphere.

In an attempt to get rid of the side-effects of an 11-hour flight, we also tried the local art of massage, offered in abundance on every corner.  The results exceeded all expectations – after half an hour, during which a tiny Thai girl walked all over my back and shoulders, all signs of lengthy confinement in a tight space disappeared, and the shape of my body no longer resembled an airplane seat.

As for the shops, full of fake Versaces and Rolexes – all true. In addition to T-shirts, boxer shorts, suits and watches with designer labels, they also offered fake driving licenses of all countries of the world, press passes and other handy documents.  These were advertised openly and on every corner by underage guys on little fold-up chairs, who printed the desired paperwork off their iPads right there. The documents will hardly survive close scrutiny, but were quite popular with tipsy tourists of all walks of life.

The first day turned out to be quite long, even without counting in the flight time.  Downtown Bangkok does not go to bed early, and the disco pulse, as well as numerous live bands competing with each other in the street bars could be heard in our hotel room loud and clear till 3 in the morning.

Still tired after the musical night, we spent the following day sightseeing.  Thailand has been extremely unfortunate in regards to its world fame – everybody heard about sex tourism, rave discos, and quality pot on exotic islands and beaches.  At best, visitors to the country are looking for a good massage, and cheap tasty food. For some reason, centuries-old Thai culture and impressive artistic miniature grandeur seem to be completely ignored.  Even dirty, poor, and generally unfriendly India attracts pilgrims striving for “culture”!…  While incredibly friendly, peaceful, and highly cultural Thailand has been forever branded as the “Sex Tourism Mecca“!…

Speaking of miniature grandeur – this reminds me of my younger days, spent guiding groups of tourists through the State Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg.  The total disinterest of all Asian visitors to Rembrandt & Co was as surprising and shocking, as their overwhelming joy over some tiny ivory box, or a wood-carved bench collecting dust in the corner.  This generalizes Asian art quite well. Painting did not really make it here, while applied arts flourished and reached sky-high levels.  People built impressive temples, and whole towns, decorated all over with mosaics, with doors several stories high, covered with mother-of-pearl ornaments, and towers covered in tiny flowers made of pieces of glass and mirrors, reaching into the sky.  Those were our impressions from visiting the Grand Palace in Bangkok, along with a couple other temples, the interior of one (Wat Pho) completely taken over by a golden Buddha, the size of several football fields, towering over the visitors to a couple storeys high, lying on his side in a relaxed pose.

Bangkok also impressed with the good looks and thin frames of its police and military force.  Local road police were directing traffic in white gloves, and were dressed in impeccably clean and pressed uniforms in +40C heat.  All policemen we’ve seen could also boast lean and fit figures of magazine cover models.  We have not spotted a single fat cop!  Quite in contrast to many other countries, where the situation with the size and weight of law enforcement officers makes you remember the proverbial “it’s easier for them to shoot you than chase after you” warning.

We also happened to be in Bangkok in the middle of political unrest, which represented itself by people gathering quietly on the main square in the evenings after working hours, chanting songs, and looking extremely peaceful.  The military forces, gathered outside of the square, did not wear white gloves, but could easily compete in good looks and fitness with the police.

Street traffic was, as expected, crazy, but there was some logic to this madness. In all seeming chaos there were no accidents.  Cars and buses squeezed into tiny alleys among pedestrians, along with impressively large motorbikes, scooters, and other exotic (but always motorised) means of transportation.  Somehow, there were no donkeys to be seen…

A lot of local cars, and most taxis run not on petrol, but on propane. Which has a visible and positive result on the environment. In stark contrast to Bangalore in India, which I happened to pay a fleeting visit 5 years ago, the air in Bangkok did not smell of kerosene, and there was no cloud of black smog lingering above you.

Street food can be consumed without much fear – the city is full of little food carts, filled with noodles, shrimps and all sorts of other soy beans, which the cart owner turns into a delicious meal in a matter of seconds right in front of you.  Competition is high, and street vendors try to outdo each other in culinary arts.  True, you can also see fried caramelized scorpions and other arthropodic Thai beasts on offer, but you don’t have to eat them.  All this is being offered with enviable zeal on every corner, just like the equally useless Bavarian “chachka” in Munich during the Oktoberfest.  Which only proves the universal predictability of human nature: depending on the percentage of alcohol consumed, a drunk tourist would buy anything.

A little more than 24 hours in Bangkok, and the impressions  already managed to fill a couple of pages!… On the following day, we were planning to continue our exotic travels – at 7 in the morning a bus was going to pick us up and take in the direction of Cambodian border. There we hoped to get all necessary visa formalities done, and continue to Siem Reap, situated near one of the oldest cities on planet Earth – ancient town of Angkor Wat, and our interim destination.  If we manage to survive an 8-hour bus trip and won’t be eaten on the Cambodian border, the story will be continued…