Cambodia Through a Lens of Fear

After returning from Phuket, we headed to my favorite Thai town of Kanchanaburi, where we spent a relaxing two days. On the morning of the third day, we caught an early bus back to Bangkok, followed by a cab to the Eastern bus terminal, where we purchased our tickets to Aranyapratet on the Thai/Cambodian border. During my stay in Thailand, I had been warned numerous times about the dangers and annoyances involved with the land border crossing to Cambodia, but I thought that they were all just tales of the pampered and for the hardcore budget traveler I fancied myself to be, it wouldn't be so bad. The bus ride to Aranyapratet was relatively comfortable, as had been most of our bus rides in Thailand and did nothing to prepare us for what was to come. I should have listened to the warnings.

As we exited the bus, we were mobbed by tuk tuk drivers wanting to take us to the border. After a quick stop at the toilet, we found a driver and rode the short distance to the Cambodian border. I had printed out a step-by-step guide to crossing the border (although this has since been updated to include MUCH more detail and we would have faired much better had we had this one handy) and getting to Siem Reap off the internet and felt that we wererelatively prepared for all of the scams and touts that we were about to encounter.

We were stamped out of Thailand and walked across the border to the VISA window for our Cambodian VISAs. Throughout our journey from the bus to the border and beyond, we were led by an enterprising young Cambodian who talked us through every step, leading us eventually, we figured, to an over-priced taxi, which would earn him his commission. At the VISA office we were charged 1000 baht (about $25) even though the VISA only costs $20 USD. I tried to pay in USD, but was refused, as we were told they would do. I bet the border guards are doing quite well for themselves, as $5 per person adds up pretty quick.

After obtaining our VISAs and getting stamped into Cambodia, we walked into a mass of tuk tuks and taxis with touts asking us where we were going, and children and women in rags begging us for money. I had read online that we were to walk through this mass and find a ride on the other side, advice I'd wish I'd eschewed for the overpriced ride offered by our temporary border guide; but thinking I was too smart for the scam, I refused the ride and led Steven through the crowd to the other side.

We soon found ourselves surrounded by kids with hands outstretched begging for money. A few of them were staring directly at the smaller pack I was carrying in front, obviously coveting whatever I had inside. There were so many of them, coming from every direction, that my only thought was to politely refuse and keep walking until they left us alone. The next thing I knew, two of the boys in front had unzipped the front pocket of my back and were quickly grabbing anything they could. I had been carrying Steven's goggles from the beach and seeing them in the hand of one of the boys first alerted me to the fact that we were being robbed. I yelled to Steven that they had his goggles and raced after the boy demanding for them back. As he handed them back, I noticed another handing Steven's camera, which he had grabbed out of a pocked of Steven's bag, to a boy behind him and I quickly raced after it. Putting my foot on the strap as one boy tried to kick it under a cart, I yelled something (I don't remember what) to Steven and we both went for the camera, knocking heads and subsequently knocking Steven's glasses, in two pieces, to the ground. I was in such a state at this point that I don't remember exactly what happened, but I remember becoming intensely aware of all of the pockets on my bags and their current states of vulnerability and yelling at the kids to get the #%^@ away from us. Steven was doing some threatening of his own and when we finally connected we agreed that we wanted to do whatever it took to get out of this situation.

As the boys ran off, shaken, we turned back towards the mass of taxi's and immediately agreed to go with the first tout who offered us a ride. He led us to the back of a pick up filled with Cambodians and bags filled with various goods. As they helped us aboard, they reached for our packs in order to pile them on top of the rest of the goods, but I wasn't letting go that easily. I positioned myself on the rear ledge of the truck bed, with my larger pack between my legs, my smaller pack in my lap and tried to calm my whirling mind.

Everywhere I looked there were beggars and Cambodian locals in rags and I was acutely aware of my status as a tourist and the value of everything I carried on my back. I began to see myself as merely an obstacle in the way of the contents of my bag, which would likely make someone a good bit of money on the street. The fact that I meant nothing to these people and that my life mattered less to them then articles that I carried that could help them sustain themselves and their family, obsessively throbbed in my brain. I was terrified.

Finally after filling the back of the truck to beyond capacity, we set off. The road between Piopet and Sisophan - where we would catch a share taxi to Siem Reap - was undoubtedly the in the worst condition of any road I have ever been on. It appeared that the road had been paved at one time, but riding on what was left of the pavement was often worse than riding on the dirt that was left in spots where the pavement had ceased to exist. Pot holes the size of riding lawn mowers and tons of jagged rocks forced the truck off of the road and onto the shoulder cumulatively for more than half the journey. In order to reduce the shock of the road on our spines, we had to intently watch the road ahead and raise up off our perches on the side of the truck bed at the prescise moment of impact; if we weren't watching and were caught off guard, we were rewarded with a painful jolt. To make matters worse for me, there was a young Cambodian boy perched next to me on the tailgate who kept "innocently" putting his hand on top of my fingers as I gripped the tailgate in an desperate effort not to fall out of the truck, replacing his hand on mine each time I moved my had further and further away. I contemplating telling him firmly to stop, but given the early events, I didn't want to do anything to jeapordize our ride. I was relieved when he got out of the truck at one of the rural towns we passed through.

For four hours we rode on this road and while the beautiful, rural scene of Cambodian countryside calmed me a bit, the approaching sunset and the fact that we had yet to reach our destination, triggered another wave of anxiety. We arrived at Sisophan just before dark and were directed to the area where we would find share taxis to Siem Reap. Share taxis are usually licensed or unlicensed four door sedans or mini-buses that make trips between locations, leaving only when the car (or bus) is filled with passengers (the definition of full varying depending on whether you are the driver or a passenger). When we arrived, I was still in a state of fear and shock and was glad be able to rely on Steven's calm demeanor and knowledge of such situations from his days in Jamaica.

We walked across a cement court of some type and were immediately approached by a group of young Cambodian men, who after ascertaining that we were looking for a taxi to Siem Reap, led us to a waiting car and told us that they would take us for 4000 baht a piece. At this point, I was beyond bargaining and was ready to pay anyone anything they asked in order to get to where we were going. We agreed, paid them what they asked (although I questioned this because I had been told never to pay until you had arrived at your destination and envisioned this man walking away with our money and leaving us stranded until someone else demanded payment to drive us to Siem Reap) and I hesitantly let them take my pack and load it into the truck of the car. They motioned for us to get in the back seat and made like they were getting ready to leave. Steven had found himself in this situation countless times and explained to me that there was no way they were going to leave with just two of us in the car. He said that we would most likely be waiting awhile and would find ourselves crammed in the back before the key even turned the engine.

About 10 minutes later, the men came back and told us that we had to switch cars. They unloaded our packs and walked us to another car about 20 yards away. Again our packs were loaded in the trunk and we were instructed to climb into the backseat. Fifteen minutes later, I was near hysteria. I found that I couldn't open my mouth for fear of bursting into tears as my mind ran over and over the possible scenarios that would find us dead on the side of the road in a ditch somewhere. Steven kept trying to calm me down by rationalizing that this was just how it worked and these men weren't out to kill us, but were simply doing what share taxi drivers did; but I wouldn't hear him. All I could think about was my own vulnerability and the fact that our very survival depended entirely on a group of people whose language we didn't speak, whose culture and traditions we didn't know and who viewed us, or so I thought, as big glowing orbs of money - money that they didn't have and could easily get their hands on with us dead in a ditch.

A few minutes later, a man came over to us and told us that we could get out of this car and pay 12oo baht to get into another car that was leaving. This only confirmed my suspicious and I sat and fumed as Steven refused the offer and told him that we were fine and would wait until the car filled up. When he left, through clenched teeth, I implored Steven as to our chances of getting out of that town, that night, alive. He placated me by agreeing that if no one materialized in the next 15 minutes, that we would simply pay whatever they asked for them to take us alone. A few minutes later, we were joined by a mother and her husband and small child in the back seat (forcing Steven to sit on the edge of the seat to make enough room for everyone to sit) and another woman in the front. Finally we were off.

The road from Sisophan to Siem Reap was just as bad, if not worse, than the road we had come in on and we spent the next four hours riding over rocks, skirting pot holes and doing all we could to avoid the constant jarring of the road. Steven was crammed up against the back of the passenger seat and I was squashed between him and the woman next to me with my legs in an unnatural position behind the driver's seat, my feat crushed between our bags. Halfway through the journey, we switched places, Steven sitting back and me moving up and re-adjusting my feet, allowing us a little more comfort in a horribly uncomfortable spot.

We arrived in Siem Reap around 10:45 p.m. and gladly agreed to be driven to the hotel of the driver's choice (after we learned that he was not familiar with the one we had hoped to stay at - all this gleaned through gestures as he spoke no English). The driver dropped us off at the Sydney Angkor Hotel, which turned out to be sparkling clean and secure, a welcome and stark contrast to the past 12 hours, where, exhausted and relieved to be out of the car and in Siem Reap, we checked into our room.

The next few days in Cambodia found me wanting to be anywhere but there. Drastically impacted by the events of our first day, I viewed the people through a lens of fear and distrust and felt like a target and a victim at every turn. The hoards of begging children, women with babies and men with missing limbs further aggravated my negative state. Luckily, after a few days of relative calm, I came to realize that it wasn't the country that was putting me in this state, but my own perception, shrouded by fear. After I realized this, I was able to look back over the previous days events and see how badly I had over-reacted and how much I had misjudged situations because of what we had been through. I came to see the beauty of the country and the people, despite the poverty and the atrocious history of war. I will never be glad that we had the experience we did at the Cambodian border, but I am glad for the lesson it taught me - of how quickly one's perceptions can be marred by fear and how easily harmless people can be turned into 'the enemy.' Given the relative triviality of the situation we encountered compared to atrocities committed in the past and even today, all over the world, it is frightening just how much of an impact it had.