The Plan at Breakfast
The riding is over. I am preparing to leave Phnom Penh. I’m eating breakfast at the restaurant in the hotel and the plan for today is to go see the genocide museum maybe do a little shopping at the Russian market and catch a bus out of town to Ho Chi Minh City. 

Phnom Penh has the feel of a city that’s desperately trying to be modern. In many ways it’s similar to Tokyo; big buildings, lots of traffic, office ladies dress to the nines. But behind the big buildings are the street vendors, the trash and the poverty. It is clear that the U. S. dollar is a highly coveted commodity here. Many restaurants post prices in both dollars and riel. I don’t know which would give you a better deal. When you change money you lose a little bit of value. I haven’t been here long enough to know whether the dollar price is better than the riel price. There is always going to be a bit of rounding going on as there are no really small denominations in riel and nobody wants to deal with pennies, nickels, and dimes. I exchanged 400,000 Vietnamese Dong yesterday at the front desk here and they really gave me a bad deal. I realized it right away but there wasn’t much I could do about it. As soon as I had an Internet connection I confirmed that I lost 10 USD in value on a relatively small transaction. I felt they really didn’t want to exchange VND. They are really after USD. Perhaps, in the long run, it doesn’t matter, but I’m trying to keep this trip under budget. It also influences my overall impressions of the establishment’s honesty. I will mention this in my review. This place really could be nice with some more effort and pride. Given the Cambodian economy, 100,000 yen could make the place quite homey. 1,000,000 yen could make it a 5 star establishment. Of course, 100,000 yen is probably half a year’s salary for the average man in Cambodia. Perhaps there is a business opportunity for a careful foreign investor. Anyway, if I ever come to Phnom Penh I won’t be staying here again. There isn’t even a lake anymore. The government leased the land to a developer who filled the lake in and built buildings in its place.

When the Plan Falls Apart
What a crazy day! It started out okay but it pretty much went off the rails as soon as I checked out of the hostel. I stopped to chat with two other travelers who lounging in front of a neighboring hostel. We were talking about my bike and I was bragging how I had ridden it for 5 days without flats or mishaps when less than 30 seconds after leaving the gentlemen I noticed my back tire was low on air. I pulled over and aired up the tire. A few blocks later it was low again. I knew I had a flat. I stopped in front of the Science University and began to fix my flat. While I was working on it a guard came over to check me out. When it was clear to him that I was no kind of threat he smiled at me and disappeared. Flat fixed, I navigated my way to Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum. I payed a thousand KHR to officially park my bicycle. 24¢ to park. Not bad. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough riel or dollars so I decided to leave my bike safely parked at the museum and walk to the FX shop. I soon realized it was farther than I anticipated. There was a tuk tuk driver across the street. A great chance to go for a tuk tuk ride. It cost me 6,000 KHR to go close to my destination. I had pointed on the map to where I wanted to go. I think that because the Olympic Stadium dominated the map it distracted the driver from the pin drop on the FX shop. He didn’t take me all the way because I wasn’t clear enough about where I wanted to go when I pointed on the map. The FX office was near the Olympic Stadium which is a major landmark. He assumed I wanted to go there. No problem. It was now close enough to walk. 

I exchanged what I thought was a fair amount of Vietnamese Dong. The clerk handed me about 30 USD and few small riel notes. My first thought was to ask for riel only but it occurred to me that almost everybody prefers to get dollars over riel in Phnom Penh so I shrugged and excepted my greenbacks. 

Money in hand, I flagged another  tuk tuk. I picked a red one that was upholstered completely with astro turf and potted plants hanging in the windows. A real green design. I told him where I wanted to go repeating it several times. He quoted me a price of 8,000 khr and away we went. I thought I made myself clear about where I wanted to go. The Genocide Museum. Somehow the driver thought I meant some other museum it seems. After a while it felt like it was taking too long to get there so I checked the map and, sure enough, we were going on a tangent towards the palace. I told the driver he was going in the wrong direction. He did an amazingly tight u-turn. (Those tuk tuks can turn on a dime!) I suppose he wasn’t happy about the extra distance but it was his mistake. He didn’t charge me anymore than he quoted so I guess he was basically an honest guy. 

The Tuol Selong Genocide Museum
The Genocide Museum is a horrible place that everyone should visit. It is like the Genbaku Dome in Hiroshima or the Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Memorial. It is a reminder how atrocious humans can be to each other. While it is not stated outright a little connect-the-dots leads one to understand the United States’ complicity in the tragedy. I will not go into details here. One should experience for themselves or at least do their own research. Start with these links. 

Unfixable Flat
I stayed later than I planned at the museum. I had planned to go the Russian Market to get some souvenirs. It was too late. I wanted to leave town by 1 pm so I could get to Ho Chi Minh City at a reasonable hour. According to various web sites the trip would take 6-7 hours. No time for souvenir shopping. I decided to go to the bus terminal. Despite patching my tire, when I came out of the museum it was flat again. I pumped it up hoping it would last long enough to get to the bus terminal that I thought wasn’t very far away. It didn’t hold. Cycling on the streets of PP is challenging enough but I find it preferable to pushing a bike through the chaotic crowds of tuk tuks, food carts, delivery motorcycles, street venders and other users. I stopped at a sandwich shop and ordered a sandwich for 1 dollar which I took “to go”. I put air in the tire a got another few blocks on me way before I was back to pushing it again. I really wanted to fix the tire again but the streets were too crowded and I was still hoping to get on a bus by 1. The bus agent was in the middle of Orresy Market and very hard to find. Looking around the ticket office I realized it could not possibly be the bus depot. It was just too crowded and too chaotic. The ticket seller confirmed this. I tried to pay for my ticket with my credit cards to conserve my dwindling dollars and riel but the charge was denied. I paid $12 from my dwindling supply of USD. It was 12:20 and the bus left at 2:00. Not the worst result. All the online sources put the bus ride at 6-7 hours. That would mean getting to Ho Chi Minh City at 8 o’clickish. Acceptable. 

Unfortunately, the terminal was farther away than I expected. It was back towards where my hotel was and further north still. Peddling a bicycle, maybe 20 minutes or so away. Pushing a bicycle – a lot longer. There was nothing else for it but to set out. I aired up the tire once again and set off. I thought If I put air in the tire every few blocks I could make it in time. The air was leaking out faster and faster. I had to push it or fix it. 

I finally got through the market which was crowded and chaotic. I was pushing as fast as I could. It became clear to me that I wasn’t going to make it by two walking. I came upon a Hindu temple and pulled out of the noise and bustle into the calm. I would take the 15 to 20 minutes needed to fix the flat again and even have time to eat my lunch afterwards. 

I pulled out my tools and took off my panniers, because of course it was the back wheel. Took off the wheel, levered off the tire and pulled out the tube. The patch I put on earlier in the morning had been obliterated. All that remained was a square of adhesive. I had used a self-adhering patch I got from Cycle Mode last month. I thought it would be okay temporarily. It just didn’t hold up. Okay. Lesson learned; don’t be lazy, put on a real patch. I did so. I put the whole thing back together. Fine. Now there is time to eat my lunch. While I was working on the bike an older monk came by. He said something to me which I didn’t understand. I said something to him that he didn’t understand. We smiled at each other and he went on his way. A good but, for all practical purposes, meaningless interaction.

Belly full. It was time to go. Oh no. The tire was flat again. Argh! Now there was no time to open up that can of worms again. I made another sub-optimal decision. Just ride it with a flat and damn it all with the damage it will do to my tube, tire and rim. Not to mention my soul each time I hit a bump, and there were many. I covered the distance but time was bleeding away. 

I didn’t have a properly functioning map. Without cell service I couldn’t search for anything except when I could connect to Wi-Fi like at the sandwich shop. As I got near the bus terminal I started to look for buses. I know, a no-brainer, right. Bus terminal = buses. I couldn’t see any buses or anything that looked terminalish. I stopped to ask for directions at a local shop. I managed to make myself understood somehow. The woman pointed me back the way I came. Okay I passed it up somehow. I went a few hundred meters and asked again. I was pointed in the opposite direction. By this time I am starting to panic. Time is leaking away. I turned around again. No sign of a bus terminal. Did the Mekong Express Bus Terminal fall into another dimension? Like the Emperor’s new clothes is it only visible to party members in good standing? Was I suffering from bus blindness? I finally found it. The buses were all in the back, out of sight from the road. Logical but not what I expected. 

I had made it in time with 20 minutes to spare. I was reassured that I would be able to put the bicycle in the cargo compartment but it would cost $10. Fine, an acceptable expense. One problem, no combination of riel and dollars in my wallet came to $10 and my credit card was denied again. There was a hairy faced occidental foreigner and his family sitting nearby. In the worse case scenario I could ask him to exchange some dong for me – maybe. Fortunately, I was able to pay in dong at a fair rate.  Whew. 5 minutes to 2. Mission accomplished. But no bus. After all that, it left an hour late.

Long Bus Ride and a Border Scam
If I had known, I could have tried to fix my tire again. If it is even repairable after all the abuse I gave it riding on it flat. I was glad to be on the bus with an E.T.A. of 9 pm. Still acceptable. I settled in for a long ride as the bus crawled through the city. I made the acquaintance of an Australian man traveling with his family; mom, dad (the same hairy faced chap in the terminal waiting room Ithat  considered borrowing or buying currency from) and his four kids. From him I learned why my credit card was rejected. The settlement company used by most businesses in this part of the world is Chinese and Visa and Mastercard just deny authorization as a matter of course. We swapped stories of our travels in Asia.

As the bus rolled through the benighted countryside, back along the road I had come on the day before the sun set and we were still on the Cambodian side of the border. It became clear to me that I was going to arrive in Ho Chi Minh later than I expected.  I wanted to notify my hotel but wouldn’t have cellular service until I got back to Vietnam. Meanwhile, the bus attendant , a stockily built fellow, came down the aisle checking all of our passports to make sure we had a proper visa (something that was already checked when we bought our tickets). He informed us that we would not have to pay anything on the Cambodian side to exit the country but there might be a 1 or 2 dollar charge on the Vietnamese side of the border for the entrance stamp.

After a rest stop another, skinnier bus attendant came through the bus checking our passports again telling us the same story. Finally, skinny bus attendant guy came through again repeating the process. I was still baffled and skeptical. After all, I didn’t have to pay any fee when I arrived at the Ho Chi Minh Airport. I didn’t pay anything extra when I was leaving Vietnam. I saw the list of fees at the land border crossing and I don’t remember there being a charge listed for any kind of entry fee other than the official visa fees.

We finally got to the border somewhere around 9 pm. The Cambodian border officer stamped our passports. There was even a sign posted that clearly stated that no payment was needed. So far the story held up. Next, on to the Vietnamese checkpoint. At the Vietnam checkpoint we had to unload our luggage to go through customs. So I followed the other passengers pushing my dirty and wounded Mini-V through the border station, the bus attendant once again informed all of us waiting in line that we would need to pay a dollar to get our exit stamp. Well, I was fresh out of dollars. I asked if I could pay in dong. The attendant told me 30,000. I wasn’t sure how much a dollar was in dong but I was sure his math was wrong. I handed the attendant my passport without any money in it. He was trying to get us processed in one batch. I think he was just adding to the confusion. 

After the passports were stamped Mr. Skinny would call our name and give us back our passport. When I got my passport back there was no stamp. The stamp “fee” was unavoidable. I wasn’t going to get screwed again with some ballpark exchange rate math so I pulled out my phone (I finally had cel service again.) and looked up the rate. 1 red blooded American dollar equals 23,000 dong and change. You better believe I was rounding down this time. I put 23,000 dong in my passport and put it back on the officer’s counter. I felt if anyone would accept a bribe in dong it was a hardworking, honest Vietnamese border officer. In a few minutes the bus attendant called my name again. My passport was lighter by 23,000 dong but adorned with a beautiful re-entry stamp. I think I could have gotten by with just 20,000 VND. Any amount to grease the uncertain good will between nations is worth it, right?. What a scam! Think about, a busload of about 30 travelers times how many buses. Each passenger being charged a dollar or two extra. Given the Vietnamese economy, a tidy little profrit that.

We finally rolled into Ho Chi Minh a little after 11 pm. A trip of 8 plus hours. It was only a few blocks to my hotel. At least, I planned this part out well. I pushed Mini-V through the late night revelers to my Hostel. M.O.M. Hostel & Cafe. A funny name but a nice place. Unfortunately, it was way past check-in time. Fortunately, a short e-mail message to the front desk unlocked the door before I had time to come up with a plan B. Unlike some of the other places I stayed in the room was prepay. I didn’t have enough dong now thanks to my donation to the border guards of Vietnam auxiliary fund. The clerk took my passport as insurance until I could exchange more cash the following day. The room cost about 5 dollars and I was about a dollar short.

Lessons Learned
1. Be more precise when giving directions to tuk tuk drivers.
2. Carry pencil and paper with you to write down prices and place names. It helps to avoid confusion.
3. Don’t change money at the front desk of backpacker hotels. They tend to use prodigious rounding skills to give themselves favorable rates.

Photo Gallery

Prev

1of31

Next

Video

[yotuwp type=”videos” id=”zKqTaKkIprg” ]

Home | Photo Gallery | Podcasts | Videos

It was my last day of cycling. I was just a day’s ride from my final destination in the Mekong River Valley, Phnom Penh, the capitol of Cambodia.

I ate my croco-sant and 2 of my mystery fruit for breakfast. (Check out the video to learn more about croco-sant and mystery fruit. No spoilers here.) I planned to exchange some more dong for riel at the front desk when I checked out. Unfortunately, the man at the front desk was not the same as the young fellow from the previous afternoon. He didn’t seem to understand English but he was able to say enough that I understood that he would not change any money. So once again I was pedaling through a foreign country with almost no useable cash in my pocket. On the bright side I still had two mystery fruit and a lot of water. I filled up every bottle I could find with filtered water. Altogether I think I was carrying about 5 or 6 liters of water. The bottles were piled up on my rack and tied down with bungee chords. There were so many in my precarious pile that occasionally one would fall off when I hit a bump. I am pretty sure that at least one bottle went missing in action during the morning. 

My route took me back over the big yellow bridge again. Fresh from a good nights sleep it was a lot easier climb than the night before. On the other side I pointed my handle bars to the north. This section of the road was equivalent to the day I spent riding on National Highway 91 except now I was on the famous Asian Highway 1 That connects Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam. I noticed fewer bicycles, more cars, ambulances, motorcycles pulling big trailers loaded with good and materials and lots of tuk tuks.

Tuk Tuks
Tuk tuks are cute little 3 person, 3 wheeled vehicles that are used as taxis and are ubiquitous in Phnom Penh and the surrounding towns. Even the name is fun to say. Try it! Tuk tuk. Tuk tuk. See what I mean the most fun you can have with your lips by yourself. When I first considered traveling to Cambodia I saw pictures of tuk tuks and fell in love with them instantly. I was wondering if I would get a chance to ride in one. It didn’t seem likely as I brought my own transportation with me. As the morning wore on I lightened my load by wetting my whistle from my stock of water.

I’m going to say it straight out. The most interesting thing I saw on the road that day was not tuk tuks. It was two pigs and some cattle. In Cambodia a common way to haul goods is on a flatbed trailer pulled by a small motorcycle (maybe only about 100cc or 150cc). The trailers are 3 or 4 times longer than the motorcycle in some cases. I passed by a motorcycle with an unexpected cargo. (By this time I don’t know why any kind of vehicle with a load would surprise me but this one did.) I passed a motorcycle and trailer parked alongside the road. The motorcycle was pulling a trailer with a big cage on the trailer. As I passed by I looked down and saw two enormous hogs in the trailer. They were laying down with barely enough room to standup. At first I thought the hogs were dead but when I doubled back to get a better look I could see that they were awake. I don’t know if they were drugged or sleepy or just a very placid pigs. I think they probably weren’t drugged because the hogs were way too big to get in the cage if they weren’t alert enough to walk into the cage under their own power. The unexpected doesn’t end there. As I looked up I saw a woman and a little girl trying to lead two cows and a calf across the busy road. Now Cambodian cows are not old Macdonald’s rotund, sloe-eyed gentle dairy cows. Cambodian cows are tall, slender legged, you could even say svelte, humpbacked behemoths. The woman held rope halters for all three beasts and directed them with her voice and a judicious tugs on the rope while the little girl walked along side with a thin stick. I don’t know if she used the stick to motivate the cows or if she had just picked it up for fun as children around the world will do. It is a universal law that if a child sees a stick on the ground they will pick it up and swing it around when their parents are not looking. (How do I, as an adult know this, you ask? Because of the other universal law that says all parents have eyes in back of their head until their children are old enough to move out of the house.) The calf was taller than the girl and the two full-grown cows were taller than her mother but somehow the woman got herd and offspring across the road safely.

By the time 11 am rolled around I felt like I was making good enough progress to take my lunch break. I learned the day before that Buddhist temples are a good place to take a break. They are generally quiet places. That is not to say they are somber places. Buddhism in Cambodia looks very different from Buddhism in Japan. Besides the obvious differences in architecture and the use of color (Cambodian temples are very colorful. Some might even call them gaudy.) To my mostly uninformed mind Buddhism in Cambodia seems more like a living religion where in Japan Buddhism is respected for its historical and cultural value but it is not a thing Japanese people believe in. I think some of the differences are sectarian. I am sure the general precepts are the same but the feel is different.

In any case, I found a quiet bench where I could eat my mystery fruit and swig H2O and watch strays dogs fighting over some unknown canine grudge. Later, one of combatants limped over to share my patch of shade. While it didn’t cozy up to me neither did it show any fear of me. Mostly it just displayed indifference. If I had tried to pet him he most likely would have displayed his teeth. We left each other alone and neither of us was the worse for the experience.

Phnom Penh
I still had enough water left and I felt that Phnom Penh was just around each corner and just over the horizon. It wasn’t but I got there in good time. I was happy when I saw the sign saying welcome to Phnom Penh. Phnom Penh is a big city. (Though, not so big as Tokyo me thinks.) Just because you have entered the city does not mean you have arrived.

The traffic in Phnom Penh was the heaviest that I experience during my whole trip. More cars, trucks, and tuk tuks than Saigon. (Actually there aren’t any tuk tuks in Saigon.) At a bridge leading into the center of the city I got embroiled in a traffic jam because of road construction on the other side. I think this bridge would have been a bottleneck anyway. I found myself wheel to wheel with tuk tuks and motorcycles. Traffic jams are not particularly dangerous for bicycles in the sense that it is moving really slowly. I was caught in it just long enough to get over the bridge. Once on the other side I dropped out and cut north following my route.

As I got near my hotel I realized that I had a problem. I hadn’t mapped the route all the way to my hotel. This is because I wasn’t exactly sure where I would be staying in Phnom Penh until about a week before leaving. I was trying to arrange another Warmshowers host but all of my attempts fell through. Not only did I not have any local currency I did not have any kind of cell receptions in Cambodia because the SIM card that I bought at the Ho Chi Minh City airport stopped working at the Cambodian border. I knew the general area where my hotel was located but I hadn’t mapped it out on my offline maps. Without cell reception I couldn’t just look it up on Google Maps and follow the directions. Finally, when I thought that I was close I approached a foreign couple I spotted on the sidewalk and asked them if they could look it up for me. I took a snapshot of the route displayed on the man’s phone. Somehow, I was able to reach my destination.

#10 Lakeside Hotel
The #10 Lakeside Hotel has been a misnomer for the past decade. It used to be on a lake until the Cambodian government leased the land to a developer who filled in the lake and built condominiums on top of it. I lies tucked in a back alley off of the busy Monivong Boulevard next to other backpacker hotels. The first floor is a semi-open-air restaurant and lounge. It has an air of neglected Franco-Indochine decadence in a very small place. The cost for one night was about $5. It was here that I realized that Phnom Penh wants dollars. All the prices were listed in dollars. Of course, I had neither dollars or riel. The front desk allowed me to pay in dong and exchanged enough for me to get dinner which was about 15 dollars. They changed an exorbitant exchange rate. I figured I lost ten dollars of valley because of their liberal policy of rounding calculations in their favor. I found that a lot of rounding goes on in Cambodia. If I were changing a lot of money a 10 dollar surcharge would not have been such a big deal but I was on a shoestring budget and 10 dollars was the difference between eating breakfast the next day or not. The whole experience soured my feeling about #10 Lakeside Hotel and gave it an overall impression of seediness.

Lessons Learned
1. Map out your entire ride, including your alternative routes and download to your phone when you have connectivity.
2. Check the exchange rates before exchanging money.

Photo Gallery

Prev

1of35

Next

Podcast

Video

[yotuwp type=”videos” id=”mMVt6ITGCfQ” ]

Home | Photo Gallery | Podcasts | Videos

Border Crossings
In the morning my new friend, David, led me out of Tan Châu on his motorcycle. He set a quick pace but I was able to follow him to the ferry terminal and out of the city. On the other side of the river we parted company in front of the school where he teaches. I wish I had had time to visit his school too. 

I really enjoy taking the ferries. They aren’t monstrous affairs like the Staten Island ferries or the Oshima Island Passenger Ferry. They are basically small platforms with a motor and a wheel house. I hope that in Vietnam’s drive to modernize they don’t replace them with bridges.

The ride from the ferry terminal followed the course of the main branch of the Mekong River to the border. As I road along I wondered what kind of people lived so close to the border and if they were all that different from those who lived farther away. 

David described the border crossing to me. But despite his description and reading about other travelers’ experience I still wasn’t prepared. The only other land border I had ever crossed before was between the U.S. and Canada and that only just barely counts as crossing into a foreign country. 

I found the Vietnam border station at Vĩnh Xương just as David described. The border station is a building built about 20 meters from the banks of the river and connected to the shore by a short footbridge. This location allows those crossing by boat as well as those crossing by land to be processed. I parked Mini-V on top of the river bank and walked down to the border station. If the river side is the front then I entered through the backdoor. On the bridge leading up to the door there were four very official military types sitting in front of the door and drinking coffee. They had all the appearance of government employees on their break. I walked past them assuming there would somebody on duty inside. When I got inside there was no sign of a border official. There were a dozen or so foreign tourist lounging around in a waiting room with a very nice view of the river and a tour boat docked to the river side of the border station. In the waiting area there was a glass case with snacks for sale and a woman willing to sell you Oreo cookies and chips. Nearby was a table where a young woman would exchange Vietnamese dong for Cambodian riel. But no border officials on duty. 

For some reason I was under the mistaken belief that I had to take a boat to cross the river and the border. I asked a young Australian sounding couple, or maybe they were Kiwis, who can tell the difference?) where to catch a ferry across the river. They asked me in turn if I was with a tour and said the boat docked to border station pier was their tour boat. Nobody knew anything. 

Not knowing what to do I went back out the way I came in, past the lounging border guards. They seemed completely unconcerned about my coming and going. I walked back up the bank to my bike and pedaled back up the road I came because, as David had explained, the real land crossing was on side road a couple of hundred meters before the border station. I went through the first gate, more like a rail crossing guard than a gate, to a building. There a Vietnamese guard indicated that I should follow him. I pushed my bike behind him as he led me back to the border station. The guard spoke not a word of English so I was still in the dark about what was going on. 

Back at the bank above the border station I met two Indonesian men who had just pedaled across from the Cambodian side. I spoke with them briefly. They told me I needed to get a stamp at the border station. When I asked them about their trip they told me that they had ridden from Indonesia through Thailand and Cambodia. I asked them how the roads were in Cambodia. The warned me that they were good but dusty. Our brief conversation was interrupted by the guard waving me down to the border station. 

I went down and the man took my passport. I thought, “Now I am finally getting somewhere.” Inside the office which I was not allowed to enter I could see that they had pulled up my picture on a computer screen. I supposed they had scanned my passport or I was already in the system from when the visa was issued by the Vietnamese Embassy in Tokyo. After a few minutes they gave me back my passport and once again I followed the guard. I notice there was no one in the waiting room and no one manning, or should I say womanning, the exchange table or snack stand. No Oreos or riel for me. 

This time the guard led me back to the gate on a motorcycle. We went through the gate into the no-man’s land that I believe exists between all countries. At the railway crossing gate on the Cambodian side of no-man’s land he passed me off to a Cambodian policeman who was also on a motorcycle. This man told me in English to follow him and follow him I did to another gate and another side street where he handed me off to another policeman who took me to the Cambodian border station. Like on the Vietnamese side, the Cambodian border station was on the river though set back from the waterline a bit. The Cambodian border station was like a walled garden or park. Quite pleasant. The police on the Cambodian side all spoke English to some degree. I was processed with a boat load of tourists who had approached from the river side. The tour guide helped me out a little bit when the policemen’s instructions were lacking in clarity. They took my picture and my fingerprints, stamped my passport and I was done. 

All of this took no more than an hour. It was probably closer to half an hour. I was really worried about entering Cambodia because the night before I noticed that my Cambodian visa was dated for the day after I was planning to enter Cambodia. I don’t know if this was a mistake on my part or the Cambodian Embassy’s part. Regardless, the date was wrong. If the border guard was a stickler for rules and details the mistake would be grounds enough to deny me entrance. There were three possible outcomes. 1) I would be denied entrance until the next day. In that case I would have to ride back across the border to Tan Châu and find a hotel. 2) I would be forced to pay for another visa with the correct date which would be problematic because I didn’t have any money that I could use.  3) The policeman didn’t notice the later date or didn’t care that I was trying to enter the country one day early. 

I suppose there was a fourth possible outcome. The guard noticed the date was for the next day, decided I was just too suspicious and introduced me to the hospitality of a Cambodian jail cell thus extending my vacation. Fortunately, fate favored the third outcome. Like the Mekong River, humans and fate choose the path of least resistance.

After getting my passport stamped I was standing on the road outside the entrance of the border compound taking a few pictures and video of the communist party banner fluttering in the wind when a different guard approached me. While inspecting my passport he asked, “Where are you going? I know you are going to Cambodia, but where are you going?” I answered, “Phnom Penh.” This seemed to satisfy him. I think he just wanted to talk to the idiot foreigner riding a mini-velo through his country or perhaps he decided that a tourist taking pictures in front of the border station was suspicious. I asked him to take a picture of me and Mini-V and then a selfie of the two of us. Weird but cool at the same time.

On the Cambodian Side
Safely through the border crossing I continued on my journey up the Mekong River. I immediately noticed a difference between Vietnam and Cambodia. While many things are very similar some are different. For one, there were fewer chickens and more households had two or three head of cattle. Another difference was that people seemed very interested in greeting me. Every couple of hundred meters someone was waving to me or saying hello. This was fun at first but as the morning wore on and I got hotter and more tired, constantly greeting people became exhausting and a nuisance.

As I rode along I was reminded of the Indonesian bicycle tourists’ warning about dusty roads. Within a few kilometers of crossing the border the soil seemed to become sandy. Also, there were stretches of unpaved road that showed evidence of road construction. Even though it was a weekday I didn’t see any workmen. Maybe it was a holiday. 

For an hour or two I road through a semi rural area parallel to the Mekong River though it was mostly just out of sight. I got the feeling that all the houses and businesses were lined up along the road and if I detoured onto a side street I would quickly find myself all alone in the countryside. 

After a while the rural road fed into a highway. This is the famous Asian Highway 1. Like Vietnam, there seemed to be no restrictions on what kind of vehicles (or livestock) could use the highway. One significant difference was that I saw fewer motorcycles being used for transportation (still many used for hauling cargo) and more Japanese and American cars. 

The Kindness Of A Stranger
I was making reasonable progress towards Neak Loeung, the first town I would stop at in Cambodia. The heat was really wearing me down and I was running low on water. All along the road from the border crossing I saw large signs advertising Ganzberg Beer. The thought of a cold beer was tempting. Unfortunately, I had no currency that I could use to buy beer or anything at all. When I was about 10 km from my destination I really needed to take a rest break. In Tokyo there are lots of little municipal parks and if you are in the countryside you can just pull over to the side of the road and sit in the shade but I couldn’t find a quiet place away from the road to take a break that wasn’t someone’s home or business. 

Finally, I pulled into a beautiful Buddhist temple to get out of the sun and rest in the shade away from the dust and noise of the highway. I found a pavilion with a table and benches. There was a monk napping on the bench by the table. I took a seat on a bench in the shade a few meters away not wanting to disturb his nap. I took my shoes off and ate some trail mix I carry for emergencies and drank my water. I was probably experiencing borderline heat exhaustion.

Eventually, the monk roused himself. He must have thought I looked bad because he pulled out of his bag a can of soy milk and gave it to me. I accepted gratefully. It was the best soy milk I have ever had. I didn’t know if his religion would allow him to eat it but I offered him some of my trail mix in exchange. He turned it down. I don’t blame him. It had been reheated in the sun several times by now and I noticed that tiny ants had gotten into when I was in Long Xuyên. The monk went an extra 2nd mile. He offered me a bottle of water and an energy drink. Apparently, Buddhist monks can and do drink energy drinks. I am sure he wasn’t carrying it around just in case he found an exhausted Westerner intruding on his nap. We didn’t share a common language or culture but he shared with me kindness that crosses borders, culture, and politics. In a world that is becoming more polarized and divided we need to reach across all of our borders. Ideological, economic, ethnic and social.

Enough pontificating. Thanks to the monk I was revived enough to continue my journey. Looking at the map it was clear that I would have to cross the river because Neak Loeung and my hotel were on the other side. 

It turns out the bridge crossing the Mekong River has two names. The obvious name is taken from the nearby town, Neak Loeung. The less obvious name is Tsubasa Bridge. There are some of you gentle readers who might be thinking that tsubasa sounds distinctly Japanese and you would be right. Tsubasa means wing in Japanese. The bridge was donated to the Cambodian government by the Japanese government as part of a larger project to improve Asian Highway 1 from Thailand to Vietnam. During my travels in Cambodia I crossed two other such bridges. I’m glad I had a chance to cross it as my tax yen helped pay for it.

There are three outstanding features of this bridge. First, the bridge is the longest bridge crossing the Mekong River at 2.2 km long. Second, going over the bridge represented the steepest climb of my entire trip through the Mekong River Delta at around a 4.5% grade. The third and most outstanding feature is that the suspension cables are bright yellow. 

Now, I have to admit my faithful, little Mini-V is a wonderful bike on the flats but she has a hard time going up hills with her little 20 inch wheels and lack of granny gears. But her and I did our best and managed to get the top. Partway Mini-V insisted that we stop to take a picture and some videos. I happily obliged her whim without remarking that she might be too tired after riding 50 km in the hot, Cambodian sun. One does not want to get on the wrong side of one’s bicycle.

After crossing the bridge, cursing out the inconsiderately placed rumble strips on the downhill side that I thought were going to taco my front wheel when i hit them at speed, it was a short ride into the town. Fortunately, my hotel was on the near edge of town. 

At the hotel I was able to exchange enough dong for riel to get dinner at a nearby cafe, a beer at the tavern across the street and some mystery fruit. (Watch the video to learn more about the mystery fruit.) I should have exchanged more but I thought I would be able to in the morning. 

Money Makes the Wheels Go Round
The challenge of traveling in a foreign country for the first time is that you never know how much money you are going to need. Ideally, you want to exchange just enough so that you have very little left when you leave the country. All during my stay in Cambodia I miscalculated how much money I would need. I kept getting Cambodian currency and Vietnamese currency mixed up in my head and my wallet. I think I even accidentally payed for something with a 10,000 yen bill instead of 10,000 in riel or dong. 10,000 yen in Cambodia and Vietnam is a princely sum.

Neak Loeung
My hotel in Neak Loeung was at the edge of town overlooking a swampy area. The hotel staff led me to my room on the second floor. The room was clean and brightly appointed. When the woman closed the curtains I didn’t think much of it at the time. I later opened the curtains so I could get a look out of the window and never closed them again because the only thing outside my window was open space. The room came complete with a television. I turned it on and started surfing the Cambodian air waves. The reception wasn’t very good. First, I found a sports channel with English sportscasting of a sailboat regatta. Boring. Then I found what appeared to be cock fighting. The screen was so staticky it was really hard to see what was going on. I finally gave up and went to the next channel. Click. A Cambodian soap opera. I don’t want to watch soap operas in any language. Click. Now we are talking. Crystal clear reception in English! Oh wait, it is the RT News Channel. The Russian Times News Channel. Why does the only channel that gets good reception in Neak Loeung have to be the Russian propaganda channel. I watched it for a while because it is always good to know what your adversaries are saying. It was just as bad as watching Fox News (only better produced) and I turned it off after 15 minutes.

Enough television. I took a shower then went next door to a restaurant for dinner called the Rio Cafe. The restaurant looked like it could have been plucked out of New York, Tokyo or London. At the same time, very comforting and very uninteresting. The menu was in English and the prices were in dollars. I felt like the prices were on the high side. My meal cost a whole 2 dollars. After dinner, I risked life and limb to cross the street to an open-air tavern where I got a beer so patriotic it was named in a burst of inspiration Cambodia Beer. The beer was outrageously priced at a dollar fifty. I pet the tavern cat and drank my cold Cambodia. After imbibing I strolled next door for mystery fruit and a crocodile shaped pastry. (To see the croco-pastry and the mystery fruit check out the video on the wayfarer.bike YouTube channel.) The pastry and fruit were for breakfast.

Too Many Bugs For One Gecko
I got back to my room well after dark. I turned on all of the lights in the room as one does. I didn’t pay any heed to the open curtains. I settled down to write a few words and delete a few pictures. Before I knew it there were little flies swarming all around. Fortunately, they weren’t the biting kind. They were just the annoying kind. They weren’t doing so well. The bed sheets and floor were peppered with dead flies. Earlier in the evening I noticed a gecko hiding in the curtains and periodically making forays along the walls. A little known fact about geckos. They make chirping sounds like song birds. Actually, more like newly hatched birds that can’t carry a tune yet. Mr. Gecko was in good company because I can’t carry a tune either. I spotted another one clinging to the outside of the window. I’m glad I was able to provide them with the equivalent of a smorgasbord. I wished they had brought all their friends and relations too. Finally, I made the connection between the open curtains and the room lights. I closed the curtains and turned off all the room lights except one on the far side of the room. I worked this strategy out with Lt. Gecko. Closing the curtains would keep more flies from getting in and the light would lure them away from the bed where Mr. Gecko would ambush them. It seemed to work. In the morning there was no evidence of living bugs. The floor and the overhead light were littered with the carcasses of fly soldiers that didn’t survive the night. I don’t know if my compatriot, Capt. Gecko (He surely deserves a promotion after his heroic efforts during the battle of the bugs) survived. There was no sign of him in the morning.

Lesson Learned:
1. In Cambodia, Buddhist temples make great resting places.
2. Kindness is colorblind and tone deaf. It knows no boundaries or obstacles.
3. If hotel staff close the curtains it is a good idea to leave them closed.
4. The sound of geckos in the night is comforting but don’t ask them to sing campfire songs. They just can’t do it.

Photo Gallery

Prev

1of27

Next

Podcast

Video

[yotuwp type=”videos” id=”FkQsmJL7mgo” ]

Home | Photo Gallery | Podcasts | Videos